I can't sing loud enough

Listening, I hear depression
Decay, no notes registered
Tones, isolation
Pressure, uncontrollable fear
I can't sing loud enough
I hear

(Ty Segall, I Hear)

Ty Segall (b. 1987), is hidden underground the hero of the planet. Which is really strange, considering that since 2008 he has already recorded fifteen notable studio solo albums, along with many incidental singles and record projects in collaboration with other musicians. We discovered it back in 2009 in a cult show Cherry Blossom Clinic by radio host Terra T on New Jersey's WFMU station - right after he established himself as a creator of wondrous psychedelic rock tracks. You just couldn't miss it or mistake it for anyone else on the playlist. Because he was so I-ZU-ZE-TAN.

This eccentric guy, originally from tiny Laguna Beach on the West Coast of the USA, has since fought for the status of a non-profit, contra-mainstream stars across the audio space. The haughty United States may only recognize him as an interesting loser with potential. The rest of the Western world – um, who knows. But Ty Seagal's aesthetics transcends space and time, and therefore he himself - anywhere and anytime - could probably be a wonderful subject of consideration for Aristotle, Indian and Buddhist philosophers, Kant and others. As an atypical offshoot of garage, punk and psychedelic rock, heavy and glam metal, and peculiar noise prog blues folk - this adopted son of a Californian lawyer-artist couple from the upper middle class - found the strength to speak out loud something closest to the truth, and that on his own way, using more than personal language.

The fifteenth album by Ty Seagal Three Bells it testifies to that creative openness, the release of all poetic brakes and the calling of life as it is. Especially if you suffer from some kind of syndrome Alice in Wonderland and you see the world around you as strangely distorted. Although, there is nothing disturbed in this music, not even an iota. It is perfectly natural as you listen to it, like a sudden waterfall of ideas, a certain inconsistent traffic of currently embodied thoughts that are teeming, moving in different directions. But, when they draw you in, you immediately begin to see the undeniable logic of their seemingly dislocated imagination. And the world around suddenly becomes noticeably sunnier.

Introductory The Bell it exudes the free-spirited spirit of polyphony that CSN&Y and Jefferson Airplane so superiorly embodied in their time. With the fact that their vocal beauty in this case is followed by a whimsical slipping out of a pleasant hippie dream, which only a small punk surfer on the trail of MC5 could come up with. Void it has the enchantment of Syd Barrett with its random "crazy" sounds that break through the standard psychedelic membrane of perception. In the sequel, there will be a much more mature Pink Floyd attitude, full of significant play with relic inspiration: "Out here the air is new/ Withered bark drinks the morning dew/ I move my neck and go behind to look".

But that's where we come to the breaking point of this record, track I Hear with her howling guitars, throwing their electric lightning bolts across the entire legacy of rock and roll on both sides of the Atlantic. Where Neil Young sings melodiously, Seagal adds dynamite in the form of Detroit's proto-punk scene. Where Marc Bolan still hesitates between soft folk and the demonic glamor of heavy metal, a native art delirium enters the scene to illuminate the vision of music from the future with pure cosmos.

That Seagal revives the memory of the greatest rock songs in our hearing with a kind of art of words. When in I Hear say "depression, isolation, pressure", it sounds like an echo of Bowie's "fashion". He doesn't imitate old David at all, well maybe Neil, Lennon and Barrett a little, but that's not the point. Segal drilled to the very core of their genius, tapping into that arcane formula with which his own genius resonated. He doesn't disguise himself as his heroes, but imagines his spirit with theirs in order to achieve direct communication. The result is a curious revelation. Epiphany, in short.

We could continue here to describe the songs in order. Let's turn our attention to eggman i My Room which are talked about, or rather point the finger at the perfect one Hi Dee Dee, shake watchers, delightful Wait. Full of stunning guitar riffs, which can only be compared to Jack White, and virtuoso singing a la drive my car The Beatles and I Feel Free by Cream, this incredible record revolves entirely around the relationship between Ty Segall and his wife, collaborator, muse and soul mate – Denée. He beats her, calls the penultimate song by her name, runs it through practically every track as the main theme, aw Move he also assigns her the lead vocals. If she has not yet become Yoko, the mutual fascination of these two does not stop burning. Same as with John and his chosen one back then.

That Seagal may be extravagant in many ways, but when you listen to him, he seems like the most normal creature in the world.