Seeing a song title like "Psychic Pharmacy" you can hazard a guess at what type of music you're likely to hear. Odds are "hypnotic" will be a chief descriptor. Words and phrases like "spacey" or "sonic-manipulation" may come to mind. When I read the title, I expect wave upon wave of tie-dyed water to crest over me.
With all of those expectations, Dinowalrus' dense "Psychic Pharmacy" is still a marvelous surprise. While there is sonically manipulated guitar coiling through the song, it feels incredibly wounded. It's not a warm, sunny presence but a pained one. The type of downcast person at a party that you'd like to see leave as soon as possible. The same can be said of the clanking percussion. Every dry rattle is unquestionably alluring; though the closer your ears get the more you begin to realize they're bones clattering in unison. Dinowalrus' half-sung/half-shouted chorus is rallying while masking the panic of "nowhere knows, where it goes." Figuring out where to go in life is difficult enough when you have a clear path; it's infinitely harder when the road is obscured by bleating synthesizers and wailing saxophone. In the hands of Clarence Clemons the sax that dances off into the night would be triumphal instead of defeatist. Like every contributor to "Psychic Pharmacy" it doesn't quite burn out or fade away, it simply ceases to be.
You can listen to "Psychic Pharmacy" here and look for their album Complexion to drop June 4 via Personal Projects.
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