“Mount Elephant” by Upupayāma is an album that feels like drifting through a lucid dream, a surreal landscape where your senses are heightened, and time no longer functions as it should. Imagine yourself walking barefoot in a dew-covered field at dawn, with nothing but the horizon ahead, and the smell of wet earth rising in the air. That’s the atmosphere Alessio Ferrari, the brain behind Upupayāma, manages to create. It’s organic, meditative psychedelia at its finest, brimming with influences from every corner of the world, wrapped in a package both wonderful and deeply introspective. As the first notes of “Moon Needs the Wolf” float in, you are instantly transported to a quiet forest where the gentle hum of an acoustic guitar and the ethereal strum of a sitar mingle with the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. Ferrari’s music here is like an ancient breeze—it whispers, it soothes, and then it builds, suddenly gaining life with a motorik groove, almost like a caravan winding its way up a forgotten mountain pass. The way it transitions from gentle psych-folk into this infectious, danceable rhythm feels like you’ve just crossed into another realm, where wolves howl at the moon, and people gather around fire-lit clearings, moving with primal energy.
Listening to “Mount Elephant” is akin to watching a painter work—each song is like a new color, carefully blended into the larger canvas of the album. There’s the deep crimson of “Thimpu”, a song born from Ferrari’s fascination with obscure Bhutanese music. It’s as if the very essence of the Himalayas—its towering peaks, its crisp, high-altitude air—has seeped into the track. Close your eyes, and you can almost see the prayer flags fluttering in the wind, the distant hum of a monastery bell ringing in the distance. Ferrari’s ability to transport you to such vivid places is nothing short of alchemy. He does it again with “Fil Dağı”, which translates to “Elephant Mountain” in Turkish, where the Anatolian influence shines through. This isn’t just a song, it’s a ritual, a gathering of souls who dance around the ancient stones of a temple long forgotten by time. You can feel the percussion pulsating like the beat of a heart, grounding you while the flute and sitar spiral around your head, pulling you into a trance. The song’s expansion from his 2020 debut feels like returning to a memory, only to find it has grown, taken on new life, and invited you in for another journey.
There’s a constant ebb and flow throughout the album, like the tide drawing you in and letting you go. In “Moon Needs the Owl”, Ferrari shows us the wilder, more exuberant side of his musical universe. Imagine stepping into a Thai disco in the 1970s, where the walls sweat and the floor hums with energy. Wine bottles shatter in playful chaos, and laughter fills the air. Then, as dawn approaches, the frenzy subsides, and the party fades into a hazy, dreamlike memory. It’s the kind of song that begins as a celebration and ends as a reverie—a perfect reflection of the cyclical nature of life itself. One of the standout aspects of Mount Elephant is its paradoxical nature, as Ferrari himself points out. While there’s more fuzz—an unmistakable element of stoner rock—the album feels relaxed, rhythmic, and carefree. It’s not “mature” in the traditional sense. No, this record is playful, much like a character wandering through a forest, picking up rocks, and marveling at the world’s small wonders. Ferrari’s use of instruments like congas, bongos, and cowbells adds a sense of freedom as if the music is as curious as the listener, eager to explore uncharted territories. In “Dabadaba”, a brief but potent interlude, Ferrari plays with the primal, creating a visceral experience with a deep shamanic drum that makes such an ethereal ambiance. It’s a grounding moment, a pause between the album’s larger, more elaborate movements, but one that leaves a lasting impact. It’s a reminder of the physicality of music—how it resonates not just in your mind, but in your body, in your bones.
And then, there’s the title track, “Mount Elephant”. This is the summit, the peak of the journey. It starts with a slow, contemplative ascent, a meditation on this mythical mountain that exists only in the liminal spaces of Ferrari’s imagination. But as you reach the top, the fuzz kicks in, and the song erupts into a ferocious, amplifier-blowing explosion of sound. It’s a cathartic release, the kind that leaves you breathless, as if you’ve just scaled the mountain yourself and are now standing at the edge, staring out over the endless expanse below. Throughout the album, Ferrari’s multi-instrumental skills are on full display. He plays everything—guitars, keys, sitar, erhu, flute, percussion—and you can feel the love and care that went into crafting each note, each layer of sound. Recorded in his home barn studio in a small mountain village, the album is imbued with a sense of place, of stillness, and of connection to the natural world. There’s something profoundly organic about the music, as if it grew from the soil itself, shaped by the wind and rain, and now blossoms before your ears. Mount Elephant is more than an album—it’s a journey, an odyssey through the landscapes of Ferrari’s mind and the vast cultural influences he draws upon. It’s a record that invites you to slow down, to listen closely, to feel the rhythm of the earth beneath your feet. It’s not about reaching a destination; it’s about the joy of the journey itself, the discovery, the wonder, and the moments of blissful stillness in between.
So, take a step onto the path, follow the music, and see where Mount Elephant takes you. Chances are, it will be somewhere you’ve never been before, yet it will feel like home. Head to Fuzz Club for more information about ordering this psych-rock gem on vinyl.
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