"Silence and Tears"

by Octopi Mills

Ah, it appears I have British folk rock, released from the good fellows at Rise Above Records. The first song is entitled "Adam and Eve" and tells that age olde tale of serpent and man, of woman and egg, and spermatozoon..."Pay My Body" comes next in a lengthy fashion and gives the music a 1960s feel that surely permeates the whole recording and leaves one with a genuine "hippie" feeling that recalls mustard yellows in my mind, much like the colors used in the Rider-Waite tarot deck, and it sets my olde mind to mold..."Empty sky" makes me think of a camper on my property, and flowery dresses with spidery women brought to life by the female vocals. "Jack Orion" is folk song that this reviewer recognizes instantly, having walked the paths of near antiquity in such a search for green woods and hills. "Geordie" has a calm somber start and adds some clouds to the Bob Ross-like golds on the canvass, and milk white mutterings drip like stolen honey from the stoned mouth of some badger, in a pool of soft drool on a blanket of moss where one can lie and wallow in the bins of retro folk rock repose....

I have the urge; the insane notion that the digital promo should be edible, and I smell warm flowers and wonder about eating the sound; how it would taste if I were hungry, or if i were a demon who could seize the maiden flesh in my claws without getting entangled in the acoustic briar work that reminds me of my grandmothers old property. This is the strongest feeling I get as I recall there was an old torn off airplane door in the woods somewhere. Whether this is my own mind set to slow fire or the music- or both, I cannot determine....The album has the subtle power to make me want to camp out somewhere in my brains, to elope and trespass back to that old property, and smoke reefer whilst dodging charges of criminal trespassing...the need to hang out on creeks and never work a straight up job again but instead to grow a beard and lounge in the mustard yellows of the intellectual decay of my own citric sell crafts and eat melon; to lick the dew off the fields and to bask in the burning summer places of yesterday. It makes me want to set up a stand and sell sell my car...suddenly iIrealize, as I hear a near gospel harmony of a certain vocal arrangement that the music has become my enemy, and works against me in terms of survival and such. Coming, dear!