These peeps are based in Brooklyn, but they are dripping with the sound of the desert. And there's chatter about Mazzy Star, whom I never quite warmed back in them Eighties but whose treacly vocals are a good match. Perhaps all this desert talk is poisoning my periscope, but there's a lovely, dubby emptiness to this music that nudges my imagination in the direction of sandy wastes and peyote-rich cacti. A quick look on Spotify shows that they've even covered Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game", slow-dancing under the swirl of the stars.
"In The Pines" might be a version of the Leadbelly number, but I'm not sure as in their hands it's a swinging indie bar-room shuffler and I don't know the song that well. Either way, I like the transmuting of the Blues into this stellar blur, if that's what happened. It's cool and anaesthetic; although I suppose it should stay raw and throaty. Am I slipping into the same nostalgic, numb coma as the chillwave drift has sucked so many souls into? Damn you, Brooklyn and your white indie flight!
There are some great movie soundtracks yet to be born that tracks from this album will appear on. All mellow and thoughtful and romantic and beautiful and shit. But did they name themselves after the Lydia Lunch record label? That suggests a bit more sidewalk grit underneath the desert sunsets, doesn't it?
Rating: Waltzing out of The Desert
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