New Music Friday: Mind-Bending Metal, Philly Psych-Folk
July 24 releases include Josaleigh Pollett, Sallow Moth, Little Gold, Woodwose, Nu Jazz, Ripper, ZAVAR
It's not summer in D.C. without soft serve and a rock band at Fort Reno. An abbreviated outdoor concert season, one that I almost missed due to what has been an unexpectedly busy month of travel, but I was glad to see some pals in Loose Leash last night. Hope y'all are finding sweet treats and good music out there. Here's what I've been listening to this week.
Stream the Viking's Choice Guide to New Music Friday mixtape. Follow me on Bandcamp and check out previous mixes via Buy Music Club.
Josaleigh Pollett, If I Let It Quiet
Elliptical, yet intimate songs that leave spaces open for you to fill in. Rich, electronic textures act as sonic diversions to Josaleigh's questions about life, and they emerge somewhere revelatory. A tender triumph.
Sallow Moth, Hydrophilous Brood
Even the brainiest metal mutants revert to their primordial senses. Garry Brents (Gonemage, Cara Neir, et al.) manages to make paradoxically progressive caveman death metal jazz fusion that is both mind-bending and -numbing.
Little Gold, Public Dog
Power-pop hooks with fuzzed-out flannel energy and dreamy-eyed twang. Somewhere there's a dive bar with cheap tallboys, peeling wallpaper and a jukebox with these sweet lil' tunes in a mix with Dinosaur Jr., Big Star and Uncle Tupelo.
Woodwose, Woodwose
I, for one, welcome the return of early 2000s Philly-style psych/don't-call-it-freak-folk. This duo, made of people who were there (The Valerie Project, Ex Reverie), cultivates a witchy and regal atmosphere, but doesn't skimp on the fried fuzz.
Nu Jazz, Un Jazz
The first jazz album on Orange Milk could only sound like this overachieving brain rot [complimentary]: blown-out, autotuned scramz scat over alien grooves. Korn-y Cynic on a bad trip with Herbie Hancock.
Ripper, Towards Rebirth
With 10 ripping (sorry, had to) tracks at wrecking ball speed, Chile's Ripper has one purpose: To snap your headbanging neck. No technical tomfoolery, just thrashing death metal. I can smell the battle vests from here.
ZAVAR, MIFÉLE HOLNAP? MIFÉLE JÖVŐ?
No metronomes, no masters. This one-man, Hungarian d-beat punk rawk project layers feedback, tape hiss and a furious clatter of riffs and shitty drums like he's building a shack out of mudpies.
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