Like shagging in the back of a Ford Cortina, Hexed Endeavours is a dirty, sweaty 1970s mess. It’s iconic and seedy. But there’s a John Cale LP under your arse and you’re in the car park of a polytechnic.
Our Man In The Bronze Age are a band of riff monsters, but these dudes who read Baudelaire. They are a rock band who wear their smart-ness not dumb-ness. The desert rock sounds may be big and dry but the brains are doing as much work as the riffs.
Our Man In The Bronze Age will make you dance, make you bang your head against the wall, but with enough post-rock pseud mag hi-jinks, and knowing when to hold back and when to go full full throttle.
‘Midnight Lovers’ is a HUGE anthemic slaughter fuck-fest. ‘Rambling’ is where they play with your perceptions with what starts as a piano led ballad slathered with psych undertow turning into a castle crumbling assault over 8 proudly proggy minutes. ‘Bill Odyssey’ starts with a piano and bass soundtrack waltz, like a Western that features a creepy icky spider and one last showdown between the great old ones.
Hexed Endeavours is a long, intense album. Even the softer moments are angled and pokey. This is a trip; physically, mentally and emotionally.
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