I’m clinging to an unsympathetic cold stone wall as a frenzied barback coaxes a crowd of us from a hallway infested with revelers to concrete floor seating in a bath of electric blue light that less illuminates but more separates the super group taking the stage. Leg falling asleep on unforgiving concrete with a brimming crowd behind me – it’s as good a place for a religious experience as any. Angels of Aumsphere centers on a cryptic triptych choir of Mira Billotte (White Magic), Nora Keyes (Roco Jet, The Centimeters, Fancy Space People), and Diva Dompe (Black Black, Pocahaunted) backed by Don Bolles (Germs, Fancy Space People – let’s face it, it would take less space to list the bands he hasn’t been in), Jimi Cabeza de Vaca (Roco Jet, Red Cortez) and Ron Rege, Jr. (Lavender Diamond) so they’ve already got their fair share of zealots crowded in anticipation. Mounted glittering eyes with emerald pyramid irises scrutinize the audience from atop each of the siren’s heads as they take their places amidst a swirling of robes and relax into a nest of wires and synthesizers.

I can’t say for sure that it happened at 11:11 but give or take a minute from the time when wishes are cast with a little more confidence, Angels of Aumsphere penetrated that segregating blue light like automaton apostles sent to deliver a message too ornate for us to fully absorb, but instead fall swooning into its soothing beauty.  It’s as if a cloud of angels, ethereal and effervescing, has supernovaed on a different frequency and trace amounts of that energy are seeping into our dimension. While voices echo like lullabies from future times and warble with a majesty both natural and supernatural, beats forge onward minimally but insistently, synths careen in arpeggiations that must be the sounds of the machines of the gods, and bass lines are delivered with psychedelic sensibilities often admired but rarely demonstrated. Their gospel delves into cavernous depths, crystalline and aquatic, pearl harmonies softly fading into gleaming melody as silver structures collapse and find themselves reborn as the idols of their religion. Evergreen cords of gentle guitar accentuate the point in which lush green stalks push through permafrost in search of the evoking vocals of the seraphim before us. But like any true religious experience, Angels of Aumsphere aren’t here to give us answers but rather to invoke our faith. They appear and before we fully realize them they are gone and Catholic priests are pushing through the crowd, ready to confirm whether or not we just witnessed a true miracle, as if we need them to tell us.

We’re given a few minutes intermission before the Space Lady takes the stage, smiling warmly beneath her Hermes helmet with its blinking red guiding light. This is her first touring appearance in live venues but she takes the stage like a veteran, truly in her element and warmly nurturing the riveted crowd. Yet, there is that obvious space between us, that segregation embodied by that hazy electric blue light during Angels of Aumsphere’s performance, but this time it’s not the light – it’s the awed reverence and respect that create a brief gulf between us and the Space Lady.  It’s almost definitely that blinking red light, but as I watch her fluidly coast through gentle yet agile synth covers of The Electric Prunes’ “I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night”, Peter Schilling’s “Major Tom” and John Lennon’s “Imagine”, I feel like I’m in a mob of mystified and astonished spectators at the birth of aviation, watching an unfamiliar machine on the first successful flight in history, despite the metal and rivets. She is engaging and human, yet somewhere in those synth covers we find that same magic that made stop motion Christmas specials so warm and yet so alien. At the merch booth, her husband takes each opportunity (the few afforded when someone’s not actually queued to buy a record) to sing along, especially at the point where she covers one of his songs. There’s a smile on every face and the air is abuzz with admiration and excitement. And that electricity pulses on long after the Space Lady has returned to a star that may be ages away but looks close enough to touch.

-Seth Styles