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Anton Newcombe took his time to record Revelation, but with The Brian Jonestown Massacre becoming such an institution in the indie-psych scene over the last two decades, he's clearly not (and maybe never was) worried about its reception.

The album's excellent opener 'Vad Hands Med Deem' features Swedish musician Joachim Alhund's vocals competing with the song's insistent riff, and as it shifts to the previously-unveiled 'What You Isn't', you'll be wondering exactly where you'll place Revelation when you make your Best of 2014 album list. 'Memory Camp' is a tune that appears as a haunting lullaby with an extremely long fade-out that stresses its ability to stay in your mind for longer than the track's length - it actually seems to overpass the limits of consciousness and hide in a dark place somewhere in your subconscious, waiting to surface during your next flashback. Then comes that "woo!" in 'Days, Weeks and Moths', giving the whole experience a much bluesier tone, sending us back to 1972. It's exactly that pre-apocalyptical feeling that emanates from the guitar as the solo - which sounds a bit too short for such a dramatic event - embraces the ones left standing after the imminent ending is announced.

Instrumental 'Duck and Cover' works as the album's own intermission, just before 'Food and Clouds'' New-Romantics vibe arrives to slowly tear our hearts to pieces (Robert Smith, is that you?). The simple yet poignant guitar riff in the back alone is one of the most perfect song structures I've heard in a long time. Ah, but then 'Second Sighting' surfaces with its bucolic baroqueness, the not-so-timid flute imposing itself as the pièce-de-résistance while the melody evolves in sampled layers. And as the industrial-sounding 'Memorymix' suddenly attacks us in a necessary act of violence, preventing us from becoming too hypnotised, you realise that the album's apparent schizophrenia is weirdly what makes it so coherent. The brass section of 'Fist Full of Bees' elevates itself from a trip-hop beat as Newcombe's voice lingers as a subtle lament, barely touching any word or note as if the song were repelling it. A much more accessible 'Nightbird' follows, allowing your mind to momentarily rest as the blissful acoustic guitar touches your skin like the late afternoon sun.

Revelation is such a cohesive and cleverly crafted album that many of the tracks could have actually been recorded back-to-back. Vaguely stoner-oriented, they illustrate a very non-linear path that is traced between psych's golden era, yet they manage to exist outside the limits of space and time. Much like this path's brightest gems, Revelation is unique, yet strangely familiar.

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