Kicking off the night were Sisters of Your Sunshine Vapor. Sisters are among Detroit’s finest psychedelic bands. Taking cues from Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd (allusions to “Astronomy Domine” and “Interstellar Overdrive” abound) and the more morose Doors tunes, Sisters craft mostly dark, desperate and introspective sounds. They're masters of art of slow-burn songwriting. Sheets of reverberating guitar bounce around you flanked by skittering drums and thundering organ. When Doors-ian singer/guitarist Sean Morrow wasn’t softly moaning into his mic, eyes shielded by his Lizard King-like mane, he was twirling the knobs of his space-shuttle pedal board, garnering all sorts of gnarly, oscillating noises. Lately, they've picked of the pace and written some bouncier tunes. Still, when we feel your third eye itching, Sisters never fail to provide the scratch.
Cananda’s Suuns queued up with feedback and booming electro-beats. Songs would move from indie-rockers to stomping krautrock-like workouts (hell, half their songs felt like variations on krautrockers Faust’s, er, “Krautrock”). Vocalist/guitarist Ben Shemie curled around his microphone and bellowed agonizingly about all sorts abstract darkness. And even when the band broke down into pure noise, they still made it groovy and infectious.
It’s safe to say the Black Angels looked and sounded great. But, I couldn’t get a glismp of them. By the time of their set the Magic Stick have become nothing short of a nest of sweaty, eager pysch fans congesting the view for about 50 feet. Usually, we writers can slither our way into the front to get a piece of the action. But, Black Angels fans are pretty enthusiastic about their standing their ground, especially after being warmed with a few brews. Yet, that says a lot about the great and eager fans the Black Angels have. In the end, I can say that the Black Angels’ set killed and, really, that’s all that matters.