Massive and totally drugged psych/prog brilliance from the early 70's Icelandic underground (yes, they had one too) with an almost absurdly wide remit and a capacity to spin on a dime and confound expectations. This blasts out of the gate on a thundering roar of acid wah-d psychotropic thuggery ala Yeti-era Amon Duul 2 before the clouds part and the voice of a hippy god resonantly intones pearls of cosmic inanity over a bed of meditational flutes and loudly throbbing hearts to significantly brain frying (and Don Robertson-like) effect. If this doesn't grip you by the short hairs, you're dead from the neck up or hate hippies, 'cause this shit is kissing the great cosmic beyond with some real throbbing intensity. Theirs is an often elaborately orchestrated sound redolent of everything from the symphonically bathed UK proto prog of Spring and Czar and the starry-eyed and Crosby, Stills and Nash-indebted early era of Yes to segments of maximal dancing fluti-ness and sharply chiming keys that exhibit an almost Italian library music-like angle ala something like Braens Machine while other passages of dead sharp pop prog tactics summon comparisons with Vangelis' old prog band Aphrodite's Child's and their seminal double album 666.

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