There is something about Pelagic’s roster of prog/post bands that makes me wonder if they’ve unlocked the secret to one of my musical special interests. Back in December of last year, I caught Lizzard in a similarly intimate venue – three people sounding like six. On Friday, it was Psychonaut’s turn at the Lexington, and somehow, they made that comparison seem small.
It was my first time at the venue, and with a sold out show, I was anticipating a sweatbox whispering promises of catharsis but mostly reeking of condensation and IPA. Thankfully, I was wrong. The Lexington was far lovelier than I gave it credit for: great sound, lights that actually complemented what was happening on stage, and a smoke machine hell-bent on testing my photo editing skills.
First up to heat the walls already sweating with condensation were The Grey. It had been a while; the last time I saw them was during a bleary morning slot at ArcTanGent, so it felt right to find them again in the dark. I like to think I’m the kind of listener who can dissect what makes a band great, but the moment they started, that thought politely left the building. The trio move with a rare balance, each member orbiting their own gravity, yet somehow all pulling together toward the same inevitable collapse. This unspoken synchronicity rewarded the set with melody, release, and sheer feeling, and it was obvious I wasn’t the only one in the audience who felt like they’d been slightly robbed of reason. Sometimes, the best patch on a battle jacket is simply letting your feelings show.
By the time Psychonaut take the stage, the crowd is already buzzing. They released World Maker at the end of October, a personal and vulnerable record that hasn’t left my playlist since, and I’m still amazed that almost an hour of it can vanish in what feels like five minutes. My excitement and expectation were through the roof.
Psychonaut start playing their blend of psychedelic prog/post metal, and straight away I feel this sound could swallow the room whole. Guitar and bass share vocal duties with a fluid confidence that makes it look effortless, and the three members interact with an innate chemistry. I heard echoes of Tool at times, and something else I couldn’t place in the moment but spent the entire night thinking about (I now know it was Sermon). As they moved through their what-seemed-short-to-me set with precision, their music felt enormous but intimate at the same time.
The bass hit like tidal surges, drums landed straight in my chest, and I had a difficult time unpeeling my eyes from whatever witchcraft Stefan da Graef was executing on his guitar. The crowd swayed, headbangs spread, and I got swept along, worshipping at the altar of volume. Their set meandered through a variety of tones and textures, from introspective passages to powerful riffs, and it was dense and emotional without ever feeling over the top. It was loud, cleansing, and exactly what I want to hear from prog these days. I don’t care much for self indulgent noodling anymore (although when the mood hits…), or time signatures that give me anxiety. Sometimes all we need is something human, heavy, and deeply moving. I think we all got it in heaps.
I stepped out into the London air, now carrying the first whiffs of winter, and found a stranger who seemed happy to unload their warehouse of woes. I listened with a subtle smile, the echoes of the gig still humming in ears. For a moment, the scene felt complete, and I thought — they should have been there too.
