Amen Dunes

Amen Dunes, the solo project of New York-based vocalist and guitarist Damon McMahon, delved into the raw, chaotic, fuzzed-out psychedelic freakouts of the 1960s with DIA (Locust, 2009). The album's highlights are Amen Dunes, a merry-go-round of lysergic litanies, spastic dueling guitars and childish drumming, and the psychotic shout'n'blues Miami Beach. White Lace starts out as a simple folk hymn with psychedelic vocals but then slowly decays into absolute aural mayhem. Surprisingly, the very same band dishes out the atmospheric twangy slow-paced instrumental Fleshless Esta Mira Wife of Space and the ordinary country shuffle Patagonian Domes. By the Bridal sounds like a languid version of Neil Young's Harvest. And the rest of the album becomes more and more conventional, becoming a rather tedious listening all the way down to the solo chant Breaker.

The EP Murder Dull Mind (Sacred Bones, 2010) was a more focused affair, although the songs (probably improvised with little or no editing) still suffered from an amateurish quality and from a new introverted awkwardness.

Through Donkey Jaw (Sacred Bones, 2011) moved in the exact opposite direction with the naive refrains of Baba Yaga and Not A Slave, although redeemed by the ten-minute noise jam Tomorrow Never Knows.

Spoiler (Perfect Lives, 2013) collects home recordings of "non music", like the nine-minute Julius Eastman Under The Stairs, piano doodling against a backdrop of subliminal electronic noise, or the dadaistic musique concrete of Camels In Amsterdam, or the demented psychedelic freak-out of Watching Cartoons, or the sneering country yodel of Older Girls. Half of it should be ditched, though.

Love (Sacred Bones, 2014) presented an extroverted and creative spirit in lieu of the introverted weirdo of the past. The oneiric White Child sounds like the Holy Modal Rounders covering a Syd Barrett song. Lonely Richard is a desolate slow-boogie lament with a soaring refrain, like Skip Spence fronting (and slowing down) the Velvet Underground. The celestial alienation of Splits Are Parted, enhanced with two guitar metronomes, is quintessential Syd Barrett. This sequence of charming unorthodox ditties ends with the stoned, almost a-cappella chant Sixteen and with Lilac In Hand, which sounds like a Caribbean version of Bob Dylan. The quality of the songs (and the degree of inspiration) declines rapidly from that point on, with Rocket Flare slumping in the late Byrds' laid-back style, and I Know Myself turning to calm straight pop. The punk-rocking I Can't Dig It sounds odd at best. The eight-minute litany Love plods along lifeless and monotonous. This is basically two albums in one. The first half is the album of an inspired freak folksinger. The second half is the album of a bored bedroom singer-songwriter.

The six-song EP Cowboy Worship (2015) offers alternative versions of four songs from Love, a new version of Through Donkey Jaw's Lezzy Head and a cover of Tim Buckley's Song to the Siren.

Much of Freedom (2018) feels like a tribute to the "Paisley Underground" movement (Three O'Clock, Green On Red, etc), but best is perhaps the vibrant Lou Reed-inspired litany of Miki Dora.