- Music
- 01 May 01
On paper this recipe should only work when disasters are the special of the day; take some down-your-throat production values, stir in guitars big enough to fill the most ravenous appetite, nourishing Led Zep drums, some unapologetic spice for the soul, hippy-dippy lyrics, bird song, Johnny Foreigners singing in strange tongues, lavish helpings of sitars and tablas, a telephone ringing, a bagpipe to taste, and, er, the kitchen sink.
On paper this recipe should only work when disasters are the special of the day; take some down-your-throat production values, stir in guitars big enough to fill the most ravenous appetite, nourishing Led Zep drums, some unapologetic spice for the soul, hippy-dippy lyrics, bird song, Johnny Foreigners singing in strange tongues, lavish helpings of sitars and tablas, a telephone ringing, a bagpipe to taste, and, er, the kitchen sink. Then cook until piping hot. A recipe for Delhi-belly, no?
Perversely, Kula Shaker's follow-up to the chartbusting K defies all good sense of restraint and serves up another dish of humble pie for those who felt that Crispian Mills should have been Hoddled long ago for his ill-conceived comments.
The furious wall-shattering singles 'Mystical Machine Gun' and 'Sound Of Drums' are only part of the full meal deal. Sure they serve as mouth-watering starters for the eastern influences in such tasteful dishes as 'Great Hosannah', the saffron-flavoured 'Radhe Radhe' with its infectious rhythms and wailing soulful brass, and the exotic 'Namani Nanda-Nandana'. But we didn't even know that such truly delicious soft-hearted folk-based love songs like 'Shower Your Love' and 'I'm Still Here' were on the menu.
'108 Battles' is one of the most satisfying variants on psychedelia not to have been recorded in the sixties, with its melange of frenzied harmonica, wailing Hammond organ, multi-layered harmonies and guitars as much east coast as far east. 'Last Farewell' and 'Golden Avatar' are as loose and fluid as any acid-fuelled sixties wig-outs. But it's not all so ridiculously sublime. Sadly, the acoustic Floydian 'Timeworm' sounds as if the chef was a little out to lunch and the album title itself is so ugly you might even decide not to leave that generous tip. Then again . . .
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The crucifixion of Mills in the UK is rooted in the traditional English aversion to anything cultural imported from beyond Dover. Thankfully we do things different here, as the response to their live gigs testifies. Their's is music with a serious smile on its many faces. Yes, there could be a good summer ahead.
Excuse me, waiter, could I have some more please?