Legendary musician Sting once said, “I don’t think psychedelics are the answer to the world’s problems. But, they could be a start.”
It isn’t outrageous to assume that Djinn Proxy, the minds behind this 6-track, self-titled album, were operating with a similar mode of thought when producing it, nor is it outrageous to say that this mode of thought led them to some absolutely delightful outcomes, with every mind-massaging sound matched only by the unorthodox yet melodic forms they take throughout the album.
Now, unfortunately, I didn’t pay attention in my Latin course in high school, and Eldritch wasn’t even offered on the course list, so, perhaps, capturing the full extent of just what goes on in this album is beyond the reach of my linguistic ability. Nevertheless, I will attempt to do it justice.
“Afro Dizzy Hack” stirs up memories of that time I was invited into the home of a family of crickets for lemon tea and cranberry cupcakes. Genial folk, they were, but me being me and not wanting to impose, I opted to take my leave after thanking them for their hospitality and conversation, immediately getting caught in a rainstorm of blue raspberry kool-aid, translucent feather pillows, and airborne earthquakes. I barely remember getting home that night, I just remember wishing I could’ve stayed longer.
If you’ve ever gone to your grandmother’s house and picked a flower taller than most trees, and then invited five of your friends to come and nap inside of it, a petal for each of you, only to wake them up half an hour later to get them to drag it to the beach so you can all sail to the ends of the Earth as the waves crash all around you and cheer you all on, then you probably know what “Cauliflower Tip” sounds like.
“Hiver 2002” brings me back to simpler times, when the streets were lit with green and purple neon as I played hopscotch next to the aquarium, pausing at every hop to gaze up at the sky to see if I could spot my childhood friend, who at the time had just learned how to play bass guitar and levitate. I too, was in the midst of learning how to levitate, but wouldn’t quite get the hang of it until the winter solstice, much to the disappointment of my zodiac sign.
“Hopewell Rock and Roll” isn’t dissimilar to the first time I fell in love; a day I remember quite clearly and fondly. We were both laying on the ocean floor, giddily discussing our favourite time signatures and alien lifeforms, both fictional and non-fictional. Eventually, we swam to the surface, sharing a kiss under the light of the moon before we took leave from each other; I to my beehive, they to their nightclub. I think those were the days I loved the most.
The spitting image of when I fall asleep on a cold winter’s eve can be heard in “Lakshman Jhula.” I sleep under a tin roof, so the gentle drops of dragonfly blood outside tend to create something delightfully rhythmic. My roommate across the hall, however, tends to snore with a kafkaesque dialect, which I didn’t know was possible up until that point. But, since half of their body is a fallen star, I find myself not minding too much.
And “NUS_XES” takes me back to a very specific day in my second (or was it third?) year of college. I sat at my desk, which happened to be on the moon (a position that was simultaneously my greatest asset and most egregious hinderance), and was frantically writing an essay on ecstasy (the essay pertained to ecstasy, and I myself was also on ecstasy, in case there’s any confusion). I couldn’t help but joyfully laugh to myself the whole time, relishing in the sheer parody and beauty of the situation. At the time, I wasn’t against the idea of just doing this forever.
I personally would vote Djinn Proxy’s self-titled album for prime minister; the ideas to be found within, while abstract, non-verbal, and entirely up to personal interpretation, are ones that I would count on to be utterly fantastic.