Why in the name of Jimmy Fuck Tits is this band not signed and ruling the world? They self-describe as “shoegaze-tinged desert psych,” but that does nothing to shout from the rooftops about how awesome they make shoegaze-tinged desert psych sound (read: Mogwai-meets-the-Young-Gods-meets-Hawkwind). If Relapse can ink True Widow, well, the next step is obvious.


There’s a thumping, clattering physicality to their songs that separates them from more Hawkwind-indebted space-rock acts like Eternal Tapestry….The six-minute track (Rhythm of the Hills) is a bewitching slab of snapping bass, epic drums, death-cult-choir vocals and desert-rock guitar lines that untangle themselves as the song progresses. It’s head music shot through with enough rhythm to keep you from drifting off into the dark recesses of your subconscious.


Shake your heads in awe, mortal humans, because this band came straight out of Scary Heaven.


The Only Light On is a sumptuously multilayered affair for the senses; seven tracks of whisper-to-roar delicacy and power that, taken together, make for a spectral stretch of music that sounds far greater than the sum of its individual parts.


The songs are layered, noisy but quiet, undulating, ethereal. Most importantly, though, they rock! They really take you for a ride.


This is music to watch Baraka or Koyaanisqatsi to. There are seriously groovy sections (see if the opening of “The Lodge” doesn’t get you bobbing), washes of guitar, and expertly-chosen flourishes like chimes, barely-there vocals, percussion, cymbal sweeps, and a few effects I can’t even exactly name, but suspect come from a guitar. This EP fearlessly goes where few have gone before – it’s a long march, but it’s something like traveling with a hooded and mysterious companion, one that holds your interest and keeps you guessing the whole way.


They are like Sonic Youth at times, but if you listen hard, and I do, you hear lots of other stuff going on, from Leslie West type runs a la ‘Theme From An Imaginary Western’ to psyche, noise, surf, and fado.


Instead of bashing through, chord to chord, Ghost Box Orchestra move through musical ideas together like a reptilian rock monster slithering around and rising and pouncing. I didn’t really miss the vocals; whenever I started wondering when they were about to sing, the song changed.