While one can accuse this kind of psych-garage of having become if not outdated at least too masticated over the never-ending revivals it was a target of over the past few years —a phenomena largely deriving from an unhealthy obsession the 21st century seems to have with all things Christmas past, paradoxically projecting the future backwards in an eternal nostalgia fulled by selective memory —, Gloria break out of the tiring revival mould by openly admitting their musical and visual references (one mustn’t forget the amount of videos the band has released relying on nothing but random archive footage from the 1960s) yet constructing something completely fresh and new on top of them. Respect, mastery, honesty, passion — these are the discreet yet easily distinguishable magical ingredients that make for Oîdophon Echorama’s unique aftertaste.

Just like their magnificent debut full-lengthIn Excelsis Stereo, Oîdiphon Echorama is not too stylistically homogenous nor it relies on a couple of singles alone instead of the album as a whole; while ‘Heavy’ and ‘The Rain Is Out’ are obviously the most earwormishly addictive tunes, there are no fillers here — even mysterious-sounding closer ‘Bad Cat’ is a single in its own right, its darker feline-themed vibes slightly reminiscing of ‘Lucifer Sam’. ‘Heavy’ is a musical aurora borealis, emerging as triumphal and clear as angels’ voices on Judgment Day, and while ‘The White Lily’ and “Mama Killer’ are both addictive danceable freakouts, ‘Gloria’s Recipe’ brings forward an exquisite combination of country ballad and French chanson that provides an extra layer of uncanniness to the album.

Oîdophon Echorama is imprinted with a series of mystical elements that seem to stubbornly place it sometime during the euphoric early years of psychedelia while it magically manages to escape compartmentalisation altogether at the same time. Its religious aura very much deriving from the superb ecstasy-inducing chorals and minor chord changes, Oîdophon Echorama sounds like Ace of Cups and Electric Prunes joining forces in a self-conscious, auto-referential post-electronica world, with a twist of Old Continent-ness lurking in from every corner as solid and dignified as a 600-year old cathedral.