Mother’s Cake revels between precision and abandon. With Ultrabliss, the Austrian quartet strides into territory that feels untamed. If their previous works hinted at rebellion, Ultrabliss is the revolution fully realized. On November 27, the revolution comes to Bucharest as Mother's Cake plays day 1 of Control Club's Psych-Kicks psychedelic journey.
Situated in the band's broader canon, Ultrabliss feels like its manifesto. Where 2020’s Cyberfunk! leaned into tight funk-rock grooves, this album opts for expansive jams and daring genre experiments, now adding a permanent fourth member whose keys and guitar carve new paths through the band’s dense soundscapes.
Clockwork, the nearly ten-minute opener, launches you into orbit. Synths shimmer, krautrock beats churn, and a sly nod to A Clockwork Orange anchors the track in Kubrickian cool. You immediately sense that Mother’s Cake is daring you to follow them into something never fully explored.
Then, just as you’ve adjusted to the cosmic sprawl, along comes Feel Alright, a playful indie-dance banger well suited for Kasabian. It’s a sharp left turn, but it doesn’t feel out of place as the band's ability to balance cerebral and celebratory is inherently woven throughout the album.
Tracks like One of These Days and Serotonin drive home the band’s understanding of the importance of groove. The former packs a funk-laden punch reminiscent of prime Red Hot Chili Peppers, while the latter soars with anthemic hooks in an album standout. Each song brims with subtle references—whispers of Grauzone here, echoes of Zeppelin there. In fact, easter eggs pepper Ultrabliss, rewarding the diligent listener with intertextual delights. You don’t just listen to Ultrabliss—you excavate it.
If the first half of Mother's Cake hints at the band’s exploratory nature, the latter half plunges headfirst into them. Love Me is nine minutes of psychedelic bliss—a hypnotic odyssey that dissolves time and space. Similarly, On a Trip lives up to its name as an extended hallucinatory journey that dares you to let go of its euphoric arms.
Into the Light closes the album, tying together the cinematic threads found throughout Ultrabliss. While the album resists a clear narrative arc, it thrives on thematic consistency: transformation, liberation, and a staunch disregard for boundaries.
Overall, Ultrabliss is part De-Loused in the Comatorium in its fearlessness, part Franz Ferdinand in its danceable moments, and part King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard in its willingness to dissolve genre. And yet, it’s also none of these things entirely. Mother’s Cake is building their own universe here, borrowing what they need from the past to construct something uniquely theirs.
In lesser hands, an album this eclectic could feel disjointed, but Mother’s Cake imbues it with a coherence as if the whole thing were held together by some unseen gravitational force. They are a band that understands rock’s golden rule—the moment you get too comfortable, it’s time to blow it all up and start again.
Ultrabliss is an argument for the vitality that thrives on risk and reinvention. To listen is to feel simultaneously grounded and untethered, pulled along by a force that refuses to stay still. Mother’s Cake isn’t asking you to meet them halfway—they’re already miles ahead, beckoning you to join them in the unknown.
