On Halloween I fell asleep to this horror-punk platter playing, and dreamt of whirling in a mosh pit in a toxic swamp, catching elbows and knees from zombie alligators and bouncing off leaking radioactive waste barrels. I woke up covered in bruises.
Like the whoomp from pouring too much firestarter on and throwing the match in, this band is in your face, exciting and a bit scary at the same time, with its snarling guitars, sneering vocals, and the heft of every possible item in the garage.
Camilo Lara teams up with some influences from the southern hemisphere to bring about this collection of decidedly cumbia-inflected tracks. The sounds lean heavily towards the casiotoned but are expertly counterbalanced with orchestral decorations.
The necessities of busking NYC subways gave birth to this trumpet-sax-drums trio, and on this outing they turn their ears towards the honks and thumps of the boom-bap, building up a collection of soulful and engaging loops out of brass and skin.
Your Jack is a trailer-park poet singing his life into your answering machine, backed with a stripped-down bluesy combo. You will laugh, you will cry, you will sing about sweet countertop love, you will want to give the bass player a goddamn medal.
Sparkling clean Jamaican sounds from this soulful Los Angeles outfit can extend your summer by a few weeks and keep you warm through the winter, and well, it's good for any season you'd like to infect with good vibrations.
As expected, it sounds like the first half of a Ray Bradbury novel, where the bright colors, joyful sounds, and easy smiles let you know something is deeply, deeply wrong, or possibly just inexplicable, or mysterious, but unabashedly psychedelic.
A satisfying blend of low rock, electronic tomfoolery, and soulful groove wrapped up in hypnotic repetition, garnished with distinctively affected male and female voices. Pairs well with dim lighting and a good stereo.
Revisiting the heady concept of Goths, this new album accurately captures a specific scene in time, the early and mid '90s alternatives, in lyrical approach if not style. Includes the incredible story-come-true of "Candlebox,"
Jolting any number of tired old riffs wide awake, this New Orleans duo does not fear spinning the dial and faking you out on some unrelated intro before settling in to some sort of domestic swamp rock thunder that's suitable for howling along.
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