The very first words in any review of this record, the Minneapolis natives’ fourth full length, will almost inevitably be “Anton Newcombe”. With that cliché narrowly sidestepped we can now move on and let you know that yes, the Brian Jonestown Massacre’s insane/enlightened leader personally signed Magic Castles to his ‘a’ Records imprint having had them brought to attention by fans during the nearly incomprehensible We Are The Radio/Dead TV youtube experiment that Newcombe set up two years back. Equally we can let you know that they sound precisely, unquestionably and fully as you expect them to sound and, if you’re a fan of the Jonestown Massacre worldview/illness, precisely, unquestionably and fully as you want them to sound.

Practicalities first. This is a very, very long/indulgent record, with at least two tracks clocking in at 8 minute or thereabouts: the Farfisa organ and monkish chant drone of the ‘Ballad of the Golden Bird’ – apparently there’s an “ancient land” where some sort of “castle stands”, so that’s good to know; and the enormous, chiming, glimmering ‘All My Prayers’ which skronks along slowly and atonally for what feels like an eternity but is among the less cliché-ridden of the tracks here even when it slopes off into extended solo territory.

This can, at times, be a very boring/hypnotic record. ‘Songs of the Forest’ plays on one two-note change for nearly 6 minutes, the only respite being the occasional horn parp or indistinguishable vocal. This does not for enjoyment make.

It’s also, on the very odd occasion, a record with some charm/an actual tune. ‘Now I’m a Little Cold/Cloud’ (the former according to the tracklist, the latter according to the lyrics, and logic) borrows happily from Spiritualized’s less suicidal smackheaded soujourns while the honestly great ‘Big Sur’ has a structure, melodies, a cool little surf guitar part and some delicious Galaxie 500 mumbled, high-pitched vocals. As it trots off on a little jammed-out twin geetar canter it’s hard not to get involved – perhaps even a little head bobbing may occur. There should be a medical warning.

There really should be a medical warning on some of these song titles though – ‘Mystical Sage Warriors’ it says. ‘Mystical Sage Warriors’. When these warriors aren’t attacking your spice rack it seems they quite enjoy repetitive space gaze. Actually, although the most fantastically-titled effort here, it’s not the most ridiculous in terms of content. No, that plaudit goes equally to ‘Songs of the Forest’ which is essentially a colourless 13th Floor Elevators cover, and album closer ‘Emery Memories’ which aims for the occasional glory/stupidity of their label head’s band but feels a little more like a Shraggs version of a Monkees tune. On reflection, depending on which side of the solidus you’ve chosen to agree with in previous paragraphs. At least they aren’t banging on about magic castles here, at least as far as one can tell.

This is an album of retro psychedelia that will appeal greatly to those who’ve not had their fill from the countless other bands currently aping early Floyd and (spits) The Grateful Dead/those who really, really like hallucinogenic drugs. On which side of that last solidus you end up on isn’t really an issue – one would hope, strongly, for neither. The very last words in any review of this album will hopefully remain constant, and it’s not a cliché we’ll sidestep this time: just not very interesting.