Fuzzed-out, blissed-up, downtuned, lost on the Pacific Highway with a bag of weed and a homemade bong. Sand dunes on the right of me, mountains on the left, windows down, high on life. Feeling good now.

Leave it all behind, man. Twenty minutes feel like a lifetime, you start all tetchy and paranoid then relax into it. Posi-core, dude. Scuzzy no-wave psychedelia. Fuckin’ Stooges straight from the Seventies, feeling up Brian Wilson. Is there such a thing as stoner punk? Ah, who cares. Just enjoy the drive. Cruising 90, 80, 70 kilometres an hour, up and down, through the trees and the towns. Talk to Gary on the corner Heading north, south, west, who knows, forever.

It’s not about the guitars, or the drums, or the bass - it’s the space between them. The endless pauses that finish too soon. Those desert sonsofbitches got it right, who says Portland can’t tap that too? Portland Dorset; Portland, Victoria; Portland, Oregon. Any Portland in a storm. It’s been good for seven years, seven albums, getting looser each trip round the bout. Harmonising ain’t the enemy, nor are electronics. Embrace them all, make them part of the family, do it all yourself.

We don’t do nothing fast round here. Well, maybe goodbye to bedtime. But there’s no anxiety here. You got anger, you got stress, go talk to the apple. Come back when you’ve done that dam thing. Play all day, stay up late. Show them fangs, all pearly clean. Watch out for the paranoia. That shit gets heavy. Just lean back, close your eyes and drift. We’ll take you on a candy floss ride, light and floaty. Full Time Freaks.

Endnote: Full Time Freaks is the seventh and latest album from Portland band White Fang. It’s a downtuned dreamy piece of loveliness. Kev Eddy has recently embarked on a six-month campervan odyssey around Australia, and may be feeling the vibes a little too much.