It’s as if Woodstock never left, as you stumble out of your tent, bleary eyed, to the sound of Sleepy Suns. Hendrix ‘Star Spangled…’ style guitar intro and dreamy harmonies mix with a laidback Californian drawl as ‘Marina’ breezes through, joss stick clasped firmly in hand. The band’s torch songs, like ‘Ooh Boy’ and ‘Sandstorm Woman’, provide a welcome break from the tangled mass of noise, and while this is an album that could nestle quite happily next to your dads Pink Floyd collection, Sleepy Suns’ swooping vocals sound refreshingly new. They, and ‘Fever’, are the antithesis of over-produced pop, with more bombastic kick than the wispy mutterings of ‘new folk’ and work of contemporaries Grizzly Bear and Fleet Foxes. With lighters held aloft, ‘Wild Machines’’s prog odyssey could prove an epic festival closer. Don’t let this band pass you by.

By Kate Parkin

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