Espers: Self-Titled and II

They were halfway through the recording when the drugs began to take hold. That, at least, is the only explanation I can muster for the break from reason and sanity that takes place just before the four minute mark in “Hearts and Daggers”. What was previously an eerie funeral march of a song (“When daylight strikes them, their graves will shatter; flies will gather for hearts and daggers” – cue piano wire solo) suddenly stumbles, then falls headlong and with no warning into a dark and bottomless pit lined with mescaline, populated only by what seems to be a beat poet’s backing band controlled by a voodoo shaman, himself returned from the dead. You can picture the band in reality – the acoustic players bent over their instruments staring at the ground, marking time with their plodding strums; a flautist (or something) possessed by god knows what and humming desperately into her instrument; the electric guitar guy is playing with his eyes closed and one toe on the feedback gain (It’s turned to 10). The song only ends when they are bodily exhausted and find it physically impossible to play any longer; simultaneously they drop the ground and sleep for 48 hours before getting up to record the next track, unaware of what has happened until days later they review the tape…Well, maybe not, but that’s what it sounds like in my head. Espers’ self-titled debut is easily one of my favorite albums of all time. There is a quality to their music for which I struggle daily to find a word – but it always ends up being something like mystical or magical, and I don’t mean in the Disney sense. Whenever I listen to this album I feel like I’m sitting in on some black and forbidden, yet utterly entrancing and beautiful ceremony. I can’t nail down a specific aspect of the music that makes me feel this way – it’s the sound as a whole, and any attempt by me to break it down would be pointless. There is a fusion of melody, word, and rhythm on this album that is rare and breathtaking. The album maintains the mystical feeling throughout, but each song is unique – “Flowery Noontide” is a dew-touched beckoning call, frail and light but promising. “Voices” is thick with multiple layers and harmonies, shifting and complicated. “Riding” has precise and poetic songwriting alternated with acidic guitar breaks, both on top of the complicated, dueling acoustic fingerwork that pervades the album.While it won’t be playing on any radio stations near you, much of the music is instantly likeable. Your sorority sisters won’t be asking you to burn a CD of it during the hissing, twinkling finale of “Byss & Abyss,” but even the hardest of hearts will find it difficult to resist the flawless melodies and hypnotizing voices found nearly everywhere else on the album. This album has been in heavy rotation since I got it – I made a special trip to Amoeba and bought it new because I was so entranced by it. For the listener interested in the current rebirth of folk and psych but too intimidated by the freakish inner delvings of Charalambides and their ilk, this is a fantastic place to start. Or finish. Or just be there."Review and samples: Self-Titled Release":http://robosexual.typepad.com/glob/2006/03/espers_st.html"Review and samples: New Album, II":http://robosexual.typepad.com/glob/2006/04/espers_ii.html