You know those Native American sweat lodges, where you go to purify mind, body, and spirit? I've never been to one, but I'm pretty sure it's not very far from the experience of seeing Psychic Ills at Le Point Éphémère. Sitting just outside the Canal de Saint Martin, Le Point FMR is an awesome venue, with great acoustics, but the actual concert room borders on being a sauna -- which may not be completely bad if you're prepared to forget the sweat permanently camped on your chest in favour of total and complete surrender to what's happening on the stage and around you.

This element adds to what one would already expect from a Psychic Ills' concert: the constant yet smooth trance that arrives as an uncanny surprise, like the firm, unexpected grip of a stranger's hand carrying you throughout your trip as if it were the very first time. "I can take everything else in my life and put it all down," Tres Warren obsessively repeats as opener 'Baby' comes through, tearing you apart in a matter of seconds. No fuss, no frills; just this simple yet amazing song pushing you gently to the ground.

During their flawless performance the band navigated between tracks from their most recent album Inner Journey Out like 'Coca Cola Blues' and 'I Don't Mind' (where Hope Sandoval's voice was deeply missed despite the nevertheless great performance), and songs from previous LPs like 'Mind Daze', which was undeniably one of the show's highlights. And despite Tres Warren never once addressing the crowd and only mumbling a "thank you" before the final song, everything was delivered with the savoir faire of someone who has been doing this for a very long time. The dedication they have to their craft makes Psychic Ills seem to enter a dimension of their own when they play, a parallel universe that only exists as a mirage, although it tricks you into thinking you'll be allowed in some day. And as the keyboardist hung on his bench, barefoot and sometimes almost unsteadily leaning towards the keys as if he was trying to physically enter the music he was playing, I could see sweat dripping from Warren's face and hair, falling on the pedal board and conferring a palpable dimension to this weird and ritualistic experience.

Psychic Ills live and breathe the feeling of just letting go that perfectly flows through their music, allowing you to purge yourself from what is no longer necessary, what no longer serves you. Yet they do it in a non-violent way, slowly detaching you from the disposable without suddenly ripping it away. Time stands still and, in a brief déjà vu, you blindly swear you're returning home.