Jack McEwan and his merry band of pranksters are back with Carpe Diem, Moonman, a kaleidoscopic firework of sound hurled directly at your face. It’s messy, magnificent, and defiantly off its meds. If you’ve ever wondered what a prog-psych-garage jam session would sound like after a weekend bender with Diogenes, this is your answer.
McEwan calls the album “a mongrel of sorts,” and that’s putting it lightly. CDM whiplashes between chaos and clarity, from the adrenalized riff-panic of “Weird World Awoke” to moments that feel like falling through a wormhole into a space-circus dream sequence. There are crunchy guitars, synth stabs, and lyrics that read like a fortune cookie written by a poet in crisis.
Emerging from the sweaty haylofts of Perth, the Porn Crumpets have evolved into one of Australia’s most reliably unhinged psych acts, sharing spiritual space with King Gizzard and a more agitated version of Tame Impala. But where others coast, PPC detonates. The new record is a clown car full of exploding ideas, and somehow every one of them lands.
Each spin peels back another absurd layer. It doesn’t always make sense, and that’s the point. Carpe Diem, Moonman isn’t here to be understood, it’s here to be experienced. Preferably loud, and preferably with a helmet.
Order the vinyl via Fuzz Club here.
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