Swelling psych grooves from Mister Strange.

From Manchester with love, the soundtrack to a new beginning.


Mister Strange is a conscious mover. A meditator of misrule keeping free-spirit through word-of-mouth and, a ‘Calico Review’ of all things cosmic, what you see is unsurely what you get but what you feel, forever remains the ultimate test of character. 

Dancing single trail down the arched back of alchemy, ‘Interlude pt.1’ a wordless crooner filling page, after page, of fiction-fertile dotted lines, with droplets of groove heady balm. In this tale there is no clear answer for which pulse-point first beckons and yet, awareness spirals like an instrumental ink blot test for the inner-seductive of our mind-myrrh desires; a self-portrait, captured through marbled dilations of a third-eye looking glass where over time, reflection has been replaced with stars.

In a ‘wunder-fuzz’ cavern somewhere deep below the surface of our solar, gathered rapture is sprayed finely on the reverse wrist of enchantment beholders. Layered up together in a bid to guide the unknown towards euphoria, an aid in counting flocks of atmosphere from a safe place on the sandy bottom of imagination, let it be known that no haze grounded flora nor, distinctive note of earth, is a match for Mister Strange’s lingering.

As depth and percussive uplift swirl mesmerizingly, forming notes only occurring in the most impressionable of natural essentiality, 

‘Interlude pt.1’ is a constellation crotched bottle of timeless sanctity. A blanketed essence fit, for counter-balancing our presently deafening state of existence.

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