![]() ![]() The atmosphere is draped in swirls of black and grey smoke, with flashes of red and purple and a fantastic array of other melodic colors presented in nightmarish hue. When they do, it’s like listening to Purple Hill Witch on acid. “No one can hear you scream!!!!” exclaims Marianna Hill in desperation, which is cue for Space Coke to erupt. Interesting that “Lightmare” takes an extensive quote from 1973’s Messiah of Evil – a film as strange and dreamlike as you could ask. Will it be thunderstorm today or tornado? The band cares not except to play loud and unapologetically, pitting their spirit and volume against the Prince of the Power of the Air. Still, it has a certain darkness about it, almost as if we were gathered for a show on a humid Southern day with Space Coke on stage as the sky is pregnant with rain. “Frozen World” is the most traditional song of the lot, in terms of structure, with bold organ and guitar licks backed by a robust rhythm section. Space Coke presents us with several interesting riff-motifs, then varies them in wild improvisations (this is the longest of the lot, too, at 13:33). Comparisons to Frank Zappa, Jack Harlon & The Dead Crows, and Bloody Hammers are inevitable, though guitarist Reno Gooch and company have crafted a sound that is rawer, dirtier, and infectiously their own. While much of the stoner rock scene can make me headbang, few command a whole body response like the S.C. When the music commences, it’s hard-driving, doom-touched psychedelic fare with a strong heartbeat (c/o drummer Jay Matheson) that makes me, for one, want to get up dance. While I didn’t have a lyrics sheet, the muse for this number is likely a Columbia-based astrologer by the same name. “Alice Lilitu” is another strange one, which begins with about a minute-and-a-half of spoken dialogue, accompanied by a strobing keyboard that reminded me of Panos Cosmatos’ Beyond The Black Rainbow. Truly, there is no band like unto Space Coke. I mean that as a complement, as it is at once jarring and brilliantly orchestrated, sporting sassy blues undertones. Five-minutes in, there’s a sudden clearing of the atmosphere for a meandering bassline and some seriously sketched-out guitar play. Moses Andrews III’s organ is utterly convincing, doubling with Jay Matheson’s bass and Reno Gooch’s guitar like strands of a rope to suspend us safely as we fly overhead, dangled as it were over the very flames of hell. ![]() “Bride of Satan” grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you irresistibly into its mad dance of doom. There’s no being a wallflower at this party, either. Now I’m auditing their new album, appropriately titled ‘Lunacy’ (2022), and noting what really captures me along the way. We introduced you to Space Coke in these pages before, when the South Carolina outfit dropped an unexpected gem in 2018’s L'appel du Vide. Sporting an ultra-heavy low-end, their fuzz-touched vibe is undeniable. Yet SPACE COKE keeps us grounded in all things downtuned and dank, so we don’t loose ourselves in a moment of psychonautic panic. From the very first track, you’re cast into outer space where ideas like up & down, north & south are anachronistic. ![]()
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