Few bands are as devoted to their genre as . The iconic psych group is brave enough to take on 20-plus minute jams of mind melting, musical space, as they did at the on Saturday. The night’s psych/space rock bill with Denver’s and Austin’s made up a stellar (or, perhaps, interstellar) and far reaching few hours of sonic exploration.
Formed in Austin in 1987, ST 37 took the stage looking more like a grizzled Texas country band, rather than one of that city’s premier psych/space rock bands. No matter, ST 37 performed like musicians a third their age, creating stunning soundscapes. ST 37’s four men (two guitars, bass and electronics) and their female drummer thrashed, shredded, fuzzed, squonked and stomped effortlessly throughout their set.
Drawing a curious crowd of old and young Psych fans, this manifestation of AMT, known as Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O (Ultimate Freak Out), came on and immediately set a furious pace. For nearly 20 solid minutes, AMT founder and guitarist, Makoto Kawabata, led a whirlwind of multi-textured sound — snarling and enticing. The band’s full throttle assault was purposeful — never mindless frenzy, for frenzy’s sake.
Kawabata, aided by Tabata Mitsuru (second guitarist), Atsushi Tsuyama (bassist), Satoshima Nani (drums) and whirling dervish synth player Hiroshi Higashi, showed you heaven and hell, as well as inner and outer space.
The devastating finale began with Kawabata’s beautiful, hypnotic, ascending/descending guitar riff floating above the band’s smoldering, dense, murky drone. It was absolutely spellbinding. Without warning, Kawabata unleashed a torrent of brutal guitar squalls that signaled the evening’s last extended psych freakout. The rest of AMT joined in at a breakneck speed that astonishingly kept increasing in momentum and potency.
Every time you thought the band was approaching some sort of cataclysmic resolution, drummer Nani would reach back and somehow find another top gear. The pace grew astonishingly faster, the sound more intense and transcendental. Five minutes or so (who really knew at this point?) later, you drifted back; vaguely aware the cacophony had taken you … somewhere. Then, the realization it STILL hadn’t crested. AMT wasn’t done with your head yet.
Once more, Nani’s drumming roared harder, propelling the band, and anyone in their path, to absolute mania. When it finally climaxed and came back to earth, the inevitable resolution left you numb, limp, but absolutely sated.
