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Purson: Desire’s Magic Theatre

Album Review

London occult rockers leave the dungeon for a magic carpet ride.

On the one hand, it’s a fantastic time to be Purson. Rock’n’roll is starving for a band like them, something mystical and weird and colossal in scope; the kind of outfit who might be capable of anything and who travel by Lear jet or they don’t travel at all; a group of mysterious, fashion-forward glamourpusses who maybe worship the devil but will definitely buy Aleister Crowley’s decrepit Loch Ness hideout the next time it’s up for grabs.

They’re a direct conduit to stranger, spookier times when rock still vibrated with magical properties. They aren’t just a band – they’re a lifestyle. They make you want to wear kaftan robes and sell bootleg cassettes of their shows from the trunk of your car. They’re Fleetwood Mac for the hip and satanic.

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