The Myrrors have a very suitable name. Imagine a vast circus hall of broken mirrors; gazing upon them will reveal a world of fragments and a fleeting glimpse of an infinite realm. This band revels in a breaking the body’s natural union with the passing of time.
Back in 2013 the Arizona band dropped Solar Collector. Let’s take a backwards glance:
In a sense they remind me of The Black Angels back on their debut Passover. Both start with the imagery of gunships cruising over Vietnam and the smell of diesel and burning trees. Machine guns blast on the edge of your perception. Whereas Alex Maas & his hipster brethren land and engage combat with a Doors sense of melody, The Myrrors continue the flight. A hazy, sun-baked horror ride. This is potent, heady material.
This harsh machinery of war still has a human face though and the Myrrors ripple with a fleshy, organic disorientation. Make no mistake, this is trippy. This combination of factors is what differentiates the band from the competition: too slow for space rock, too hippy for motorik. On this album the groove underpins the action and frequently sounds jazzy. The focus is on guitars: explorative, super-heated and noxious. If anything, this is prog mashed up with peyote.
Songs are not important here, the whole album is cast as a journey; just hit play and see where The Myrrors will go. Start and end become meaningless. Time and place become fluid. Your mind looses step with the world around you. The Myrrors: gazing in and gazing out.