BUILT TO SPILL - "When The Wind Forgets Your Name"

Founded in 1992, Doug Martsch’s Built to Spill has been a stalwart pillar of indie rock greatness for three decades: no mean feat. Sure, not all Built to Spill records are created equal: the ’94 to ’99 run of There’s Nothing Wrong With Love, Perfect From Now On, and Keep It Like a Secret remains near untouchable not only within the band’s canon but that of the broader rock music sphere. Still, they’ve never released a bad album, and despite Martsch’s tendency to center the Built to Spill sound around his virtuosic guitar melodies and philosophical lyrics, the band has yet to grapple with the issue of staleness. This trend holds on When the Wind Forgets Your Name, the band’s tenth studio album and first set of original material since 2015’s Untethered Moon. 

Martsch’s ability to keep things fresh could be due to Built to Spill’s semi-regular lineup switches. Untethered Moon and the following Daniel Johnston covers album saw drummer Steve Gere and bassist Jason Albertini replace Scott Plouf and Brett Nelson respectively, yet When the Wind Forgets Your Name already sees Oruã’s Le Almeida and João Casaes tag in to inform a new outlook. Martsch is still the ringleader, but the involvement of the Brazilian psych jazz duo slightly shifts the perspective. This is the trippiest offering from the band since Perfect From Now On.

The guitar fuzz on the opener and lead single “Gonna Lose” is packed tightly and hovers at a frequency that induces a relaxing hallucinogenic dissociation, similar to the effect of several hits of Dramamine. It’s almost shoegaze: Martsch’s vocals are relatively quiet in the mix, peering through the tiny cracks in the wall of noise constructed by the main riff. But its form is too aggressive for the label to be truly applicable: Martsch may not be a loud singer, but his shouted whines certainly aren’t shy on “Gonna Lose.” Though the tone itself is oddly dreamy, Martsch’s playing, along with that of his new rhythm section, is forceful. It’s a classic heavy metal track in the vein of Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath, processed through a film of harsh yet subtle psychedelia.

“Fool’s Gold” and “Understood” are closer to emulating the magic discovered on Perfect From Now On. Slower and soaked in reverb: these tracks may not be as sprawling nor feature stacks upon stacks of overdubs, but their drifting introspections pair well with the 1997 masterpiece. “It was only a dream / But it still felt good / To spend a little time / Thinking something mattered / And I want to tell you something / I got nothing to say,” Martsch contemplates on “Fool’s Gold,” which engages with the concept of positive nihilism. Understanding that the notion of objective meaning is the titular fool’s gold, he is mournful but not forlorn: he resolves to keep trying to find his meaning.

“Understood” ponders how people interface with the world and how much of it is active versus passive or sensory versus innate. It also wrestles with a horror often understated: the impossible terror of deep understanding. “The blind can see and the deaf can hear / Finding out what is my greatest fear,” he sings, having no desire to peel back every layer that makes up life, preferring instead to be “unrefined.”

Sandwiched between these and the R.E.M.-inspired “Spiderweb” and the Dinosaur Jr.-influenced “Never Alright” are When the Wind Forgets Your Name’s most exploratory pieces. “Elements” is a gorgeous full embrace of psychedelic folk rock, soft and swirling until the sounds of chirping crickets and ocean waves lead it out. “Rocksteady,” which somewhat ironically has Martsch claim, “I don’t know how to be anyone else,” sees the band slip snug into a dub glove (there’s a tongue-twister). For those who appreciate Built to Spill as the Neil Young with Crazy Horse of indie rock, Martsch still has you covered with the country-fried jams of “Alright” and the obligatory eight-plus minute epic “Comes a Day.”

When speaking with Inlander, Martsch strangely didn’t seem that excited about When the Wind Forgets Your Name. He mentions Alex Graham’s cover art as his favorite thing about the album and says he “didn’t feel a ton of inspiration, but did the work” as he operated under isolation during COVID. These statements are difficult to reconcile when he sounds more creatively motivated here than perhaps any album since 2006’s You In Reverse. When the Wind Forgets Your Name might not reach the nigh insurmountable heights of his best work. However, it’s still a strong effort that manages to cater to longtime fans while finding opportunities to explore new avenues. The process of making it might not have been enjoyable, but hopefully, in a few years, Martsch will be able to take pride in a record that is worth being proud of. - Travis Shosa

