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1996
By the mid-'90s, most bands had abandoned the sounds and sensibilities of late '60s psychedelia, which is what makes Kula Shaker's debut album K such a weird, bracing listen. The band doesn't simply revive the swirling guitar and organ riffs of psychedelia, they embrace the mysticism and Eastern spirtuality that informed the music. On both "Tattva" and "Govinda," lead singer Crispian Mills has adapted portions of Sanskrit text for the lyrics, chanting Indian mantras without a hint of embarrassment. Similarly, Kula Shaker is unashamed about their devotion to Hendrix, Traffic and the Beatles, cutting their traditionalist tendencies with an onslaught of volume, overdriven guitars and catchy melodies -- though they have a song called "Grateful When You're Dead," all of their psychedelic sensibilities derive from British rock, not the more experimental American counterpart. Kula Shaker may play well -- they have a powerful rush that makes you temporarily forget how classicist their music actually is -- but they still have trouble coming up with hooks. About half the record ("Hey Dude," "Tattva," "Govinda," "Grateful When You're Dead") have strong melodies hooks, while the rest just rides by on the band's instrumental skills. Consequently, much of K doesn't stick around once the record is finished, but the singles remain excellent blasts of colorful neo-psychedelia. Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All-Music Guide
Although not so far from Britpop in terms of drive and guitars, Kula Shaker are in another world as far as inspiration goes. That world is the paisley-shirted playground of 1967 when the line between pop and rock had yet to be drawn. Stealing from all over, they take only the best bits (psychedelic pop, Vox Continental organs, the pre-freak-out guitars of Cream or Hendrix) and then make something their own from it. Musically they really are good: they can go from delicacy to harder bluesy riffs and mix harmonies with funky rhythmic undertows to produce a gloriously full sound. They have discipline, a surefooted sense of pop melody, and they do it all with a sense of positivity. However, their Eastern borrowings are much less convincing, their half-baked mysticism seemingly more about taking drugs and having a fun adventure than any deep awakening (though lines like "It's a feeling like no other/Spending Easter with your mother" suggest some self-mockery, possibly as a safety net). Nonetheless, K is a hugely enjoyable first step. Ian Cranna pour Q
Oh ! Ils ont tout pour agacer. Presque trop beaux pour être vrais. Après le pillage en règle de l'héritage Beatles-Stones par Oasis, des Kinks-Small Faces par Blur, les Kula Shaker s'attaquent au rock psyché hindouïsant de la fin des années 60. Chronologiquement logique. Quand on sait que la rumeur court que le chanteur-dandy- boudhiste Crispian Mills, à l'origine de cette fixation orientale, pourrait être le fils caché de George Harrisson - George Harrison qu'il révère justement pour avoir apporté aux Beatles cette touche safranée - on s'apprête à crier à la machination marketée. On n'a peut-être pas tort mais on sera bien obligé de reconnaître la qualité et l'efficacité des compositions. Kula Shaker extirpe peut-être certaines de ces mélodies de cette époque révolue mais en resserre les boulons, donne un tranchant, une concision et une efficacité remarquables. On pense aux Jam, grand groupe du renouveau mod, fasciné par les Who et le rock sixties mais qui dégraissait le tout d'un souffle d'aridité punk. Une première formation du groupe avait pour nom the Kays et se définissait justement comme mod. C'est de retour d'un voyage en Inde que Crispin aurait été gagné par le mysticisme (omniprésent dans ses textes parfois obscurs). Kula Shaker est d'ailleurs le nom (déformé) d'un roi sanctifié du sud de l'Inde, considéré comme le protecteur des musiciens. Incontestablement un excellent groupe pop dont les quelques effluves hindoues se mêlent sans problème aucun à une base rock occidentale puissnte et solide. Ils risquent cependant de se prendre bien trop au sérieux. D'autant plus que la formule devrait marcher, non sans raisons d'ailleurs. In England they’re being touted as the next big thing, but stateside they’re more like the next big shrug. Think Happy Mondays on acid-lite. Kula Shaker's brit-pop brims with psychedelic trappings, but the only change in consciousness likely here is the occasional nap. The dance-oriented interludes groove along sweetly with an innocuous sitar-inflected hipsterism, but it's faux funk for sure. Excursions into more straight-ahead pop make the band sound like a cut-rate Beatles tribute outfit, and their protracted jams like "Hollow Man (Parts 1&2)" veer into aimless noodling. 'Nuff said, 'K? First, the ancient sound of London circa late '66 and '67: The Beatles' Revolver, pirate radio, the Small Faces' "Tin Soldier," Pink Floyd's "See Emily Play," the hum of a nation's youth wired on Hindu incantation and the agitated buzzing of Pete Townshend's guitar amplifiers. Post-Oasis U.K. sensations Kula Shaker press all the right vintage-Brit-pop buttons on their ripping debut album, a fearlessly derivative retrospectacle of sound and shtick. The band's singer and guitarist, Crispian Mills, even has the right pedigree: His mother is the British actress and '60s Disney ingTnue Hayley Mills. As a universal-consciousness raiser, K is mostly bad religion, fraught with transcendental goo (representative excerpt: "Well, the truth may come in strange disguises/Send the message to your mind"). Focus instead on the band's smartly turned-out melodies ("Tattva," "Grateful When You're Dead") and Mills' chipper, Paul McCartney-esque variation on Liam Gallagher's acidic drawl. Then make your way back to the Move's "Blackberry Way" and "The Who Sell Out" to hear how it really was. "Dead Cities" is the sound of deep shit at high tide, a vivid digital rendering of Your Town going to hell in a bucket. To dance this mess around takes some doing. The beats - more late-'80s Madchester shuffle than '90s hyper-jungle - are largely punctuative, not propulsive; the rhythm scheme in "Her Face Forms in Summertime" is languid almost to the point of catatonia. FSOL's Garry Cobain and Brian Dougans are dashing scavengers, however, fashioning their apocalyptic electronica from ravaged, rehabilitated scraps of Run-DMC, Ozric Tentacles, Welsh songbird Mary Hopkin and a little girl crying in London's Hyde Park. For a record that is ostensibly a requiem for urban civilization, "Dead Cities" is full of color, mood and an emotionally agitated, last-stand vitality that rarely grows in the suburbs. |
