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**Space & Time: A Compendium Of The Orange Alabaster Mushroom**
★★★★☆

In the annals of psychedelic rock history, few bands have emerged from obscurity with as much mystique and sonic ambition as Orange Alabaster Mushroom. Their sprawling double album "Space & Time: A Compendium Of The Orange Alabaster Mushroom" reads like a fever dream transcribed by cosmic scribes, and frankly, it sounds like one too.

The band's origins trace back to a converted grain silo outside Bakersfield, California, where founding members Jasper Moonwhisper (yes, that's his legal name) and Dakota Prism first experimented with what they called "temporal sound sculpting." Legend has it they spent eighteen months living off nothing but psilocybin tea and expired granola bars, emerging only when their landlord threatened eviction. The result of this hermetic period was a 47-track opus that defies conventional album structure and, some would argue, the laws of physics.

Musically, Orange Alabaster Mushroom exists in that rarefied air where krautrock meets ambient drone, seasoned with healthy doses of free jazz and what can only be described as "ritualistic folk." Think Can jamming with Popol Vuh while Terry Riley operates the mixing board during a lunar eclipse. The band's use of homemade instruments – including a contraption called the "temporal harp" constructed from salvaged piano wire and PVC piping – creates textures that feel both ancient and futuristic.

The album opens with "Prologue to the Infinite Spiral," a 23-minute meditation that begins with the sound of wind through wheat fields and gradually builds into a cosmic symphony of backwards guitars, tabla drums, and what sounds suspiciously like a didgeridoo being played underwater. It's the kind of track that either induces transcendence or sends you reaching for the skip button – there's precious little middle ground.

The standout track, if such distinctions matter in this context, is "The Geometry of Forgotten Dreams." Clocking in at a relatively concise eight minutes, it features the closest thing to a conventional song structure the band ever committed to tape. Vocalist Luna Crystalline's ethereal whispers float over a hypnotic bass line that could have been lifted from a lost Neu! session, while layers of synthesized strings create a sense of weightless drift. It's the album's most accessible moment, which is to say it only requires moderate pharmaceutical assistance to fully appreciate.

"Conversations with the Mycelial Network" showcases the band's experimental edge, featuring field recordings of actual mushroom spores (allegedly) processed through vintage Moog equipment. The result is simultaneously beautiful and deeply unsettling – like eavesdropping on the secret language of decomposition. It's followed by "Solar Wind Lullaby," a surprisingly tender piece built around a music box melody that's been stretched and warped until it resembles the dying gasps of a distant star.

The album's ambitious scope occasionally works against it. Tracks like "The 47th Dimension (Part VII)" feel more like academic exercises in sonic extremism than coherent musical statements. At times, the band's commitment to their conceptual framework overshadows basic songcraft, resulting in passages that test even the most devoted psychonaut's patience.

Yet when Orange Alabaster Mushroom hits their stride, the results are genuinely transcendent. The closing trilogy – "Return to the Source," "Dissolution," and "Rebirth in Amber Light" – forms a cohesive 31-minute journey that ranks among the most successful extended compositions in the psychedelic canon. It's here that all their disparate influences coalesce into something approaching revelation.

Following the album's release on the microscopic Cosmic Debris Records, Orange Alabaster Mushroom vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared. Rumors persist of sightings at desert festivals and underground gatherings, but no official recordings have surfaced since. Moonwhisper allegedly retreated to a commune in New Mexico, while Prism was last spotted selling healing crystals at a farmer's market in Sedona.

"Space & Time" has achieved the kind of cult status that its creators undoubtedly intended. It's the sort of album that gets passed around in hushed tones among collectors of esoteric vinyl, a secret handshake among those who believe music should challenge as much as it comforts. Whether it's a masterpiece of visionary