In the discourse around new albums from singular, world-buildingartists, the phrase “a big step forward” can often be a blinkingred warning sign. You know you’re about to be pulled somewherenew against your will. Inertia is a hell of a thing. It’s nice here.Surely, the party’s not over yet?JJULIUS’ Vol. 3 album is a big step forward, or a step up, out ofthe murky basement of the preceding two volumes. There’s notime to acclimate. A spindly violin grabs you by the hand andpulls you into the pastoral bounce of “Brinna ut,” which, in spiteof it’s meaning (“Burn out”), creates the kind of blind positivityand warm stomach feeling less cynical people might find in selfhelp seminars. For us, we have records like this. And, inertia bedamned, Vol. 3 has charm like a balm.JJULIUS records have always arrived like meteors from anotherplanet, an impression hammered home by the fact that they’retitled like compendiums of artifacts. And while Vols. 1 and 2carried that notable tinge of darkness, Vol. 3 has (almost!) castthat shadow, adding elements of disco (“Ddsdisco”) anddream-pop (“Etopisk hallucination”) to his forever favorites ArthurRussell, African Head Charge, and The Fall.Some of that new car smell could be attributed to a change inprocess. Each song was written over beats played by Tor Sjdnof the wild-eyed Stockholm group Viagra Boys, beats that werethemselves inspired by tracks from the likes of Patrick Cowley,CAN, Count Ossie, Black Devil Disco Club and others that Juliuswould send to him as inspiration.Unless you’re Mark E. Smith, fervor fades. Eventually we all cravea lie down in some nice grass, a few minutes to gaze at the skyand wonder if everything is actually all that bad. Vol. 3 gives you35 of those respiting minutes. “No looking back, no misery, notalking trash, no enemies.”

Volume 3 of a set of collaborations between the prolific Argentine polymaths Reynols and the inescapable Acid Mothers Temple. Recorded in Buenos Aries on AMT’s 2017 South American Tour, the music has identifiable sonic elements from both groups but ends up sounding like neither, with a surprising weightlessness that keeps things jammy and psychedelic until the final track’s blustering rock. Taking up most of side 1, “Kicking Air Bricks” has a loose Gong/’70s Euro-classic vibe, with Satoshima Nani getting to swing on the drums in a way that isn’t always part of AMT’s steamroller, while the rest of the gang layers in abstract piano, percussion, glissando guitar, etc. “Multiverse Turtle Reflex” closes the side with a thick drone coda. Side two starts with Miguel Tomasin’s gentle vocal and organ accompaniment on “Smelling Oneiric Asado” before the group gradually gathers momentum with Wolf’s thick bass anchoring layers of clean and loose guitar interplay. “Lemurian Tsunami Inside A Hat” is a thriteen-minute heavy rock epic, with the Reynols’ guitars going head to head with Makota Kawabata’s easily recognized interjections, ramping up into a riffy crescendo.