"After a year's touring France in underground rock clubs (the straight line from l’Intermédiaire in Marseille to l’International in Paris), Ravenhill release their début album recorded at home in the elctric haystacks of Beaujolais far from the filth of big cities but close to the madness and dizzy heights of open spaces. You bet. You have to see it to believe it. This god damn farm lost in the hills of Beaujolais, is Arizona to us. Makes you feel like frenetically searching for the ashes of Gram Parsons or Nino Ferrer. After a couple of days recording and wrapping a couple of infernal jamming sessions, the guys lose everything. Computer crash. Modern times psychosis. Imagine Syd Barrett in front of three computer screens. The equivalent of a studio fire in the 60s.
In two days Ravenhill re-record everything with a certain rage. Watch out for the lack of concentration. The session id forced, teeth cringe but many takes later the 8 tracks start to take shape.
Roll me an other one !!...
A psychedelic album as we love them, no doubt about that. 8 traks and long atmospheric sequences to get time to roll by the dozen...
But no sitar or babooshka nostalgia. Pink Floyd’72 above all. Classic and full of majesty. The band has a sixties nerve but sails towards 90’s countries. The Bends by Radiohead for its most beautiful burns or the electric violence of The Verve. Amazing that I manage to quote Radiohead in a positive manner. Grave melodies, a deep voice à la The Dears, a filthy organ and destroy guitars, Ravenhill holds the flame up high of a style too quickly forsaken because ruined and only reserved for master musicians.
Growing too fast opens the record ; a melancholy masterpiece. Rainbow symbolises the cringing take-offs towards a hippyesque world, probably due to some Beaujolais wine abuse.
A beautiful, magical and hallucinating album." GONZAÏ MAGAZINE
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