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Upon awakening, your mind is blank; a clean slate; an empty vessel. Your claggy eyelids tear themselves apart, opening into utter darkness. Then, a faint trace of grey. Gradually, you start to discern the first shapes. Then, figures. You take a few steps forward to take a closer look. As you approach, each shape and form dissolves into some persistent source of light beyond. All traces of the profane melt and soak into the sacred substrate.
You are afloat in an ocean of light. Realizing you are being watched, you notice thousands of amorphous eyes belonging to the denizens of this wondrous, uncanny landscape. You become aware that you are in the maw of a vast, thick forest of eyes. As the branches give way to your shifting presence, you come upon a small altar made of stones and wooden artifacts – a shrine amidst the trees. Passing another stretch of the woodland, you encounter another small altar, sheltered by the branches; then another. There are dozens of shrines scattered around the forest, exuding a sense of indomitable tranquillity.
You find yourself soaring up into the open, expecting to burst through the clouds any second, yet there are none in sight. The space around you is clear, the air crisp, shimmering with some kind of otherworldly electricity. All of a sudden two immense, unfathomable entities clash in a roaring explosion. Strangely, you are not startled at all. As the dust and fire dissipate, the skyline of an eerie city materializes in front of your eyes. Its unfamiliar architecture is majestic yet strangely unsettling.
Faith 03:47
Sense of unseen peril lurks beyond the barren gates; you knock with your bare fist, armed only with Faith…
Swamp Rite 04:08
The ground sways under your feet. You are at the edge of a vast peat bog, reaching as far as they eye can see, dimly lit by the moon, fireflies hovering over the wet ground like inebriated coronas. Going any further would mean submersion and death in the grip of the treacherous mire. As you recede through a maze of bog pine and thorny bush, dozens of ethereal hands come out grabbing your shoulders, pulling you into the brush. Somewhere out of sight, there are masked faces and bonfires, hidden deep in the foliage. Raw chanting can be heard in the distance; sometimes so close that it may well be coming from an obscure source within your own prefrontal lobe. Fiery tongues lick the low-hanging mist, infusing it with the smell of burning sap. Then, a droning buzz of voices from beneath the mire joins in with the voices of the ghastly masquerade…
You are dwarfed by a monumental fortification – seemingly endless walls of polished marble towering high up into the absent clouds. As you follow the meandering ivy and the exuberantly blooming vines upwards into dizzying heights, you get led astray by the scents and colours, losing all sense of direction. Gravity ceases to exist and so does time. You lie prostrate on a lush green canvas of leaves, anchored onto a bed of marble, adorned by soft, vibrant blossoms – fresh blood-red, cerulean, dark yellow, cuprous oxide, magenta… Through an emerald lens you can finally see the crenelated parapets at the very top of the ramparts.
For all you know, the heavy footsteps behind you may have been there since time immemorial. Finally deciding to turn around, you see two daunting figures clad in simple tunics inwoven with ornamental patterns of some forgotten tribe. Their presence is unwavering, adamant, but not hostile. Their lips are sealed, yet you can hear them sing. You begin to recognize a familiar tune in an elusive key, one you’re sure you’ve never heard before. It is strangely cheery – frolicky, almost. Then, the previously formidable figures start running around in a sprightly dance and invite you to join them…
Escorted by these whimsical, inscrutable companions, you find yourself in front of an uneven, asymmetrical, palisaded, mansion-like structure with several low spires, irregularly set like the teeth of an old hyena, made mostly of wooden beams and crudely wrought stone, seemingly held together only by the rampant vines, weeds and rambling roses, covered with moss and lichens, green and yellow, as if strewn with powdered sulphur, pine needles and volcanic rubble. As you let your senses calm down and allow your memories to emerge, you now know it for what it is – a place of worship. The infamous Temple of the Irreverent God.
Apotheosis 06:44
A dissonant voice lures you towards the open gate. Stepping inside through a scarlet veil, once again you find yourself in complete darkness, with a single plume of thick smoke hanging in the air at an uncertain distance in front of you. As you approach, the dirt floor stretches and contracts; the plume grows into a cloud and beckons you in, slowly devouring you with a long soft purr. You are within and without the cloud. A brass goblet is filled from a red-gushing spring. You take it to your lips and gulp the Wine of Feral Divinity. Suddenly reinvigorated, you sink into the pool of red, the gushing liquid streaming through your hair. As you dive deeper into the pool, adrift in a boundless realm of red, both substance and perspective start coiling like a saw-scaled viper. The movement is barely noticeable at first, then becomes faster, accompanied by an incessant shrill sound. Its pitch increases until it fades out into echoes, and then – silence. In a wild dervish dance, your gnosis is spun into a single gleaming thread, hanging before you like a trailing tendril of a dislodged vine. There is complete silence. The ascension awaits…


Sonic journey to a forgotten city, half-sunken in the encroaching bogland.


released December 21, 2021

Recorded in two days in September MMXXI in Golden HIVE Prague

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Amak Golden
Produced by Olaf Olafsonn, Amak Golden, The Ancient One and The Archduke of Neurosis

Olaf Olafsonn - flutes, lute, percussion, voice
The Archduke of Neurosis - guitars, percussion, voice
The Ancient One - bass, percussion, voice
The Dopefiend - doumbek, percussion, voice
The Methatron - percussion



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Olaf Olafsonn and the Big Bad Trip Prague, Czech Republic

Dark psychedelic driven tribal music from Bohemia.

Olaf Olafsonn, Queen of the Outer Space, The Ancient One, The Archduke of Neurosis,
The Dopefiend. It's not real, it's just a Big Bad Trip.

BOOKING: oobbt.band@gmail.com
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