Albums

Town Mountain | Leave The Bottle | New Music Review

Nice work fellows!

Henhouse Prowlers | Breaking Ground | New Music Review

I’ll be honest: Chicago is probably the last place I tend to think of when we’re talkin’ bluegrass. Still, the Henhouse Prowlers have gained a healthy following out in the city they call home, so I figured a listen couldn’t hurt all that much.

Hopping in, the foursome’s not too rough around the edges—they’re speedy, low-gloss pluckers, and their record plays something like a ragtag barnyard session you’d find in a millennial Monte Hellman joint.

The Mother Hips | Behind Beyond | Review

The Mother Hips have been around for twenty years, and I’ve never heard of them—I think—actually, on second thought, they do ring a bell. But that might just be residual from my Acid Mothers Temple salad days...

Widespread Panic | Live at Oak Mountain | Review

Southern Rockers Widespread Panic have come a long way since their humble beginnings in Athens, George in 1986. Well, actually, the sextet is still humble. Steering clear of mainstream record labels, never overselling themselves to anyone but their loyal fans, playing discrete destination festivals, while keeping a cool and accessible demeanor; by basically being themselves.

Tracy Walton | If I Ever Get Away | New Music Review

How would one describe Tracy Walton a singer –songwriter who hails from Litchfield CT? Tracy Walton has never been afraid to re-invent himself. In this spirit, Tracy released the aptly titled “Brand New Again” in 2011. At once rough and vulnerable, Tracy’s voice cuts to the heart of any story, taking you down back roads, through broken lonely hearts, and into hopeful, open skies.

Stripmall Architecture | Suburban Reverb | New Music Review

Sometime in between The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside” and Kanye West’s “Stronger,” electronic music officially became pop again. Long relegated to the support role after the death of new wave in the 80s, the keyboardist became a more prominent player (pun absolutely intended) in a band once again. Often just an add-on in a guitar-driven musical landscape, the keyboardist now plays the riffs, front and center. The buzzing sawtooth that starts Phoenix’s “1901” and the glossy bounce that propels Passion Pit’s “Take a Walk” are what gets stuck in people’s heads these days.

Grateful Web Interview with Caroline Rose | New Music Review

Upon first listening to Caroline Rose’s America Religious (releasing July 2), I found it fresh and catchy. On my second listen, I settled in and it opened up to me – or I to it. In the lyrics I found political and social commentary nestled into the metaphors, and a little bit more of a lead foot as I drove down the road. I found a friend in her music; one who thinks similarly to me and who cares about the big picture and all its little breath-beings.

Jon Hopkins | Immunity | New Music Review

Jon Hopkins has always been a bit of a journeyman in the music world. The British producer got his first gig as the keyboardist for Imogen Heap’s backing band, and has built up quite a resume from there. He collaborated often with prolific producer Brian Eno, which led to production work with him on Coldplay’s 2008 album Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends.

Bad Cop | Light on | New Music Review

Shades of raw Buzzcocks in spirit and this distinguishable brand of Interpol-Strokes scenester amalgam in recurring riffs—adjusting their own description to account for the requisite self-romanticizing inherent in any young new band’s internal visions of their portrait—that’s Bad Cop more or less.

The trio’s debut E.P. is grinded-down polish. Anarchy on synthetic drugs. High-gloss Stratocaster punk trying to recount stories some denim-rocking uncle of ‘66 told through an acid haze back in the glory days.

JJ Grey & Mofro | This River | New Music Review

Maybe I’ve grown jaded and all, but lately the gimmicks and ploys and artificial soul spewing from some of these up-and-comers in the ‘industry’ (loose interpretation) have been dancing on nothing short of exhausting. Too much self-awareness, far too little genuine appreciation for the necessary steps on the ladder to iconic reverence. Folks wanna be first-off famous—you cannot fall in love with the rock stars, to paraphrase my favorite flick on the subject (you’ve seen it). It’s a barren wasteland of lowly pomp and posture, if you ask this guy.