Review Summary: Plunging into the psychedelic vortex
Who would have thought that taking Korean fairy tales about dragon kings and shamanic passions, mixing them with psychedelic funk, and completely ditching guitars would result in the ultimate soundtrack for a wild rave? It sounds like a plot from a parallel reality, yet this exact explosive mixture is offered by the South Korean band Leenalchi. The musicians are turning conventional notions of what music is capable of upside down, reinforcing their intentions with the EP
Here Comes That Crow.
The instigator of this madness is bassist Jang Young-gyu, whose experiments have spawned an unexpectedly catchy pop form where mythical plots spring to life over soaring bass lines. The band’s name sounds like an ancient incantation, and the mini-album – released on
David Byrne’s Luaka Bop label – draws you headfirst into a hypnotic psychedelic vortex. At first, it is hard not to experience a mild culture shock from this, which very quickly transforms into sheer aesthetic pleasure. The musical alchemist joined forces with like-minded artists to turn
pansori – traditional Korean opera, where a single performer virtuosically and intensely narrates epic stories – into something completely new and captivating.
Leenalchi’s formula itself sounds like a provocation: not a single guitar, but two basses, drums, keyboards, and as many as four vocalists whose voices seem to fly straight through time from the dimension of spirits and deities. The process of creating this magic is notable for its pragmatism: first, Jang and drummer Oh Hyung Suk build a resilient, groovy foundation, while vocalists Park Soo-beom, An Yi-ho, Ra Seojin, and Choi Suin dive into the arsenal of classical plots.
Curiously, the roots of this vocal style trace back to waterfalls. According to the old pansori school, vocalists are required to train against the roar of falling water to absorb its indomitable power and subtle sound nuances. Add to this the natural phonetics of the Korean language, where words conveying the murmuring of a stream, the croaking of frogs, or the rustling of a floor naturally set up mini-rhythms, and it becomes clear why it is impossible to pull oneself away from these voices: every vocal run turns into an independent performance where traditional melismas take on flesh in the context of modern rhythms.
The title track of the mini-album operates precisely at the intersection of these wild energies. It is a reimagining of ancient epics through the prism of cross-cultural funk, where Jang’s psychedelic riffs weave into an insistent percussive web. The composition is a dynamic variation of the ancient plot about the warlord Cao Cao, cleverly transformed here into an allegory about the fragility of human existence. Filtering the mythology of East Asia through cosmic synthesizers, playful bass, and theatrical vocals, the Seoul septet masterfully mesmerizes the listener, demonstrating an enviable compositional instinct.
Leenalchi mix tradition, electronics, and a swinging bass with such impeccable taste, irony, and drive that resisting them is completely out of the question. This harbinger from the world of ancient legends clearly did not arrive bearing good news, but rather to cause a major commotion – and surrendering to this elemental musical chaos turns out to be remarkably easy.
