Part of a 24-hour blitz to con you into attending tomorrow night.
Memo to aspiring rock bands: list “PEYOTE” among the chief influences on your Myspace and I will probably at least give you a cursory listen. Even better when you can flash the inherent ability to lock into head-nodding hypnotic grooves. In this space, the funk is often the active ingredient, and the LA-based psych-pop quintet The Holloy’s bring smoked out, bent-knee bass lines for days. Knock them for being on some Topanga Canyon wheat grass vibes at your own peril. Granted, they might sport two drummers and list “the elegance of green mountains” and “the smell of the ocean” as other influences, but that’s the baggage that accompanies the right drugs. The plus is that these guys can stretch songs like silly putty without losing the pulse, tight song structures loosely draped over ferocious jams, and a sound copacetic to a quarter of Blueberry Kush.
The original bio described them as “imagine if Phil Collins were the lead singer of Talking Heads, and spent time with psychedelic shamans studying enlightenment. Add dual drummers and you get the Holloys.” But I will stand for no “In the Air Tonight” and while comparisons to the Talking Heads are more loaded than I will be at 2:00 a.m. tomorrow night, at times the Holloys channel a tribal poly-rhythmic groove that brings to mind “I Zimbra.” Their new No Where Now Here EP is the purest distillation of their sound to date, but like all bands that can really play, the live element where they shine. Plus, I may be spiking their drinks with crushed peyote.