The album opens with the instrumental ‘Crossing’, which shifts and swirls in a cloud of 90s grunge, dissonant squealing guitar and slapped drums. The song seemingly finds its sense of purpose around the 5 minute mark, narrowing its focus and driving forward at a sauntering gallop. Follow-up ‘Everyone I Know’ introduces vocals, which are surprisingly soft and gentle amongst the instrumentation.

“i’ve got reasons why i go to the woods at night
everyone that i know is standing all around
they say its okay now
chetty it’s okay”

‘Captain Spark’ has a kind of inelegant rhythm before ending in a snarl of guitar and crash of drums and the repeated line “i see you hiding but i wanna move forward”. ‘Crowded Room’ is probably the album’s most danceable track, lo-fi guitar sashaying around katie’s drums, while ‘Care Song’ is a joyously raucous instrumental, chetty’s guitar searing through the gloomy lo-fi rock vibes. ‘hahaha’ is much more ruminative, hoping and wishing for, or perhaps even promising, something different:

“im gonna be my own star in a gross world
im gonna lean on you
dont you know angels are dreaming of you
plants are in your front yard
i wanna fall asleep on my back
think of nothing for awhile”

The vocals on ‘Shimmer’ are soft and breathy and barely there, delivering opaque and simple lyrics that are thick with imagery, like how minimalist photographs of everyday scenes can sometimes be infused with something more. Closer ‘Sister Girl’ is enveloped in a shadowy lo-fi atmosphere, like a sweaty basement show from the 90s, all screeching guitar and unpredictable percussion. It’s a cool end to a really great collection of songs.

You can get Feed the Bug now on cassette from Reflective Tapes or as a download from the Twelve Gardens Bandcamp page.

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That’s a pretty good description to my ears. The skittering percussion and winding guitar on ‘Knowing 1’ are as autumnal as brittle leaves on the wind. Things get decidedly colder on ‘Blind Edit (Knowing 2)’, which has this strange and desolate vibe that fits perfectly with the photograph on the album art, like the sound of a gale making voices on some arctic tundra or empty plain. It morphs after around two minutes, becoming insular and indistinct,  almost as if Delaney has come in from the cold and shut a heavy door behind him, tape hiss like the crackle of a fire, the long slow drones like the oncoming fingers of sleep.

‘Smooth J’ begins all skittering percussion and echoing guitar, like a gentle, psych-tinged take on epic post rock, before a strange field-recorded interlude of muffled, indecipherable voices. The title of ‘The Heat is On’ is somewhat misleading, a drawn out drone that sounds sparse and cold, before ‘Still Life Photographer’ breaks the ten minute mark with its rattle and sway and surreal, midnight distortion. The final track, ‘Thrown into the Water’, is the longest of all, opening with twitchy drums and smooth elliptic guitar, hitting its stride to become the perfect meditative driving song, complete with skating synths, unfurling guitar and noisy reverberating interludes. The percussion falls away after around ten minutes, leaving a shifting ambient atmosphere that feels somehow transcendental, a moment of perfect clarity to close the tape.

Order Secret Wind on cassette via Lily Tapes & Discs, or as a digital download from The National Park Service Bandcamp page.

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Take opening track ‘goth kids by the carousel in the mall’ as an example. The majority of the track is morose droning organ sounds, joined infrequently by disembodied voices. It brings to mind the emotive experimental ambient music of people like our pal Benjamin Shaw. The songs are infused with a very 21st Century sense of woe, like on the second track that sounds part funeral dirge, part slow-mo Nintendo soundtrack, with the informative title ‘everyone is playing Pokémon Go and i’m out of data’.

‘Makeshift Parties’ introduces the album’s first proper vocals, with Leah Rials and DeeDee Peffercorn joining Hope to deliver the single repeated line. Again the atmosphere is downbeat, but in a pretty, crystalline way, like driving alone through a cold clear city night, passing neon-lit gas stations and tall and lonely office blocks. The next track is as quietly nostalgic (again, in a sad way) as you’d expect from a song called ‘playing Spyro or Jersey Devil on PS1 w my brother’, while ‘this could be us but you playin’ is a change of pace, introducing acoustic guitar and vocals for a classic bedroom pop sound.

Closing proceedings is ‘dysphoria in the costume store’, an instrumental track that’s rich with a grand melancholy, pretty much the perfect ending to this sad and atmospheric collection of songs.

