More bands should be this inventive. Sadgiqacea of the unpronounceable name — or as I like to call them, the Sacagawea of kitchen-sink sludge — manage something of a minor miracle here on their debut LP, swallowing every influence in their path and shitting out a cohesive brick of gold. As a journey, False Prism travels far and wide: they cover more musical ground than most festival lineups. Progressive sludge veers into tribal drone, only to swerve off on a tremolo-picked tangent before tearing a hole in the sky with some volcanic doom. And they do it with such seamless fluidity you have to lean back just to take it all in. Some of the strongest moments appear in the connective tissue: clean, black-metal-sounding arpeggiated minor chords ease the passage of much heavier riffs, but it’s the delicacy of the arrangement that sticks with you. Psychedelic sludge isn’t exactly new, but it’s rarely this enthralling. –Aaron [LISTEN]