I first discovered Morgan Delt through Al Lover’s end of year list on the Austin Psych Fest blog. There was something he wrote about him that kept resonating my head, long before I actually finally got round to listening to him: “If the Rza produced a psych record in 1995 this is what it would sound like. That’s all I have to say. Morgan Delt is the Future.”
Morgan Delt is a fearless creative, a California native that bottles the sweet, warm breeze that blew through the West Coast’s pinewood in the summer of 1967, leaving the clichès it brought behind. He takes the sonority of Barrett-era Pink Floyd, mixes it with the harmonies and orchestrations of Pet Sounds and Odessey and Oracle and sprays it across the pop laced Laurel Canyon bathroom The Byrds and The Beatles lost their minds in. Though many elements of Delt’s music refer to the past, he manages to keep it sounding fresh, like a 3D technicholor dream you’ve got the wrong glasses for, on tangent where it was Brian Jones that kicked Jagger and Richards out of the band.