You can get artless on cassette via Z Tapes or as a digital download from the if i die in mississippi Bandcamp page.

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‘Cold Spell’ begins with laid back and dreamy guitar, before whipping up into a storm, Knights’s vocals at first droll and disaffected, but eventually raising into a raw-throated plea. The whole thing escalates further into a frenzied last 40 seconds, the lyrics barely decipherable behind the squall of instrumentation.

B-side ‘Endless Migraine’ delivers a second shot of shadowy post punk, with an undulating bass line and yelled vocals. Again the song descends into madness, the drums hammered to hell as Knights repeats the line “endless migraine!” with increasing fervour.

You can get ‘Cold Spell’ now on cassette via Hidden Bay Records. The release comes complete with a 32-page art and photography zine.

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The music of naps defies direct description – there are no lyrics to decipher, no traditional play between guitar and bass and drums. Instead you’re presented with ambiguities, textures and tones and slow creeping sensations that rise from the tape hiss and static. Take for instance opener ‘benjamin’, which plays out as a muffled hum interspersed with distorted crunchy sounds, like someone shovelling snow beneath your window at 5am. ‘work’ has a similar vibe, pairing plinking keys with a field recording of everyday life and a crackled interference.

‘i’m out’ somnambulates through it’s four minute run-time, before the slow winding sadness of ‘sick’, which sounds like the aural equivalent of an unfolding blue-grey dawn. ‘leave’ lays a sombre drone over nervous, flickering sounds, as if the producer is unable to sit still, while ‘all day’ is thick with an electronic fuzz. Closing track ‘tried’ has a quiet grandeur, like the first creeping daylight on the deserted streets of a chilly city dawn.

You can get checking out early on cassette tape from Patient Sounds, or as a download from the naps Bandcamp page.

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The opening track ‘Ode’ introduces both the sound and themes of the album very nicely. “Twenty five, barely getting by”, Vick sings “you’re still the guy I look to, do you know why?”, before the song kicks up with percussion and a sweet and catchy chorus of “we don’t say it / but we don’t need to”.

The second track is the super short ‘I Mean These Things’, which is almost like a standalone chorus about the way a loved one can erase all doubt and worry (“everything i write is the same and everything i mean i don’t say / ‘cept you and i fall right out of the category”). The stripped back acoustics on ‘Marinate’ match the song’s atmosphere perfectly, the first time the album hits a purely sad and reflective note, as Vick sings,

“i’m an introvert attracted to the
extrovert lifestyle
can i be me
if i change my mind
and be more worthwhile”

‘July 9 2015’ has a real Free Cake For Every Creature vibe, the gentle indie pop backed with shambling percussion. In a premiere with our friends at The Le Sigh, Vick explains that the song was written in response to finishing college and moving back home. But refreshingly, the song isn’t the regular future-gazing that post-university blues usually bring. As Vick explains,

“I was journaling in the coffee shop across the street from my apartment and it was one of the first moments I allowed myself to be like, “what just happened?!!” instead of “ok now what? what’s next now that you’ve graduated?” it felt like I was losing sight of all the growth and experiences I just had because I was constantly thinking about what was expected of me to do next. I just wanted to write about the present moment and about the things I was sure of instead of allowing myself to be engulfed by my uncertainty.”

The atmosphere is decidedly understated on ’23’, a song about getting older in years but not necessarily in mind (at least all the time) that’s full of nice turn of phrase like “i’m a selfish hugger / you’re a confusing lover”. We described ‘Did You See Me Cry’ previously as “a song with a soft and sad confidence, building to a finale of layered vocals”, the delicate acoustic guitar ringing quietly behind words thick with self-reflection and some kind of acceptance.

“i can keep four friendships alive
that’s my quota for this life
cigarettes out front the laundromat
say what you said and take it back”

‘Blue’ doesn’t sound as sad as the title and lyrics suggest, a subtly grooving bass line supporting one of the more upbeat sounding tracks on the album, while finale ‘The Park Behind Walmart’ has its own quiet confidence, with slapped drums and nicely layered vocals that twine around one another.

