Call it attack of the drones. Skyscraping walls of shoegazing sound are being constantly re-erected, lulling listeners into blissful comas caked in druggy pop sediment. In this new class of Spacemen you have the Black Angels and the Warlocks, who attempt to revise the salvation found in Jesus and Mary Chain's orchestral feedback. Alternately, there's a loose collection of Can-fed misfits like the Psychic Ills, who don't structure songs so much as allow them to unravel, pulling at strings to see how long that post-hippie trance fest can hold together.
Din resonates with drum-circle percussion and white noise that tickles your third ear on the album's "untitled" track. The rhythm section throbs like a pulse on Quaaludes, artfully sluggish. Moments that surface closest to college-radio-friendly are the least intriguing; it's more compelling to witness the overgrown-garden approach of the Ills, whose bewitching Eastern melodies tangle with the clatter of metallic avalanches, and frontman Tres Warren breezes through the elements as if he's mumbling in his sleep. In an era when mainstream alt rock is riffing on '80s egoism and eyeliner, acts like the Psychic Ills reach toward dreamier sensibilities, their instrumentation fading into a warm blur.