Wand are back, and they're coming down slowly. With Vertigo, what hath Wand spawned? It's multichromatic, that's for sure, but it's too soon to tell. The way cells are replaced and all new again? That's it. Now they are ten and all new again, but in the sample set of the time between they've undergone the complex dimensional restructure, coming out a quartet. So, new-ish, in new ways anyway. The new Wand's built upon the exalted altars of old. There's flashes of sentiment and tension, nudity and evasion, theatrical elevation, giant pieces chunked throughout alongside little bits of things. Allowing for slippage, it's all one: the far horizon drawn in, nearer than ever before, allowing the chance for greater integration, if you stay open. Vertigo is the sound of feet lost, regained, lost again, equilibrium in soft focus, a swaying feeling, more automatic and associative: in time, direct. Determining to work backwards this time, Wand recorded everything in their own studio; pieces cut from improvisations and reshaped, writing from within the performance, without the woodshed. Unconsciously, in the shadow of themselves, and turning round and round (and round), they kept finding that empty space and playing what it implied. Everybody took on a new position in addition to the old one. It was intuitive, strangely ego-less, going somewhere they'd never been and not knowing what they were doing, but committing and recommitting, unafraid to eject in a constant positive forward momentum. It's like folk music for children, with synthesizers and other crap. Raw details with a lush velvet backing. Hear the articular evidence granular within the jams as it flows. Wand are funneling energy, pitching space your way -- more like to stand your hair on its toes with every verse-chorus. Pulling on segments of infinity, boiled down and resequenced, they've devised their own dream gear to drive the old moterik into wide open space, in atmospheric reverb, on perma-globular drift.
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