Sunday

...taped at a los angeles radio station gig in late summer 82 this is th'first'n greatest incarnation o' th'dream syndicate, th'only combo in th'over-hyped paisley underground that understood th' true meanin' o' psychedelic, they didn't blindly copy or play jangle power pop, they injected mind meltin' doom drones into a velvets chuggin' riff'n overlayed some frayed buffalo springfield duellin' licks to create a true meetin' o' NYC beatnik'n LA acid rock, a meetin' o' socio-geographic minds'n attitude through two decades o'rockroll distortion...th'first half o' th'show sees th'syndicate layin' down frenzied crazed bursts o' cerebral'n moody guitar screechin' drug rock, poet inclines o'life unravellin', tumblin' into empty room despair...th'last half sees th'jams gettin' longer'n th'intensity stretched, th'internal wirin' o' th'collective syndicate is set on fire with desire burnin' bright as a dead planet far deep in space...they roll'nrock like th'mythical mystery train speedin' into th'heart o' darkness spewin' rocknroll electricty 'n bringin' th'new dawn o' acid rock...more than a few layabouts will get on out to flip city when they dig th'belchin' narcotic stringbendin' thats gettin' let loose over wiggy velvets thud...frontman steve wynn does have some self conscious patter'n hokey style humor thats nicely old fashion in th'21century, though his invocatin' wailin's cant be faulted...

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