Exploring a mutual love of psychedelic jazz and latin funk, the London band share new single.
NEW MUSIC | BABY VANGA | WORDS BY AL MILLS
A trip is not a trip if your laces are double knotted and your mind solely focused on the voyage ahead.
There’s a definite art to channelling our fear of purpose. Wasting days out of night-time suspicions whilst lusting over optimistic progress, since the daze-dawned awakening of time we’ve been obsessed with finding the intention behind our behaviour; the curio in ‘Evolution 1964’ and the illusions of ‘Bananamour’ – so much so that in a subconscious revolt of the 70’s kind, psych-superstar Seymour Chwast illustrated ‘A series of irrational fears’ to counterculturally counteract, the systematic avoidance of “unusual printing processes”.
When a wizard riding a bicycle through a valley of mushroom’s is taken out of context, Psalliotophobia is justifiably organic but to sit inside the mind of a fungi, is to mindfully meditate mindlessness, with total, lackless control and that must be put to embossed use.
Sometimes you’ve just gotta kick back and freewheel the ride and in moods of obscurity: when double trouble means both a coupled rhythm section and, two-thirds of a triplet… your pals are turning into keyboard-stools out of fucking nowhere and hallucinations of neo-jungle exploration are self-explanatory, when six dudes and a map are involved… we may call upon South London’s Baby Vanga, to turn idealistic illusions of ‘far-out’ into a green screens paradise, and half their members into birds.
‘Electric Air’ (the first release on Strong Island Recordings) is far from simply revivalism of a kaleidoscopic era gone by, but is totally of its own enlightened intoxicant, actively seeking to disillusion all mundane-mirages of psychedelic drought. For Baby Vanga are spiritually haze-quenching; like cracking open the marble-belly inside of a Solero ice cream, only to discover that you’re actually staring at an orange tree-frog dead in the eye whilst tempting tempt, with baited-bongo.
There is no question that ‘Electric Air’ rings with intuitive intent – like purposefully buttoning up your shirt incorrectly so as to simultaneously count the gaps between structural alternatives, and, align gathered mismatch, with the light. Instantly charming and divinely breezy, when all it takes is three-minutes’ worth of inspired influence to eternally refresh all senses up to the sixth, you know you’re on to a real doozy.
Find a flute head pick it up, all day long you’ll be searching for the other ends whilst also running away from the men in suits because ultimately…. life is a game of interwoven chase and ‘Electric Air’, is currently where it’s at.
hardofhearingmagazine.com 