Astroqueen ★ Rufus Rising

Somewhere beyond the cracked moons of Orion and the shifting dunes of the mind, the engines roared to life again. Astroqueen — those sacred fuzzlords of the forgotten galaxies — have punched a hole straight through time with Rufus Rising, a transmission from the dust-choked crypts of 2003, unearthed, electrified, and set ablaze in the hands of Daniel Änghede and the spectral fingers of Andy La Rocque. This is not just music — it’s a goddamn resurrection ritual.

 

Four rites. Four heavy incantations.

 

The needle drops on "Turbin Turbine," and the world tilts — a thunderhead of molten riffs and fat, rolling groove devours the horizon. You’re no longer standing on Earth; you’re tumbling sideways through smoke-ring universes, every atom vibrating in sympathetic fuzz. The warmth of vintage blood pumps through every note, yet the power is as fresh and feral as a newborn quasar howling at the edge of time.

 

And then — the ghost returns. Rufus Rising — not a song but a cosmic rebirth — the ancient space agent rips through the veil once more, clad in scarred leather and starfire. The myth breathes, the wheels spin, the desert winds scream with the sound of resurrection.

 

This is no comeback.

 

This is a damn coronation.

 

Astroqueen proves that real heavy rockers don't fade into the blackness — they ferment into something stronger, stranger, a liquid flame poured into the circuits of the soul. Rufus Rising is essential contraband for fuzz addicts, dune riders, and any lost traveler who ever looked up at the night sky and thought, Take me with you.

 

-Helge Neumann

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