Lose your sight with the Psyched

cover-psychedIs “vision-obscuring” a proper compliment for an album? Let’s say so. Basically, I found myself regularly having to brush my hair out of my face, as it was going everywhere while I was listening to this. The Psyched‘s self-titled LP (a joint production of Slovenly Records and Black Gladiator) is the very definition of a stomping record.

The way the Psyched build to anthemic, pounding choruses means that you’re going to find yourself doing that thing so eloquently described by Mr. Homer J. Simpson:

“Now, when I listen to a really good song, I start nodding my head, like I’m saying ‘yes’ to every beat: ‘Yes, yes, yes, this rocks.’ And then sometimes I switch it up like, ‘no, no, no, don’t stop a-rockin’.”

While we tend to get a bit declarative regarding certain albums here at Rock Star Journalist (especially after we’ve been drinking, which is often), it seems rather obvious to us that this ought to be the official “pumping your fist while driving” album of the summer. Additionally, lots of air-drumming accompanies any listen to the Psyched, and you’ll find that your vehicle’s steering wheel and ceiling will both be receiving a rather grandiose amount of rhythm.

Big ups for the fuzz-and-distortion infused cover of Sam Cooke’s “Bring It On Home to Me” for the closer. It drops things down from the crazed pounding to a sweetly soulful conclusion to the record. Granted, it’s still an unflinching bit of garageness, but compared to what preceded it, it’s absolutely sedate.