Landing in the wake of Brian Jonestown and leading the pack with such comrades as Dead Meadow, the Black Angels have covered a lot of ground since forming in 2004. Fresh off the release of their second full-length album, Directions to See a Ghost, the band stood amidst a mixture of red light, smoke and a 16mm projection of World War II era footage. All reminiscent of a show at the Fillmore in the 60’s, the Black Angels appeared from the darkness to an eagerly awaiting crowd. As the souls in attendance swayed back and forth, the band thundered through their set, showcasing the wonders of the “drone machine,” a must-have contraption that gives off the perfect soundtrack to a head-on collision. Drummer Stephanie Bailey set the tone for the night, beating her kick drum ragged and riding her crash cymbal as if possessed, while the bass lines of Nate Ryan made the bones in your feet hum. Guitarist Christian Bland stared into the rafters while making use of a broken bottle as a slide, unleashing a wave of acid laden riffs piercing over Alex Maas’ death growl. The band holds a fiercely political overtone made more apparent from the great lyrical work in tracks like “The First Vietnamese War,” as the band’s pulse-like rhythms crash and mend with Maas’ tale of bloodshed, leaving me sure on their stance of our current president.

— Carlos Villarreal

Pocahaunted prepared the floor area below the stage with props, pedals and assorted instruments as the room steadily became a sea of cross-legged show goers. Figuring I had missed out on some earlier instructions, I inquired as to what was going on. “This is a sitting experience,” I was informed. After what seemed like forever, the main lights finally went out, leaving only Pocahaunted’s blue floodlights and illuminated Jack-o-Lantern as spacial guides. Backing the dynamic vocal duo that night was Bob (of Polar Goldie Cats) on drums, Luis on bass and Britt Brown (of Robedoor) on guitar. The set began with co-singers Bethany and Amanda seated on the ground, facing each other.  The singular sound of Bethany’s reverberated guitar and ultra delayed vocals slowly progressed into an ooga-chaca rhythm as layers of bass, drums and more guitar crunch came in.  The vocals evolved from undulating whoas to increasingly intense, battle-like warrior cries as Bethany and Amanda each pounded tambourines against the floor. The double vocals created a panned, echo-chamber effect that, combined with Amanda’s dancing under strobe light, induced psychedelic visions. Somehow Pocahaunted even managed to seamlessly climax into Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” And then, abruptly, after what couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes: “Thank you, we’re Pocahaunted. Vivian Girls are next.” How one goes from a psychedelic freakout to brightly lit reality in a moment’s lapse is the power of live music. Although I would have enjoyed a longer Pocahaunted set, my disappointment was quickly mitigated by the realization that I was about to see Vivian Girls.  Vivian Girls, a reference taken from Henry Darger’s story of sisters who fight against sadistic adults, is comprised of only three members, but their sound could easily pass for the seven in Darger’s story: reverb-heavy harmonies and distorted guitaring echoing into wall of sound like a distorted wave machine with a Lady in the Radiator. These Brooklynites have been a band for only a little over a year and they are poised to take over the world. Their new LP, which they had received by mail that day, is already sold out. 500 copies, gone in a week! You’ll have to wait for a re-press, but in the mean time, if you have the means, I highly suggest going to New York to see Vivian Girls open for Love Is All on June 14th.  And if you do have the means, please take me with you!

— Vanessa Gonzalez

Psych rock, when it’s done well, isn’t about a song but an experience. It turns you inward to a world of musical bliss and contemplation. That is, if it’s tolerable. And if you’re stoned. Magic Lantern, however, make sure that everyone is ready for the ride. Typically, this kind of music builds and builds, then builds some more without any payoff. It’s like really bad sex. These guys, however, know how to find the release button. Magic Lantern live is like riding in a car at night while the lights and houses and trees flash through your mind. And just when you think you’ve seen (and heard) enough, well, there’s more—the band makes sure you take that sonic trip with them. And on lucky nights, Bill Ross will be there to be your guide—adding moiré pattern visual effects and daring to put on Jodorowsky’s Holy Mountain, which would damn near upstage the show if it weren’t for the sublimely masterful skill of Magic Lantern.

— Chesney Higgins