Breathless
This is the long overdue CD reissue of one of the most mythical,
sought-after

albums from the British progressive folk scene of the
early 1970s. Right up there with classics like Comus'
First Utterance and Simon Finn's
Pass the Distance, Jan Dukes De Grey's 1971 LP
Mice and Rats in the Loft
is a brilliant work of psychedelic folk with a seething undercurrent of
malevolence. Apparently having learned a lesson from the artistic and
commercial failure of their first LP, 1970's
Sorcerers on the
Nova label, the duo of Derek Noy and Michael Bairstow enlisted drummer
Denis Conlan, and quickly disposed of all notions of pop songcraft to
which they might have initially aspired. Instead, they recorded the
distinctly uncommercial 19-minute sidelong "Sun Symphonica," a
breathtaking, dynamic work of epic genius, fusing together at least
five separate musical movements into an unfolding narrative that begins
with a hippie paean to the sun and proceeds through progressively
darker and more twisted realms. The instrumental bridges are
brilliantly conceived, referencing the medieval idiom popular in
British folk of this period, but impregnating it with an energy that
smolders with intensity and immediacy. Effortlessly wielding 12-string
guitar, violin, cello, flute, clarinet, recorder, harmonica and a
dizzying assortment of percussion, the trio plays with all the poise of
an experienced jazz ensemble, but produces something altogether heavier
and more psychedelic, as if Amon Düül II had restricted themselves to
acoustic instruments and decided to compose a soundtrack to
The Wicker Man.
As the "Sun Symphonica" trudges on through its many moods and phases,
it gradually becomes clear that a distinctly pagan formula is at work,
and the solar imagery is quickly eclipsed by its more primordial
counterpart: the devil in the form of dead, bloated corpses covered
with maggots rotting under the intense noonday sun. By the 15-minute
mark, the track is a swirling maelstrom of simmering instrumental
fragments flying around the stereo channels in a lunatic dance, as the
"sunshine" mantra returns once more, where in a savage irony it has
been transformed into a terrifying hex. Unfortunately, the album never
again reaches the maniacal heights of Side A, but where it does go is
nearly as fascinating. "Call of the Wild" utilizes the voices of all
three band members to create dizzying vocal harmonies in a song which
celebrates the savage nature of man, and advocates the expression of
inner, suppressed primalisms. By the halfway mark, the song experiences
a radical break with structure and turns into a seething echo chamber
of wicked guitar improvisation. The final track is also by far the
strangest, the eight-minute title track, which creates a hypnotic
whirlpool of electric fuzz guitar over which Derek Noy narrates in
great detail a ritual human sacrifice with a zeal that would set H.P.
Lovecraft's hair on end.
Mice and Rats in the Loft is uneasy
listening at its finest, and Breathless' first-ever CD reissue does an
admirable job of reproducing the cover art in their foldout digipack.
The booklet contains new liner notes by David Tibet, which should come
as no surprise, as the influence of this album can certainly be felt in
Current 93 efforts such as
Thunder Perfect Mind and
Tamlin.
Anyone interested would be advised to pick up a copy of this limited
reissue before this masterpiece fades back into obscurity once again.