I WASH MY SOUL IN THE STREAM OF INFINITY

The sophomore album from "My Brother the Wind" handsomely fulfills the promise of their excellent debut ("Twilight in the Crystal Castle", 2010), adding another pristine feather to a still freshly blocked cap. The young Cosmic Rock quartet achieves here a level of confidence only suggested on their earlier effort, clearly audible in the feedback-heavy one-chord frenzy of the new album's opening salvo, "Fire! Fire!!" (I would have added a few more exclamation marks, myself).

Check out the band's own video for proof, linked right here on their Progarchives page. It's not your typical YouTube promotional whitewash, but a dynamic visual document of the actual album track being created in real time, live in the studio without any overdubs. Other groups have tried to master the art of intuitive music-making. But these guys are fast becoming masters of spontaneous combustion.

And that pretty much sums up the band's work ethic: capture all the energy on the first take, and give it all you've got. The new album took nearly twice as long to produce as their almost instantaneous debut (meaning: four hours instead of two). And the extra effort adds more variety to the music, enriching the band's entirely improvised, twin-guitar psychedelia with a healthy smattering of Mellotron and organ highlights.

Fans of Scandinavian Prog may recognize guitarist Nicklas Barker, moonlighting from the heavy rockers of ANEKDOTEN. Being released from the pinpoint discipline of his parent band must have been a liberating experience, and for listeners too. At first exposure I'm reminded of fellow Scands HIDRIA SPACEFOLK, but without the obvious OZRIC TENTACLES influence, and far more attractively unstructured in an almost Germanic sort of way (circa 1971).

Thus the classic Krautrock head trip of "Pagan Moonbeam", with its sitar-like guitars and echoing toms. Or the ominous lysergic flashback of "The Mediator Between Head and Hands Must Be the Heart", the unwieldy moniker itself a direct link to German culture, quoting the final intertitle from the dystopian 1927 Fritz Lang silent film "Metropolis".

The longer tracks ("Torbjörn Abelli", "Under Crimson Skies") ebb and flow with a sense of real purpose, unlike the often indiscriminate noodling of other jam bands. Note the unexpected jump-start to "Under Crimson Skies", sounding as if the producer was caught napping, and how it gradually settles into a quieter but no less urgent groove before making a seamless transition to the stately daydream of the title track at the end of the album.

On the advice of a trusted Progarchives source I came to this band totally blind, without even knowing their name, let alone any of their music. And like the beneficiary of some biblical Krautrock miracle cure my eyes (all three of them) have been opened, once again, to the wide range of quality new music still waiting to be discovered in the four corners of the world.