Despite having existed so deep in the underground Jules Verne would have returned none the wiser, Nibiru have released two-and-a-half hours’ worth of extra-dimensional, reality-unbinding missives since 2013.
This suggests that not only are they obsessive types, but that their albums are portals to vast realms in constant need of chronicling.
Padmalotus adds another 67 minutes of psychedelic stenography to the account, and if it’s any more structured than its predecessors, it’s still a plunge into convulsive, other-worldly currents with only occasional moments of propulsive groove and stern riffage to hold onto.
Navigating a space between Skullflower’s celestial siege and the blood rite invocations of Dark Buddha Rising, this is music as a visceral rite of deliverance.
Krim’s livid frequencies swarm around the pounding drums as they’re incited by Ardath’s feral chants, Ashmedeva’s eerie interludes are like waystations along the stargate in 2001, and by the time you’ve journeyed through all the stages of Khem’s 30-minute, blackened march through the looking glass, you’ll realise that there’s no route back.