“walking walmart shopping center
i’d never been better
on my own two feet”

Boy Scouts makes sad-sounding songs that are a lot more than mere wallowing in self pity. There are no immediately rough edges, the whole atmosphere gently contemplative rather than bitterly confessional, but things aren’t sugar-coated either. The lack of angry snarls doesn’t mean everything is peachy, but equally the sad and lonely bedroom pop vibe doesn’t mean things are terrible either. And that’s the real triumph of the album, because it feels true.

Homeroom Breakfast is out on Mt. Home Arts and is available on cassette with lovely silk-screened art by Nora Einbender-Luks. You can also get it on a name-your-price download via the Boy Scouts Bandcamp page.

Also, in case you missed it, we spoke with Taylor about the album and her influences – check it out!

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The release defies simple description, with folk and drone meeting a modest grandeur that would be at home in the neoclassical canon. Like all Lost Tribe Sounds releases, it’s music that’s meticulously planned and executed, dense compositions that are enmeshed with themes and narrative arcs despite their wordless nature. The vibe is difficult to pin down – at times mystical and hallucinogenic, others downright ominous. As Cartwright describes, “Recorded & mixed over a period of two weeks whilst feeling the heat (both literally & politically) I opted for a threatening, even apocalyptic EP title. Saying that, I think most of these songs can offer up a tranquility to counteract the gravity of these uncertain times, a calm inside the eye of a storm.”

The title track introduces this thematic juxtaposition, and, despite the beautiful guitar work, darkness is never far away. Behind lurks a sound like the blare of a siren, as if warning of incoming terror, a tornado or air raid.

‘Seen As a Black Road’ bubbles with rustic guitar, coming across as sparse Americana until synths rise beyond like some spectral light in a desert sky. ‘The Good River’ wheezes and breathes its way to life, the percussion a steady pulse in the background, the 12-string guitar morphing into a mournful dirge. To my mind ‘Returnee’ sounds autumnal, the guitar dipping and swirling like a cascade of golden brown leaves, while ‘Overgrown Courtyard’ is dark and pensive, the rightly wound lead guitar tumbling over foreboding drone. The tape closes with ‘Passage Of Old’, which sounds morosely grand and somehow more European than the other songs on the album, like the theme of some beleaguered monarch watching his kingdom burn from a hilltop.

You can get I Can See the Smoke now on cassette or digital download from Lost Tribe Sound, via the Seabuckthorn Bandcamp page.

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As if to prove this immediately, the first track, ‘WEN’ is super fuzzed-out indie pop, all shimmering, screeching feedback. It’s the kind of song that has a grainy sweetness, as if your speakers are reaching out with staticky arms to give you a loving embrace.

This theme is extended on tracks such as ‘cool’, which slo-mo shreds in a wash of feedback, the calm vocals smooth beneath the squall of guitar. This full-bodied sound can also be found on ‘see you there’, which eventually blooms into an almost post-rock roil.

Some of the songs take a completely different tack, such as the hushed and mumbled ‘the scent of a salesman’ and the sedate dream pop of ‘virile poetry’. The final track of the tape’s first side begins in an equally quiet manner, but soon opens out into dissonant guitar and rolling clouds of fuzz.

Side 2 is equally eclectic, opening with a galloping homebrew percussion which wobbles and dissipates as quickly as it arrives, transitioning into the murky pop of ‘the agency’. ‘aching stomach – version 2’ is a strange pop song, swaying as if the soundtrack to a surreal dream sequence, a shadowy atmosphere that’s furthered on ‘the honey soaked leg of the worker bee’. Things are refreshed with the searing guitar of ‘and the weather report 2 maybe…’. which sounds like someone singing along to a blaring indie rocker in the apartment next door, before the slow plodding slacker pop of ‘leaning on the parapet’.

“I try to focus on the probability
of succeeding in this field
its difficult to see”

The album ends on ‘tracey barlow playing kiddies keyboards’, a mammoth ten minute track that could’ve made a short EP all of its own. It has all the hallmarks that you’d expect from glider having come this far, unconventional structures and echoey disaffected vocals and peaks of crackled feedback. If that sounds like your thing, then you’d be wise to check out the whole album.

You can get demos now on cassette via French label Hidden Bay Records, or as a free download from the glider Soundcloud page.

