Somewhere in the distance, as if at the end of a long tunnel, monks are chanting. A bell rings, but it’s barely audible. It might not even be there at all. And then a disembodied, echoing voice intones an introduction: ‘So, shall we practise a little meditation together?’ To which the only answer is: “Oh, go on, then.”
Music starts, but it’s not like regular, Earthly music. It instead sounds like Venus In Furs-era Velvet Underground playing an early Black Sabbath riff, but in the desert. At night. There’s some wah-wah, and some more wah-wah, and some flute, and everything teeters on the cusp of collapse. There’s a guitar solo that seems to go on for days, and, somewhere, lifting the song high into the WTF-o-sphere, a lone voice howls and soars.
