Pitchfork

When will folks stop scouring Gris Gris albums, feverishly looking for some ace in the hole, some nuanced twist to psychedelic rock? Seriously, is a no-frills psych band from San Francisco such an oddity just because they don't associate themselves with the Dead or sing about drugs? Sorry, dude in the Warlocks shirt, Gris Gris piss on hyphenated Sam Goody mongrels like "psych-punk" or "trip-rock," but can I interest you in this poster with a marijuana leaf on it? At the same time, Gris Gris's sober take on the genre isn't exactly an intrepid musical statement. On For the Season, Frontman/songwriter Greg Ashley seems to acknowledge his own trope, and if he's slapping reverb and heady lyrics on tracks and calling them psych, why not come clean?

Whereas their self-titled debut indulged in several lengthy anti-jams before finally locking into incense-laden melodies, For the Season cuts the fat, delivering more focused, tripartite song structures. To minimize rigidity, each track gradually bleeds into the next, segueing with blistering distortion squelches and/or barely audible echolalia. In a sense, For the Season resembles a subtle solidification of its predecessor's spiraling ideas. Ashley no longer hides behind layers of reverb, but rather challenges them with more pristine vocals and warmer instrumentation, often foregoing lysergic mysticism for clean campfire sing-alongs.

Both "Pick Up Your Raygun" and "Medicine #4"-- respective spin-offs of earlier songs "Raygun" and "Medicine #3"-- outline the band's fine-tuned songwriting approach. The former shaves down its prototype's protracted kookiness and dives headfirst into rumbling toms and exotic Middle Eastern scales. "Medicine #4" sweetens the dusty acoustic strumming of #3, reversing the pop clock almost far enough back to resemble "Earth Angel" at the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance.

Not to worry though psych purists, the Gris Gris aren't about to stray too far from 1967, for better or worse. Much like their first album, For the Season doesn't stir up much in regards to energy or emotion, and nothing's surprising. "Skin Mass Cat" and "Cuerpos Haran Amor Extrano" accurately rehash smokey van aesthetics to the point of Scooby Doo absurdity, and the title track's faux-sitar riffs practically proselytize on behalf of Buddhism. That said, the Gris Gris's finer attention to detail fills in the cracks where their debut stumbled. Lacking the emotional knack for jaw-dropping singles, the band succeeds in consistently churning out songs that would be solid filler on an amazing album-- a Magical Mystery Tour comprised solely of "Blue Jay Way"'s.