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His latest album, Ill Tides, is the first in a new series of cassettes from label Lost Tribe Sound, inspired by the label HQ’s move from Arizona to Wisconsin. The series, entitled Dead West, is intended to “focus on music built for exploring and soundtracking your environment, whether you’re deep in the middle of lush woodlands, or just laying back at home with rested eyes”. Cassettes were chosen for both practical and aesthetic reasons, meaning not only will the music sound great on tape, with all of its quirks and so-called limitations, but the quick turnover time allows fans to get their hands on the music much sooner than they would with a vinyl release.

Ill Tides begins with ‘Ghosts in the Gale’, a song with a perfectly descriptive title, the atmosphere a slow roil like the grasping hands of tortured souls. A plaintive guitar line eventually enters, bringing an air of quiet sadness like the calm after a disaster, the feeling of watching from the cliff edge as the remains of a vessel are brought in on the tide. Follow up ‘Recoiled’ is equally atmospheric, the background ambience almost like wordless voices from some nameless gloom or shifting mists on a strange and unexplored shore.

It’s practically impossible to give a comprehensive review of Fritch’s work. As with any piece of art, every listener will take something different, the images conjured into their mind unique and personal, though for us at least the ocean is a recurring feature. The title track is strangely elegant, the percussion bogged down and sluggish but transcended by soaring strings. Its not hard to imaging it as a travelling song, to-ing and fro-ing on the swells of a dark and ominous sea.

The knotted threads of ‘At Odds’ give way to an eerie siren call, the closest thing to vocals on the record, before ‘A Tense Spiral’ sounds exactly as advertised, a taut and escalating track that conjures images of a thousand circling seabirds, a harbinger of an oncoming storm. ‘The Fog of Our Primes’ then rises out of the murk, quivering and quavering like a water spout, while ‘Evaporate’ has a crystalline sound, perhaps the soundtrack to a new and strange land, one of frozen rivers and mountains of ice. Finale ‘Furthest Shore’ ends proceedings with something that sounds like the soundtrack to some far-flung northern island, all rugged hills and dagger-sharp outcrops and a howling wind. It is a fitting finish that captures the beauty in the harsh and unforgiving force of nature.

As with all of Fritch’s music, Ill Tides is a surprisingly cinematic experience, narratives snaking through each song despite their wordless nature. You can get it now on tape or download from Lost Tribe Sound via the William Ryan Fritch Bandcamp page.

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‘Skull Song’ opens with lean and bouncy guitar, the garage pop backing to Kaparos’s deadpan vocals, creating a tune that for all its rough-around-the-edges strangeness is actually catchy and uplifting, as if the band are able to bring together a bunch of disparate lo-fi elements to somehow conjure something with a glint of magic. “I’m moving too fast”, Kaparos sings, “in and out of the past / nobody living here could make me turn back”.

‘Woodclamp’ is a folk song with a palpable pulse, a steady muffled beat that keeps the rest of the song moving forward, the vocals on ‘Dogwhistle’ seem crowded right up to the mic, delivered in a disaffected drawl. The song’s final section is also remarkable in the way is manages to convey considerable emotion in the line “I’m not a spaceman I’m a dog”.

‘Alchemy’ is built on a steady strum, distorted guitar and murmured vocals that occasionally quaver and hit peaks of emotion or desperation. The guitars on ‘The Rise and Fall of Mulch’ sound very Appalachian indeed, a pleasantly hallucinogenic flow fueled on moonshine and late summer sun, before things go quiet as the guitars are plugged into a blown-out amp and the song transforms into something that’s all brash reverb and half-hearted shredding.

‘Reading the Obits on a Sunbaked Hillside’ is a slow burner, beginning with meditative guitar cycles before eventually dawning into frantic folk as Kaparos sings:

“This one below
now he’s a real hero
fought in a war that nobody knows
this one beside him
well she’s the queen of spain
but nobody gives a fuck anyway”

As the title suggests, closing track ‘Skull Song (Reprise)’ sees the first track resurrected, the melody familiar but somehow different too, like something recognised from a dream or deja vu. And like the rest of the album it’s deceptively fun. If there’s one thing Appalachian Yard Art excel at it’s the ability to tease out moments of clarity from their rough and homespun palette. I like Antiquated Future’s term “minimalist outsider mini-epics”, because that’s what these songs are, proof that beauty lies not in the meticulously polished but in the honest and messy strangeness of being alive.

You can get Fussy now on cassette tape from Antiquated Future Records or as a download via the Appalachian Yard Art Bandcamp page.

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