The story of the Flamingods is like a case study in international relations. It goes a little something like this: Kamal Rasool founds the band in his bedroom in the island city of Bahrain; in an eight-hour jam session at the Animal Collective -curated ATP Festival, the solo project turns into a collective. Rasool settles in Great Britain but after his studies loses his visa because of changes in immigration law and is forced to return to Bahrain, about 6000 kilometers from the band’s rehearsal space. Rather than throwing in the towel, Rasool continues the project over the internet—tracks are sent here and edited there, and a second album is released. The band’s biographical history of border encroachments is mirrored in its aesthetic—Flamingods weave psychedelic sound carpets embroidered by the aural signatures of instruments from Nepal, Thailand, Indonesia, Turkey, Japan and Tasmania. These creations, which pendulum between Asian textures and African rhythms, are intricate, but they also thrive in the pop-song format to which they are tailored. This collective experiment knows no border controls—sonic or otherwise.