TROPICAL FUCK STORM - "Moonburn"

Now that absurd lead times for vinyl manufacturing have driven a new nail into the 7-inch single’s coffin, the move to maxi-single cassette makes all the sense in the world—especially considering Tropical Fuck Storm’s tendency toward longer songs. While “Moonburn” and the B-side “Aspirin - Slight Return” would make for a stellar 7-inch, two additional cover songs really make this cassette an essential listen. Clocking in around fifteen minutes, Moonburn still captures the expansive vibes of TFS albums like Braindrops and Deep States—records for a long drive down a lysergic highway, windows down and stars out, hurtling toward that dark place between youth and middle age—yearning and weary but unwilling to go down without a fight.

Side A begins with “Moonburn,” a ballad right out of the Braindrops playbook—vibratoed guitars phasing in and out with the sprechgesang vocal melody, slowly building into bursts of layered chaos. Frontman Gareth Liddiard’s lyrics evoke the feeling of being the warm home for someone who can’t bear to stay in—“out late dying to be everything”—of knowing you need to return their keys and get out, but maybe can’t. It’s a raw-edged ode to growing up and away from the people you loved but can’t leave, and a surprisingly apt pairing with the next track: a cover of the Stooges’ “Ann,” an early slab of proto-sludge about getting completely lost in someone who might not have your best interests at heart. While the original song feels uncharacteristically plodding for the Stooges, it fits TFS like a glove. This version turns up the tempo and groove, its minimalist drums and bass grounding woozy guitar lines and Fiona Kitschin’s beautiful vocals. Rather than attempting to replicate Ron Asheton’s guitar solo over the pounding coda, TFS draws on the expanded sonic palette of Deep States to assemble a turbulent collage of feedback, sirens, and electronic noise. It’s a stellar take on the song, and one of the best Stooges covers, period.

If side A is the slow build into a bad trip, side B is the melancholic comedown. With “Aspirin - Slight Return”—a reworking of a standout Braindrops track—TFS foreground writerly lyrics about ever-present grief over a lush bed of acoustic guitars, pedal steel, reverbed-out vocals, and field recordings. “Aspirin” is a fan favorite for a reason, and this new version recontextualizes it into something more plaintive, resigned, and highly affecting. While TFS previously released the following cover of the Talking Heads classic, “Heaven”—as a B-side to their 2020 single “Legal Ghost”—it works beautifully here, full of echoing drums, washes of guitar, and keening pedal steel. Stripped of David Byrne’s archness, all three of TFS’s vocalists deliver a powerful, ragged account of the mundanity of perfection that dissolves into sorrowful ambience. 

On Moonburn, Tropical Fuck Storm drag punk across the desert and leave it there to ruminate and blossom. TFS’s harsh exterior doesn’t hide a tender heart, but embraces it. Broken in such a considered way, with as much thought toward chaotic skronk as lyrical craft—this is sad music for wild people. - Mark Wadley

MACH-HOMMY & THA GOD FAHIM - "Dollar Menu 4"

On a week that saw the release of both Meyhem Lauren and Daringer’s Black Vladimir and Roc Marciano and The Alchemist’s The Elephant Man’s Bones, there was also a surprise, the return of Mach-Hommy and Tha God Fahim’s Dollar Menu series. When discussing the path to the two MC’s legendary status in the hip-hop underground, the Dollar Menu series plays a big part of it. Built on laid back but always evocative beats and stream of conscious rhymes, Mach and Fahim bring out the best in each other and Dollar Menu 4 is another highlight for both of them, each leveling up their lyrical gymnastics. Fahim is razor focused, almost like he has something to prove in comparison, but if that’s his motivation, he delivers on every single track, with some of his most potent flows, offering a sense of sage like wisdom to Mach’s psychedelic poetry. With production from Fahim, Fortes, and Sadhugold, the duo play off one another’s verses, attacking the lo-fi beats with magical chemistry, weaponizing their verses to explode at a drop of a bar. - DG

FREAK GENES - "Hologram"

