Sleepy Sun? Exhausted, More Like

I'm undecided about Sleepy Sun's second album, Fever. You can't fault the ambitious songcraft or elastic performances, especially with the San Franciscan band's habit of seamlessly dumping so many ideas into a single track. But this is also second or third generation neo-psych fried in heavy, heavy batter. It wouldn't exist if a certain family of local druganauts hadn't broken out of their Strathcona rumpus room and changed the musical landscape (they even share the same producer), and in a less generous moment I might suggest that fatigue is starting to set in.

But there's still much to enjoy. Not least of all the six-and-a-half-minute opener "Marina," which nimbly leaps in and out of its black-lit heaviosity and into places unknown -- more on that later. Elsewhere, Fever offers fewer surprises, and generally hews to things Black and Mountainous. As in "Wild Machines," which crosshatches Blue Cheer spazz-outs, sections of pastoral prettiness, and the black mass vocalizing of Bret Constantino and Rachel Williams.

Coming from a very slightly different angle is the delicately acoustic "Rigaramoo," which is indebted to the American revival of the British folk-revival. On the other hand, what isn't? Meanwhile, the short campfire singalong "Ooh Boy" has some metallic manifestation of Abaddon screaming away in the distance, which then acts as a bridge to the (pointless) pagan knees-up of "Acid Love."

There's a slightly comical earnestness to these recycled tropes. Lacking the element of fresh surprise that Black Mountain originally brought to the table, back when a herbal Sabbath and krautrock mash-up was the last thing on anybody's mind, Fever has predictably prompted at least one high profile and poetic smear from the NME among all the blow-jobs.

The most rewarding moments on Fever, then, are its most unique. Like the jarring arrival of a harmonica on the aforementioned "Marina," which is as rude and unexpected as a barefoot Huck Finn crashing the Whiskey A Go Go. Same goes for its tribal drum section (which, hilariously, reminds me of the rejigged intro to "Soolaimon", from Neil Diamond's Hot August Night -- not quite the reference Sleepy Sun was reaching for, I'm thinking). Then there's what sounds like (but isn't) a Zeppelin sample in the middle of "Desert God" -- and just in the nick of time, since the preceding three minutes of torpid sub-Jefferson Airplane is three minutes too much.

But still, in spite of these reservations, Fever is a fun and impressive record from a band that's still young enough to find itself, eventually. Maybe Sleepy Sun can fully convince me when it shows up at the Biltmore next week.

Sleepy Sun plays at the Biltmore on Saturday, July 3