Doleful Lions 'Let's break Bobby Beausoleil out of prison'

Last sighted in these pages when we gushed to the sound of the quietly sneaked out 'Halloween is coming' EP this time last year, both of whose two featured cuts - 'deadbeat at dawn' and 'Julie's Video' are contained here within. Doleful Lions are one the great lost bands of modern times, its not an under achiever thing rather more that they've been constantly overlooked in favour of ensembles, fads and fashions less musically astute and considerably less talented, always occupying their own little orbit shying away from the various bandwagons that have come passing them by - most notably the Elephant 6 Collective - their back catalogue is a formidable thing of envy that plucks, weaves and fuses creatively from a wealth of musical genres like an invisible marker pen joining the dots between psych and buzz sawed bubble grooved pop and all in between with both 'out like a lamb' and 'song cyclops Volume 1' being in my own humbled opinion two of the finest sets to have graced our turntable in the last ten years. These days just head honcho Jonathon Scott on his tod (his brother Robert left the band following the blow out with former label of 15 years Parasol) the 8th full length from Doleful Lions entitled 'let's break Bobby Beausoleil out of prison' (named after the murderer Beausoleil who wrongly associated with the Manson family is still to this day serving a sentence without any sign of parole for an offence committed in '69) finds them in fine fettle turning in perhaps their best album to date. Despite Scott's assertion in interviews that this a dark set (discounting both 'funeral skies for burst patriot' and 'ra- koor-khuit as Hercules') listening to 'let's break Bobby Beausoleil out of prison' seems strangely apt at the moment given we are - despite the threat of an Autumnal chill looming on the horizon - basking in the tail smoke of an Indian summer, the set perfectly lends itself to the serene sedate sound tracking of lounging around in the warming solar rays idly watching the clouds pass on by. The set opens to the title track all sun fried carousels and lounging promenade lilts - a purring propulsive kraut grooved motorik motif appears over the distant horizon and sun bursts and blisters to the sea faring euphoric swell of vapour trailing sheens of pseudo shoe gaze shimmers that radiate seductively across a blurring sky line like a lovelorn Tex La Homa. Mentioned in previous despatches the mellowing radiance that tapers from the lazy eyed lilt of 'deadbeat at dawn' playfully tweaks to a coda drawn from Manfred Mann's 'pretty flamingo' albeit as though reconfigured through the kaleidoscopic viewfinder of the Apples in Stereo while the crushed and despairingly introspective 'ra hoor khuit as Hercules' cuts so deeply with such sorrowful self punishing regret that it leaves lasting scar marks. Similarly head bowed and cradled with aching abandon is the ghost like bruised and ethereally shimmer toned fuzz buzz pop voyage of the tearfully scarred 'funeral skies for burst patriot' which is guaranteed not for the feint of heart. The sets centre stone though is the simply divine 'Julie's video' a kind of bitter sweet retro traced glam trimmed kiss between Rundgren and the Hoople with a supporting cast of Mayflies, db's, cheap tricks and raspberries types all succulently primed, turned and shoehorned in to a heart stopping five minute feast of pop perfection that's all dimpled deliriously in a hazily glazed fringe flicking dream toned wash of west coast afterglows. Throw in a side serving of electro buzz sawing bubble grooved

beauty in the guise of 'the savage land game room' which should our earlobes deceive could easily be a sparring Meek / Moroder production of the Sparks moonlighting in 'electric dreams' while there's the (deep intake of breath for this one) sighing star crossed hand holding fondness of the silver sided celestial twinkle bell caress of the love struck sepia dimpled 50's serenade 'underground werewolf scribe agape' replete with monochrome music hall apparitions. essential.

Mark Barton
Losing Today Magazine