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The Black Angels - "Wilderness of Mirrors" | Album Review

by Jordan Michael (@jordwhyjames)

Music should be impactful, wide and universally relatable. For almost twenty years, The Black Angels have done this through six long players and four extended plays (well, Indigo Meadow didn’t totally hit, but no biggie). Five years since the profound Death Song (“Estimate” is one of the most emotionally stimulating songs ever), the Austin legends blast back onto Mother Earth with fierce textures driven by drummer Stephanie Bailey, who has never sounded larger. The Black Angels are always fresh, but there is a new power within this five-piece fuzz rocket. 

This is a dark, droning, psychedelic army, packing fifteen four-ish minute fires full of outlandish guitars, mellotron, keys, and strings. Christian Bland has long been a guitar hero who seemingly gets no credit in the bigger music press. Opening track “Without A Trace” has sputtering and fluttering solos; the guitar sounds like a saxophone during the sunny “Empires Falling,” and then acts as if it is a bagpipe on the vibing “La Pared.” Later, “Here & Now” and “100 Flowers of Paracusia” feature crystalline acoustic guitar. Further, flutes seem to be running backwards on “A Walk on the Outside.” 

Wilderness of Mirrors is a jangly, disillusioned and hallucinatory fierce hole. There’s social and political devastation across the globe and The Black Angels ain’t no funny game. We’re going down with them, and it sounds lusty and wholesome. It’s twinkly, euphoric and almost Eastern. Syd Barrett, Arthur Lee, The Doors, Velvet Underground, krautrock and Roky Erickson are floating around as the band fucking rippppppppssss. The Black Angels produce themselves, but John Agnello (American Football, Dinosaur Jr., Dream Syndicate) filters the recording into pure vermillion cinnamon minerals.

The classic droners ask this question: is it possible to be invincible when everyone else is expendable? They say this: “We have always said that if you can rob a bank to our music then we are in the right ballpark. And while we don’t condone robbing a bank, the idea creates an anticipatable adrenaline inducing soundtrack for your mind.” 

Dang, dude. These 58 minutes are unadulterated 1960s black water drab jams. Melt into it. Remove your clothes. Kiss your lover with glitter dust. We’re seeing red and orange swirls. Snakes are slittering through the garden and we’re eventually going to be family. Wilderness of Mirrors makes me see everything. The barn is burning while we’re celebrating the psychedelic mastery which is now tradition.