Jug Bundish - Quimeroide album review

Costa Rican psychedelicists’ intriguing debut

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There’s something oddly liberating about listening to songs that are sung in a foreign language. You are free to drink in the sentiments as well as the sounds on a purely impressionistic level. And before they even utter a word in any tongue, these hispanic mavericks Jug Bundish have already got our attention.

The frazzled blues riffing and freewheeling organ spirals that characterise opening track Mr Brown immediately prick up your ears. The spaced-out keyboards of Sitio Lunar follow, and you don’t need to be a polyglot to realise that they’re soundtracking a moon exploration, and when the blessed out harmonies sing a mantra over the top the whole affair is an almost religious-sounding early Floydian trip. The sense of not knowing what’s coming next is present throughout, and before long we’re baffled and beguiled by the poppy bounce of Cremosidad, goofing around on a bed of squelchy synth. Likewise, you may be charmed or repelled by Fondue’s kitschy keyboard confection, and by the time the celestial harmonies on Will O The Wisp are overtaken by doomy schlock rock, then punk psych fury during a seven-minute rollercoaster of randomness, ours not to question why – just enjoy.