Psychic Ills

Aug 8, 2012

I am a huge fan of Daytrotter; they are just so good at using relative simplicity to convey emotions . Something about their sessions seems to inspire every band that passes through, and results in some really special recordings.
Sean Moeller, and the rest of the crew from Rock Island, Il, are definitely doing some of the most essential work for the musicians today, recording sessions and presenting them to the world, without advertisements.
This morning I stopped by Daytrotter and found other delightful session, this time with the wonderful New Yorkers  Psychic Ills who performed four of his engaging songs, a natural cure for any mood.
So , I share a session with you again, as you’ll need a membership to listen, but I personally think $2 a month to listen to a bunch of sweet sessions which worth listening to is a darn good deal. Search around the site a bit and I bet you’ll come to the same conclusion…

Out Of Mind And Fine

Words by Sean Moeller,

Illustration by Johnnie Cluney

Recording engineered by Grant Johnson at Good Danny’s, Austin, Texas

This is where time doesn’t matter.
It’s when the night goes completely off the reservation. The lights start circling above, like helicopter blades. The vultures are putting on their bibs and grabbing their utensils for what promises to be a four or five-course meal of meaty bones and desserts.
We’re pulled into a dead-end alley, toward a night that’s had its bell rung.
We see that it’s been battered some, but it gives off a lived in feel that’s preferable to the converse – the green and inexperienced.
We’re sure to learn something tonight.
We’re sure to lose something tonight.

This night is brought to you by New York City band Psychic Ills, who are the equivalent to that drink – or those rounds of drinks – that go down so easily, like burning honey, even though they’re a million proof, packing that deceptive wallop that rushes at you like a hellbound freight train right…about…now. 
Lead singer Tres Warren builds these moments that sucker you into bellying up to the bar and indulging all the way to an oblivion that is going to send you under the table quicker than you could ever imagine getting there. Depending on your state, you might actually be thankful for the assistance, for that poke and the encouragement. He sings, “I’m doing fine. I’m out of my mind,” and he enjoys the company in the dead light, in the alabaster haze.

Psychic Ills Official Site