A blast from the past, ripped straight out of the cracked earth of 1971. Moon Blood sounds like it crawled out of that strange post-hippie twilight when the peace-and-love dream had soured, Vietnam cast a long shadow, and heavy music was mutating fast and fearlessly. While some bands chased polish or prog excess, Fraction walked into the studio, hit record, and unleashed five songs in roughly three hours—one take each, no overdubs, no mercy. What they captured wasn’t just an album, it was a moment in time, frozen in fuzz and fire.
From the opening moments of “Sanc-Divided”, the mood is set: bleak, ominous, and dripping with spiritual unease. The guitars ooze distortion and sorrow, the rhythm section grinds with ritualistic force, and Jim Beach’s vocals—half-moan, half-prophecy—cut straight to the bone. Comparisons to Jim Morrison are inevitable, but Beach feels less like a rock god and more like a man on the edge, wrestling faith, fear, and the psychedelic aftermath of the era in real time.
“Come Out Of Her” slithers in on wah-wah fumes and Sabbath-weight sludge, erupting into a massive, soul-tearing chorus. Beach gives everything he’s got—this isn’t singing, it’s testimony. You can hear the strain, the belief, the desperation. Don Swanson and Bob Meinel lace the track with acid-soaked leads while Vic Hemme and Curt Swanson hold down a groove that feels both loose and lethal.
Then comes the eye of the storm itself: “Eye Of The Hurricane.” Nearly nine minutes of apocalyptic perfection. Calm passages drift by like the last quiet moments before impact, only to be torn apart by eruptions of fuzz, drums, and raw emotional force. The band jams like the world is ending, yet nothing feels wasted. This is heavy psych at its most epic and immersive.
Side two opens with “Sons Come To Birth,” the album’s closest thing to a ballad—dark, trippy, and deeply unsettling. Eerie guitar lines snake through a hypnotic groove, while Beach delivers one of his most haunted performances.
The closer, “This Bird (Blue Sky),” is a shape-shifting finale: Doors-like spoken word, sudden mood swings, gut-wrenching screams, and finally an explosion of pure rock & roll release. By the end, you’re drained, wide-eyed, and completely under its spell.
That only around 200 original copies were pressed almost feels irrelevant—Moon Blood earns its cult status through sheer power. Five tracks. Five timeless behemoths. A dark, raw, spiritual masterpiece that still hits like a vision from another age. Turn it up and let 1971 swallow you whole.
-Helge Neumann
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