A recent post on the "budget rock" facebook group featured a 2006 UK garage punk release by a band called Hipshakes. The original poster commended their live intensity and double speed tempos. A comment offered a window into how far we'd come: "Andy Hipshake is in Freak Genes, maybe best band at last Gonerfest". Having caught both their Gonerfest and afterparty sets I am in agreement. Both showcases where absolute tranced-out rage rock was executed. Pure energy or gas station magic? Whatever it was, the show had gumption; the kind where the bassist knocked into merchandise, leaned in on one chap, AND chastised someone for making fun of the queen before blowing a raspberry as a joke. The man was deep in a bit that was unfilmable and indescribable; savoring in it as much as inviting us towards every moment on that dive bar backroom stage. Their tour tape, last year's Power Station and this year's knockout Hologram is the work of Andrew "Hipshakes" Anderson and Charlie Murphy at its core (the aforementioned bassist and equally nutty guitarist). With new contributions (bolstering the band to a five piece live), the resulting vision is a dozen wired pulp-punk frictions and spasms. It's practically a jukebox. One spitting deep-oven fried Suburban Lawns and A Certain Ratio 7"s into antimatter discotheque dance punk of all mutant fusions. The shit-fi's crunch n' charm radiates stronger, even as the sound is cleaner than before. - Matty McPherson

KAMIKAZE PALM TREE - "Mint Chip"

There’s a strange elegance to Kamikaze Palm Tree’s sophomore album, Mint Chip, a delightfully unusual art rock album that has grown to one of our favorites of the year. The Los Angeles duo have built their own world, with idiosyncratic songwriting, that feels pulled from alien planets, with melodies that are often hard fought but undeniably captivating. Recorded together with Tim Presley (White Fence), there’s definitely lo-fi magic abounding from every nook and cranny of their songs, with unlikely percussive elements, detuned guitars, and impeccable wonkiness that never finds solid ground but stumbles in a fancy state of grace. With elements of Deerhoof, Sic Alps, and Cate Le Bon all making a presence in the Mint Chip recipe, Kamikaze Palm Tree are able to warp disparate sounds together into something magnetic and radiant, their songs becoming unbelievably memorable not just for it’s melodic subversions, but its most unlikely hooks end up the most gluey. - DG

KAL MARKS - "My Name Is Hell"

For future fans of Kal Marks, My Name is Hell will likely serve as a starting point, as it displays the band at their most accessible yet. Since its inception, Kal Marks has gone through many changes. It started as the solo, singer-songwriter, project of Carl Shane, but it has since developed into a full-on collaborative group. Shane’s Neil Young influenced songwriting has found its place in a band influenced by any number of sludge and hard rock groups. 

My Name is Hell is Kal Marks’ first official release since their Let The Shit House Burn Down EP came out in 2019, and in that time, there have been a few changes in the band. Kal Marks enlisted the help of Bethlehem Steel/Mulva guitarist Christina Puerto, allowing Carl Shane to share rhythm and lead guitar duties. Citing a desire for a change of pace, Shane shifted his writing focus from guitar to bass leading to the most distinguishing factor for this release, the groove. Each track has memorable, heavy basslines that coupled with the drums, settle into an infectious pulse. “My Name is Hell,” “Ovation,” and “New Neighbor” are songs where this pulse is on prominent display. With low tunings, high energy, and infectious rhythms, this album has a similar feel to that of Queens of the Stone Age, but there’s no mistaking songwriter Carl Shane’s unique musings on existentialism. To Shane, hell is real and it’s here on earth appearing in the form of stagnation and crushing debt.  If God exists, he’s uncaring and his wrath is his indifference.

It’s worth mentioning that one of the sticking points for listeners of Kal Marks has been issues with vocalist/songwriter Carl Shane’s singing on past releases. Reminiscent of Bob Dylan’s intentional vocal affectation on the album Nashville Skyline, Shane has historically sung with a somewhat nasally inflection. That inflection is absent from My Name is Hell. There is no mistaking though that this is the voice of none other than Shane, from his distinct lyricism to the ease with which he slides from the tender croon of a balladeer to a hair-raising growl. 

The lyrics on this album juxtapose the concerns of deities, god, the devil, heaven and hell with the more mundane concerns of mere mortals who contend with debt, boredom, and waiting. Like the pangs of hunger that plague an empty stomach, the brain suffers pangs of melancholy as the mind has nothing else to do. Boredom may seem a slight inconvenience but the vacuum it creates invites more sinister ailments. Songs like “My Name is Hell” describe a dull evening where the temptations of addiction are allowed to thrive. The songs “Who Waits” and “Bored Again” describe the pain of waiting for better times and the agony it causes.

