Keywords: ambient drone experimental improvisation London
Label: Anticipating Nowhere Records

Are you ready for a trip? One that you can’t be prepared for? One that might make you question your dealer and their respective trips that they sold you many times before? IVY NOSTRUM swings us on a chair full of delusional delusions, one in which out of tune deliriums are holding your hands, slapping you on your air filled cheeks with a toothbrush while also  whistling the holes in your teeth as if it’s a mouth harp. Things are going into bizarre directions, ideas are going out of the window, as abstract weirdness flubberly vibrate your inner ears to such extent that you clearly might feel like you are hospitalized in the nearest looney bin.

You will feel like the earth surface had been a little wonky, as if you had swollen the pills that the doctor ordered but you mixed them up with the fictive ones that you took from nurse Ratchet straight from a page withing the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest book. Nothing is what it seems, imaginations are reality, reality is surreality.  Nothing is real, which makes everything way too real. Who are you? Who am I? Where are we? Where are we going?

The line on your heart monitor bleeps one stable stroke as a doctor stands next to you doing a german lederhosen dance, slapping it’s buttocks like there is no rush to get your heart beating again. Are we dead? It doesn’t feel like it! It’s all an illusionist wet dream? Or is it? A real night nurse might saw off your legs with a rusty saw, while an improvisational poetic artist goes through its tape collection full of notable notes to oneself, completly ignoring your state of  looneyness. What a strange hospitalization is this!

It’s okay, as the aliens might be here too, flirting around mid-air, zoning you out with enough probes to get your skin itchy from conspiracy theories. You are feeling subdued, wacked out into your own mind again, spacious into a unforgiving craziness that has nothing to do with the system that you had been trapped in since birth. Here we play a classic game of pong, while nails are being scratched on a blackboard, ready to rise up the hairs in the back of your neck, just like a micro forest. It might be  a tornado of lunacy, yet the manic episode feels natural, like a wild adventure that might have been cut out from the rules of a sane society, but is still out there with half a toe, just holding on to normality.

There we have it; we are tossed back to the ground. Just like mister bean, but instead of a concrete floor we have slammed into the green depth of the deepest  rainforest. A watery stream can be spooned up with our endlessly long tongue, moisterizing our head as our eyes are spotting the hungry creatures lurking around in the bushes. We feel safe as our dodgy walkman in our back pocket is playing wonky songs of comfort to keep the chimpanzees entertained. The ttropical birds squeek out their complimenting mating songs in appreciation of the music. In the end we are guided back home, wherever that might be. It’s cozy and sane, welcoming and friendly. The delirious adventure has come to an end and all we want now is to take this WTF joy ride again. Nobody will overdose on IVY NOSTRUM but we sure get blown away!

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