There’s not much info to be gleaned on the Swedish duo Thunder Tillman, and you have to dig deep just to find out that number of members and country of origin. Perhaps most elucidating is a recent mix for The Lot radio, wherein the group (or was it just one member plus their life coach?) labeled the set “a magic carpet ride with no dead weight” and then proceeded to drift through tripped-out edits of Lizzy Mercier Descloux and PiL as well as world-music warpers like Hector Zazou and Aksak Maboul. All these smartly chosen regional jams, mixing into a psychedelic Pangaeam points to their own sound, as their own productions seamlessly slid right into the mix without marking an obvious crossing of borders.
While only four tracks and under 20 minutes of music, Thunder Tillman’s debut EP for ESP Institute spans continents. In that manner, it both mirrors the aesthetic of the LA-based imprint while also marking a new direction for it. Since 2009, ESP Institute has specialized in left-field dance tracks from producers around the world; it’s where Norwegian Prins Thomas remixes Japanese weirdos Cos/Mes, dark circuitry gets bent by Serbian 33-10-3402 and Aussie Tornado Wallace gets washed out by Cali beachheads Pharaohs. But like most dance imprints, the label usually focuses on producers working by their lonesome, while Tillman sounds like a duo just jamming things out, not quite sure where their ultimate destination might be.
Take opener “Exact Location of the Soul” which begins at a low murmur of strummed guitar and droning organ. Just as it passes the minute mark and you suspect it has reached a chill cruising altitude, it suddenly picks up velocity. Drums crash in and give the song a classic motorik beat and the song blooms into Technicolor with flute twirls and swirling keys. The melody climbs higher, and while it brings to mind the likes of La Düsseldorf as well as bands like Stereolab and Spiritualized who emulated that sublime rock drone, “Soul” drifts along at its own pace.
The other tracks eschew the dancefloor entirely, but are sublime in their own right. “Snake Charmers Union” moves slowly, propelled by little more than a shaker and floor toms as the melody glints behind the percussion, wheezing and whirring at a relaxed pace, slowly dovetailing into the dizzying keyboard arpeggios of early Terry Riley on closer “Alignments.” The title track suggests the most promise: A bass and church organ figure lurch together, beehive drones and wordless vocals swell all around while a rattle invokes cumbia at its most psychedelic. It all suggests a methodical climb up Teotihuacan, and nearly four minutes in, it all strips back to just organ and voice, suggestive of a Morricone soundtrack, building tension with only a few elements. And like most magic carpet rides or pyramid climbs, you wonder just how you got up to this rarefied space and how you'll get back down.