This isn’t the first time we’ve heard many of these songs. In order to fund the recording of My Name is Hell, Kal Marks released a collection of sixteen demos called Broken Songs, which featured a cover of The Sopranos theme song, not included on this release. Broken Songs contains many of the songs on My Name is Hell at various stages, though it’s easy to say that the songs on My Name is Hell are the definitive versions. 

 The result is a collection of songs that flourish under the careful consideration they have been given over their long gestation period. If the listener is so inclined, they could go back and listen to Broken Songs and trace the evolution of these songs. - Dominic Acito

WOMBO - "Fairy Rust"

Fairy Rust is the second full length release from Kentucky based 'art-punk' trio Wombo, widening the scope of the band’s angular and twisted powers that have grown immensely in a relatively short amount of time. Sydney Chadwick's bass has an intense elasticity to it that bends and bobs through wiry and sometimes avant guitar from Cameron Lowe and the nimble drumwork of Joel Taylor, creating the foundation for each of these songs. Wombo have always relied on a heavy dose of quirk and inventive scrambling of song form which allowed Chadwick's vocals to stretch and swoop through with surreal dream-like lyrics, all of which still exists on this record but there is a bit more development and depth at play. The trio's ability to meld classic post-punk grooves with a controlled chaos of jazz inspiration is one of their most impressive features and Fairy Rust bumps those features up to eleven.  

"Sour Sun" is a song that that goes through quite a metamorphosis in its two minutes, starting off with a slightly dark angular post-punk skittishness before giving way to a cloudy haze provided by Lowe's reverb drenched guitar. Chadwick's vocals reach to their highest range, sliding into fuzzy elongation as Lowe throws out skronking riffs while wild fills flit around shuffling manic drums and cymbal crashes during the middle section before giving way to the dreamy ether once again. "Regular Demon" connects with a heavy mood driven by rumbling bass accompanied with rolling drums and a sort of Killing Joke-like guitar attack and restrained wildness. Chadwick's multi-tracked vocals add to the sense of disorientation that relentlessly runs through the track, leaving a hair-raising anxiousness before the song abruptly cuts out.

"Backflip" has a wiry and jagged Gang of Four feel powered by Chadwick’s popping and slinky bass, punctuated by Taylor's sharp repeated fills. The punk edginess is ramped up with a tension that just finds a way to work and keeps everything tilted around the recessed psychedelic feel of the vocals. "RVW" is a bit of moody reverb heavy drippiness that slowly saunters through its cloudiness, reminiscent of the moodier moments of bands like Stereolab, Broadcast, and early Cocteau Twins. Chadwick's vocals have a breathiness to them as she employs a slightly rushed delivery of her sparse and abstracted storytelling, aided by the double tracking and Lowe's shimmering guitar intrusions.

Wombo have crafted a record that delivers many distinct impressions on the listener with its frayed nerves punk agitations contrasting quite nicely with the cloud-like hazy dreamscapes they like to sprinkle in for sonic texture. Chadwick and company repeatedly show their musical versatility and range while still making everything sound remarkably welcoming, even at its most nervy. The ability to play with moods is one of the most remarkable things about this record and Chadwick, Lowe, and Taylor prove themselves quite capable at whatever avenue they choose to explore. Fairy Rust hits the audience with the trio’s tsunami of unique artistic expression, that at its core shows a tremendous amount of growth and connection between all involved. Wombo deliver an album that continues to establish themselves as one of the more intriguing bands on the scene today, embracing the oddity and creativity embedded in this project. - Kris Handel

GLAAS - "Qualm"

At the tail end of last year, Berlin’s GLAAS released a colossal self-titled demo EP, introducing the world to their brand of hardcore influenced post-punk, pairing brutality with nightlife scuzz. The quintet, which features members of Clock of Time, Exit Group, and Idiota Civlizzatto, among others, returned this month with Qualm, their full length debut via Static Shock Records (Warthog, Lasso, The Flex). The record is dense and corrosive, a sonic assault pushed into the red but lead by the heavy clamor of the rhythm section and a guttural dirge of harsh barked synth punk and oft motorik hardcore. Throughout Qualm, the band keep the aggression at the forefront, but there’s an inescapable nod to psychedelic side, as the band slide and careen from one dark shadow to the next. Led by a thick cloud of feedback and locked in grooves, the band peel the paint from the walls with a disorienting framework and a healthy societal disdain.