Strung Out In Heaven: The Brian Jonestown Massacre’s Psychedelic Riot
Alright, let’s get this straight—Strung Out In Heaven isn’t just another album; it’s a chaotic love letter to everything that makes rock music messy, raw, and unforgettable. Released in 2006 by the ever-unpredictable Brian Jonestown Massacre, this record slams together Neo-Psychedelia, Garage Rock Revival, and Indie vibes like some sort of sonic car crash you can’t stop staring at. Produced by Anton Newcombe (who else?), this thing feels less like an album and more like a fever dream dipped in acid and wrapped in leather.
Let’s break it down quick. Tracks? Yeah, there are plenty, but two stand out like neon graffiti on a crumbling wall: “Going To Hell” and “Let’s Pretend It’s Summer.”
First up, “Going To Hell.” Holy hell, does this track rip. From the opening riff, it grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go. It’s got this swaggering garage-rock vibe mixed with enough psychedelia to make your brain feel like it's melting. The drums hit hard—shout-out to whoever’s pounding those skins—and the vocals? They’re sneering, dripping with attitude, like Newcombe knows exactly how badass this song is and he’s daring you to keep up. This one sticks because it’s relentless. No chill. Zero fucks given. Pure fire.
Then there’s “Let’s Pretend It’s Summer,” which flips the script entirely. Where “Going To Hell” is all grit and gasoline fumes, this track floats along like a hazy afternoon buzz. Flutes swirl around lazy guitar lines, and Miranda Richards’ vocals add this ethereal layer that makes you wanna lie in the grass and stare at clouds—or maybe just trip balls. But don’t get it twisted; beneath the dreamy surface, there’s still a sharp edge, a subtle reminder that summer ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. Something about the way it builds and fades keeps pulling me back. It’s hypnotic as fuck.
Now, here’s where things get real. Listening to Strung Out In Heaven, you can tell these guys weren’t trying to play nice or follow trends. They were making exactly what they wanted—a sprawling, imperfect masterpiece that feels alive in ways most modern albums don’t. Sure, it’s uneven at times. Some tracks drag while others blaze past too fast. But honestly? That unpredictability is what makes it work. It’s not polished—it’s human. And sometimes, humanity is ugly, strange, and beautiful all at once.
Final thought? If you’re looking for something safe, skip this. But if you want an album that punches you in the face then kisses your wounds better, crank this sucker up. Oh, and Mick Rock did the photography. Legend move right there.
Reflection time: You know what? Life’s kinda like this album—messy, loud, and full of moments that stick with you even when they shouldn’t. Fucked up, right? Now go listen.
