I love that Crescent’s debut release looks as much to the past as to the future. And by that I mean that, while, of course, they are keen to see what the future holds for them, their music is infused by long, jam-like, psychedelic sounds and bluesy grooves, flights of sonic fancy and escapest musical adventure, the sort of thing that the late sixties birthed before monolithic rock music and the three-minute pop song became the dominant form.
Now, I love the short, sharp, and shockingly effective attack of the pop single, but equally, there is something extraordinary, not to mention rewarding, about songs that require you to put in the effort, stay the course, and take the time to experience (rather than listen to) the music. Something almost anathema to modern, youthful tastes.
“Milogather” is precisely what I’m talking about, a song that, in this diptych form, runs at over 12 minutes and which evolves and expands before your very ears.
Part 1 takes the form of a bluesy flow, with the guitar riffing and wandering at will over a solid groove, and at times nearly oblivious to, or at least merely adjacent to, the song’s structure. Part 2 is more spacious and arabesque, entering the sort of realms that say, Jefferson Airplane would find very familiar, running from trippy intrigue to lysergic claustraphobia.
This is a pair of songs about different experiences of relationships: the first reflecting the awkward, honest, and self-aware feelings at the start of such emotional journeys; the second is a rant about the frustrations of being the only one who seems to be putting in any effort. Emotions and experiences that you can hear reflected in this brace of songs.
For a band who have made it their mission statement to make music that lasts rather than merely lands (although they seem have done both here), this is a brilliant and reassuringly deft first step.
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