Oh, hello, you’re here because it said LSD in the link and you clicked it? Welcome to my world.
This isn’t an article about LSD, nor the search for God. We’ve already covered these two topics on Buddha Mag. See Help! I accidentally took some LSD. Am I gonna die? and “2 minutes after I smoked it, I met god.” – A first-hand experience of Lucid Tulsi.
LSD and the Search for God is a psychedelic rock band from San Francisco with a diehard cult following. And they have come to scatter their acidic influences on the underground of Malmö, Sweden, during the coldest, darkest winter month.
I wouldn’t pretend I’ve heard of the band. That’s because I live in a cave of repetitive electronic music and feed off spaceship and laser gun sound samples. But like many, I took my maiden trip to Plan B, Malmö’s latest underground den of decadence, because of the band name. I had no Plan A, I only go alternative.
“If they have LSD in their band name, they must do good shit.”
And so I stepped, once again, into the city’s underground, literally. Plan B’s located one floor below sea level, right in the midst of a barrage of car workshops, and nearby, an unassuming driving school called Jihad Driving Theory.
Plan B was dreamy, flowy, and a mystical blend of neon colours. The air smelled like incense and the smoke machines have turned the entire venue into a rainbow coloured cloud filled with really hot people with septum piercings. Raw, unpainted ventilation pipes and cables ran across the ceiling, the walls were splashed with infinite light swirls from the overworked projectors. And in contrast, the ground was a cold, grey, unfeeling slab of cement, cracked and oblivious to its crowd.
As I sipped on my beer, relishing the metallic-can flavour that’s carefully infused in all beverages served in Malmö’s underground scene, they descended.
The harbingers of the psychedelic Armageddon, the stewards for lysergic acid diethylamide riffs – LSD and the Search for God.
Hypnotising vocals were laced with heavy doses of drone, white noise, and numbing chords that caused the crowd to sway uncontrollably. Her lips moved but I couldn’t hear what she sang. I was engulfed in a comfortable numbness, yet slightly irritated by my lack of control over my own body.
Their 150 micrograms had hit me. There was no clarity, no thought, no consciousness. Only a slow, fluid daze, gripping me like a smoky vice. And I drifted, moved, senselessly, languidly, for the next hour or so.
And when they finally relented, I recovered, still unsure of what had happened to me. There was no god. And exactly like their band name, the whole time they played, it just felt like a search. There was no salvation, no heaven, and yet, a comforting sense of resignation. There might be no guy with a big beard wearing white robes, nor a universal consciousness that’s the sum of all our souls, but it’s ok.
I knew no song titles. No lyrics. No names. But that too, is ok. I’m ok.
And maybe that was their magic. Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between and around, feed yourself some LSD and the Search for God.
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