http://www.myspace.com/sleepysun

I’m told San Francisco in the 70s was a kaleidoscope of drugs, psychedelic rock, folk and youthful “mad people.” Sleepy Sun seem to indicate that in the last 40 years, not much has changed. The band’s debut album Embrace was chock full of drifty folk tales that turn on a dime into sludgy hard rock, all of it with a distinctly rustic, California flavor. Comparisons to Led Zeppelin are inescapable. Even the dynamic between singer Bret Constantino and Rachel Fannan often rings of the more recent Robert Plant and Alison Krauss project- Constantino a passionate howler; Fannan a gentler, sensual compliment. Though make no mistake, those roles have room for reversal. All comparisons aside, the band returns with their sophomore album, Fever (Sol Diamond, ATP Recordings), which extends their trajectory of big dumb riffs and bluesy acoustic reflections, both parts equally adventurous.

“Marina” leads with skuzzy guitar, an early indication of the trippy, lumbering break downs and wah-wah 70s rock solos to come. This opener is a perfect example of the range of this band, even within a single song. It transitions from this fizzing rock intro, to soft and airy verse, later onto a Santana-inspired hand drum mid-section, ending with a joyous gospel-esque vocal section: “Fever, fever, fever flood the door. Shut it, shut it, shut it, crack a light.” Ok, alright, fine, let’s squeeze ONE more heavy guitar solo in at the end, but then that’s it…

The album’s only real single, “Open Eyes,” breaks into a new plot of experimental territory with Constatino’s vocals on a heavy filter effect, sounding straight out of the Mars Volta playbook. But as the chorus hits, “You’re not alone/rest assured/cause at the bottom you can open your eyes,” and Fannan and Constantino unite in battle cry, the band erupts back into their groovy, entrancing sweet spot. The album closer, “Sandstorm Woman,” is probably a more representative track running a total of 10 minutes, a total head rocker, drenched with solos and easily the most seductive on the album. It seems to suggest western pioneers are alive and well. “Rigamaroo” may state this more directly, if admonishing, “How could they see/how could they know/where treasure lies/and where he’ll go?” Tumbleweed rolls on past the desert campfire.

Fever proves majestic in its spotlight vocal moments, brooding and stormy in its sludgy hard rock riffs, and triumphant when the two styles meet. Add a dash of electric harmonica solos and you attain mind-expanding rock bliss. The formula hasn’t changed much, which is something to take comfort in, as it shows there are plenty of wagon rides to come from these young Bay Area rockers.

- matthew hunt