The wasted-sounding wastrels of Killflavour offer up the latest in a series of records that are aimed so far out that there’s a distinct possibility that they are heading for a fall off the edge of the known musical world.
The band shares a similarly distracted style that lies somewhere between, say, Hey Colossus and A Silver Mount Zion, and the quartet’s heavily psychedelic sound also draws inspiration from their kosmische forebears without particularly sounding like any of them. Sure, there’s some Guru Guru in there, maybe a spot of Amon Düül even, and there’s a certain affinity with fellow space(d) travellers such as Electric Moon and occasionally even Expo 70 while nodding steadily and thoughtfully in post-rock directions.
Any record that is covered up in a gatefold that opens to reveal the larger than life-sized eyes of a wolf is already doing something right, and Forest Mirror holds up a scrying glass to the interior world, its four tracks unfolding on steady grooves, curlicues of self-reflective feedback and the suggestion that reality as it is commonly understood is now far, far away. This is a sentiment expressed neatly in the title of “In, But Not Of This World”, Alexander Britz‘s words drifting flightily off on a raft of echo FX that leave eventually for parts located well away with woodland folk, while Marc Schoenwald keeps the drums tight and circuitous, anchoring the music to the ground as it seems that no-one else involved is going to. The guitars are as often languorous as they are wide open, usually merging into a whole that allows the quartet plenty of time and space to wriggle and writhe. They are intent on “Shifting Paradigms” indeed, and Britz reflects, “we found out there’s a ways to go”, so go Killflavour do. This they do at their own pace, in the sort of stoner-friendly fashion that meanders as much as it evolves, holding back on their passions, which once unleashed come wrapped in sampled call and response praises. There’s something of the Godspeeds therefore to “Word As Shape”, a moving wall of sound marching steadfastly towards the horizon with an eventually bright and clear-eyed (and ear’d) purpose.The ebb and flow of the music brings itself to a satisfyingly abrupt conclusion and a muttered farewell after twenty-three minutes, and it’s certain that there’s yet more to be searched out in Killflavour’s back catalogue — and in records yet to come.
-Linus Tossio-
