Dead Man is a 13th Floor Elevator descent headlong into southern-fried bloody Sabbath. Released on the Hookah imprint in 1970, the LP's gaping cranium cover, sludged-up blues, and bone-bleached riffs outsold Let It Be, if only locally, being far "too psychedelic" and skull-crushing for Houston's International Artists label to touch. A Texas-bound band except in tracking Dead Man inside the furnace of Phoenix, Josefus strode loud and longhaired amid the oil fields, peddling their own brand of black gold.
As US involvement in the Vietnam War peaked and human boots sunk into lunar dust, Josefus powered across the Texas plains, shaking its coliseums awake as openers for the Grateful Dead and Quicksilver Messenger Service. Heavier by tonnage than both the Stones they cover and "I Want You (She's So Heavy)," Doug Tull, Pete Bailey, Ray Turner, and Dave Mitchell watched their 17-minute funeral pyre title track burn through statewide airplay, glorying in the evil looseness of the FM format.
Doomstress is a band from Houston, Texas. Formed in 2016 by former members of Well of Souls and Project Armageddon, Doomstress composes traditional doom metal and serves as the current main musical project of one Alexis Hollada.
Cosmik-Free-Punk may not be a genre on everyone’s minds at the moment as being at the vanguard of a new movement, and if we’re being brutally honest the term should only belong to Hawkwind anyway, who made a career out of merging those three strands together. Nevertheless, its a term you should get used too, especially if you are somewhat inclined towards music of a more psychedelic nature, as Illinois trio Plastic Crimewave Syndicate are back with a new album designed to take your mind to far-flung places.
It is those places that you actually do find yourselves too. Cast adrift as the weird ambience of ‘No Place’ leaves you staggering around trying to make sense of what you have been listening to. By now, you are in five tracks into your trip and the hovering saxophone remains your only chance of grasping a way back home. That’s saying something, as the free-form workout leaves you dribbling on the floor of the cosmic void, hoping that you may regain some semblance of normality once it is over. -Echoes and Dust