PSY-KO

Nothing is truly over and done with, as the phoenix rising from the ashes of time can always rise once again and soar into the mainstream. Call it rebirth (or its better-known French label 'la Renaissance') perhaps even artistic freedom after 24 years of immaculate silence, this veteran group reignites its muse for a return to the progressive community in 2025. Around the original core trio of vocalist/violinist Jean-Philippe Brun, Gilles Coppin on keyboards,(both class of 1988) and drum stool director Philippe di Faustino (in 1989) , as well as adding Geraldine LeCoq on the vocals (1994), Psy-KO showcases their ongoing legacy of intricate symphonic-prog but adding impregnable jazz-rock elements that eschew a mature sensibility in proposing challenging colorations to their discography. Newcomers Romain Troly on bass and the exciting guitarist Cédric Monjour raise the complexity bar, last exposed on their previous album "Le Festin" (2001). A sprawling 72-minute extravaganza that comes across as a genre-bending foray into an even more psychotic introspection into the human condition, always a great subject to find artistic inspiration.

Maintaining their patented sombre approach to symphonic prog, it is therefore fitting that the violin takes the lead on the whirlwind "Transe", first emerging from a distant point of darkness, the bass shuffling immediately the arrangement into a driving, harsh guitar rant that is unafraid to rock, raunch and roll with the punches provided by the throttling rhythmic section. Géraldine sings in French, and she certainly knows how to stretch the pulmonary attributes she richly possesses. Monjour wastes little time in demonstrating his glittering technique, bending as well as torturing his six-strings with raging abandon. A jazzy pool of e-piano and high-pitched wailing settles the mellow mid-section into a reflective mode that is most inspiring. The lead guitar sets a sizzling solo into the mix, quickly elevating the mood into a torrid frenzy, which after all, is what psychosis is all about. A rambunctious opening track that has Géraldine doing her finest Robert Plant homage! Bonjour, we are back!

The haunting "Crise de Foi" offers a mechanical take on sonic weirdness, a trait that is a hallmark of this band, where burping synths amid bass gurgles, tick-tock polyrhythmic gymnastics and buzz-saw axe flickers rule the roost, a complexity driven arrangement that needs a ton of concentration to follow the breakneck pace, richly adorned with everything the kitchen has to offer, including tinkling bells and vocal whispers. Cranky and eerie, verging on hypnotic hysterics, the cavernous bass/drum guitar pounding permits the savage violin to take a bow (sorry, I had to) and soar mightily into a chaotic maelstrom of blister and bluster. Where are my pills!

After such a cavalcade of insanity, "Plume de Plomb" reverts to more spectral realms, the violin playing its part to perfection, as the hushed and exhausted voice seeks some kind of solace, as it hiccups along to the cat-gut ramble. Certainly not accessible or radio friendly to start, the bopping bass brings this scat wailing manifesto back to some sense of normalcy, with an actual melody taking hold amid the commotion. Incredible piece.

Epic time, as "Nostalgie" encompasses the core of this album with its 15 minutes of reverberating oddity, with voice and sonic influences that scour the shadows of past memories, before evolving into a full-force sonic hurricane, where merciless syncopations dictate the tempo and the cacophonic atmosphere. A heartbeat away from experimental soundscapes that boldly seek out adventurous boundaries, as surprises lurk at every corner, a universe where the harsh collides with the serene, the whispered voice taking the spotlight in the most theatrical manner possible, a particular trait of French progressive rock, might I add. There is no urgency, but a lot of despair in the tragic tone of the arrangement, especially when the colossal chorus kicks in, in full symphonic regalia, as it seeks out an inexorable apotheosis of feeling and emotion. Her obsessive laughter section is theatre of the highest order, perfectly underling the madness of a mind that has lost focus , where paranoia, hysteria and hallucination combine to force surrender. Impressive and demanding progressive rock that needs to be heard and enjoyed.

Transitioning into a livelier expanse though maintaining a sense of dread , "Frustration" is a thrilling mellotron- laden spread that bursts and explodes into sheer raucous disturbance, the voice hopscotching with agility one moment and swooning serenely the next, expressing the title with disturbing correctness, as if a less Teutonic sounding form of Magma. The whispering flutter is off the charts. The blow-out is a combined effort from the spiraling violin, swerving between the rough guitar edgings and the booming pulse. Surely the definition of monstrous creepiness, "Gnomes" is the second epic, latching onto a 10 minute+ frame and wasting little (oops) time in establishing a violin/bass duet that will soon let in the cruel guitar and spooky tubular bells announcing the arrival of hideous creatures. The vocalist climbs up and down the scales like gargoyles on parapets of ancient cathedrals, the synthesizer looping madly in apparent uncertainty, Romain Troly trolling (second oops) with an athletic bass furrow, cacophony and folly compounding to stretch the pain even further. The choral work is hectic and disturbed, again a la Magma, the violin returning to set things back to melodious and I daresay , ear friendly. Challenging musical interpretation that will test your ability to fall asleep.

Two 7 minutes tracks conclude this glorious return to form, "Cochon de Laid" first offering an overt Zappa-esque conflagration of sonic argy-bargy, a stretch of hypersonic and turbo-charged lunacy, proving surely a mastery of their respective instruments. She enters with soothing panacea, sweetly offering a reprieve, but its short lived, as the wild aural cluster bombs return with a vengeance, burly organ front and center. This would cause mass panic as an opening piece to a Taylor Swift concert, as the prissy fans search for their precious seats, phones in hand. Bates Motel music.

Surely an ode to Stravinsky, "Igor S." settles the score with not French but Russian language lyrics and interpretation, combing massive male choirs (reminiscent of the Red Army choir) and the usual fatalistic mood that permeates that richly appointed culture, where bombast and desolation live in apparent harmony, part of that genetic make-up that cannot be shaken or stirred. Monjour peels off a thunder and lightning guitar solo that screeches, cavorts, plunges and soars like a bird of prey. The elegant piano takes over the storm with a heartfelt etude, where voice, bass and drum beat signal the end of the therapy session.

A challenging , grippingly intense and convincing return to the stage for this celebrated band, may they continue to thrive and prosper. Not for the faint of heart or those who seek instant gratification.

4.5 goblin asylums

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