New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Category: stoner music

Psychedelic Peruvian Legends Los Wemblers Make a Historic New York Debut

A landmark event in New York music history took place Thursday night, when the brain trust of Brooklyn hotspot Barbes – who’ve now gone into the worldwide booking business – sold out the Pioneer Arts Center with the debut New York performance by Peruvian psychedelic legends Los Wemblers. Largely forgotten even in their home country until the past five years or so, this family band of six guys, most of them in their sixties and seventies, from an isolated Amazonian oil boomtown, played a wildly vigorous show that kept a mix of sweaty kids and curious oldsters on their feet for the better part of three hours. In an era when nobody in New York leaves their neighborhood, that the Barbes crew could bring a crowd this size all the way to Red Hook sent a message. Imagine what the guys could do with a venue that everybody could actually get to – like Madison Square Garden.

But that’s just part of the story. If Olivier Conan and Vincent Douglas hadn’t started Chicha Libre, who brought the wild, surreal psychedelic cumbias from the 1960s and 70s out of the Amazonian jungle for the first time, staging this concert anywhere outside of a Peruvian expat community would have been absurd. But thanks in large part to their band – and Barbes Records’ two Roots of Chicha historical compilations – this trippy, intoxicatingly danceable music isn’t an obscure niche genre anymore. Maybe, as Conan once boasted, cumbia really is going to take over the world.

As one of the night’s emcees emphasized, Los Wemblers distinguish themselves from their many other countrymen who mashed up American surf music, psychedelic rock, indigenous folk themes and sounds from Cuba to Argentina and pretty much all points in between from the late 60s into the 80s. Where so many of those bands went soft when synthesizers got popular, Los Wemblers sound exactly like they did on their home turf in 1969 – except louder. The band’s patriarch, guitarist Salomon Sanchez sadly didn’t live to see the band’s resurgence, but his five sons did and now comprise most of the group. The star of the night was guitarist Alberto Sanchez, who played most of two long sets with his eyes closed, the trace of a smile on his face as his fast fingers fueled a magically clanging, twangy, undulating tropical time machine.

Behind him, the band’s two percussionsists laid down a slinky, irresistible groove that boomed and rattled off the walls of the space to the point that there was an oscillation between the clave click of the woodblock and the thump of the congas, ramping up the psychedelic factor several notches. Together they ran through a surreal mashup of snaky cumbia, sprightly Pervuian folk themes, twangy surf times, a couple of strikingly stark, minor-key, Cuban-tinged numbers and many of their hits, mostly nonstop, segueing into one after another.

The best one of the night was Sonido Amazonico, which they played twice. The first time around, they did the haunting, phantasmagorical “national anthem of chicha” as a sprawling ten-minute jam, a creepy cocktail of Satie-esque passing tones, like a warped tarantella to counter the effects of a lysergic spider bite. The second time around they hit it harder and more directly, like the original vinyl single, the guitarist capping off his solo with a sizzling, spiraling flight upward, then hitting his wah pedal and leaving it wide open, a murky pool of sound mingling with the echoey, cantering beats. What frontman/percussionist Jair Sanchez left no doubt about was that it was their song to mess with, notwithstanding that Lima band Los Mirlos’ version was the bigger hit, and that Chicha Libre’s cover is what pretty much jumpstarted the Brooklyn cumbia cult.

Another hit that Los Wemblers treated the crowd to twice was the careening, aptly gritty La Danza Del Petrolero – and happily, unlike the popular Los Mirlos single, the guitar was in tune this time. The rest of the set was a fascinating look at how psychedelic cumbias are just as diverse as American psychedelic rock. Without blinking an eye, the band made their way expertly through a couple of bright, cheery vamps that more than hinted at Veracruz folk tunes, eventually hit a brooding, Cuban-flavored number, made cumbia out of a stately, dramatic tango anthem, sped up, slowed down and took a couple of frantically pulsing detours toward merengue. One of the night’s best numbers was also the most ornate and ominously elegant – but no less danceable. Devious references to the Ventures, Duke Ellington and the Richard Strauss theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey bubbled to the surface. By the time the old guys finally called it quits, it was almost midnight. If you weren’t lucky or ambitious enough to make it out to Red Hook, Conan promises they’ll be back next year.

A Trippy, Fun New Album and a Brooklyn Bowl Show by the Pimps of Joytime

Playful psychedelic funk band the Pimps of Joytime came out of Williamsburg in the late zeros. Their home base back in the day was the Lucky Cat, the Grand Street sweatbox that became Bruar Falls for a couple of years and is now a Chinese junk shop – real estate bubble-era New York in reverse. They’ve got a new album, Jukestone Paradise, streaming at Soundcloud and a US tour that kicks off tonight, April 10 at around 9 at Brooklyn Bowl. Cover is $15.

Where there are a gazillion funk bands out there who ape other styles from the past fifty years, what sets the Pimps of Joytime apart is that they write original songs that draw inspiration from all sorts of unexpected places and mash them up without sounding derivative. For example, the album’s opening track has a southern-baked guitar rock feel that gives way to a lush, anthemic chorus with synth and an exuberant choir of vocals from singers Mayteana Morales and Cole Williams. The second number kicks off with an oldschool 70s disco groove, but with blippy synth bass and vocals until it hits a big, vintage Kool & the Gang-style chorus, the fuzz from the synth bass pushing it along like a wave of foam from an overexcited firehose.

Waiting for My Ride – a story anybody can relate to – hints at Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean, with its 80s disco-funk style. By contrast, Heart Is Wild has an early EWF/Parliament hard funk flavor…but then the band does the time warp with an echoey, shreddy stoner guitar interlude. They go to a similar blueprint later on with Dank Janky, but with an even heavier stoner organ-and-guitar section toward the end.

Sky is a rousingly successful blend of 70s Three Degrees girl-group soul and more recent psychedelic sounds, with an unexpectedly Beatlesque outro. With Cut Off, the band takes anthemic Rare Earth and updates it for the teens, then follows that with The Jump, the trippiest thing here, mashing up delta blues, dub and video game soundtrack action. Then they flip the script again with the album’s most straightforward joint, Body Party, a catchy late 70s Pointer Sisters style hit.

The album winds up with a characteristically shapeshifting mini-epic, moving from Isley Brothers-style organ-and-guitar funk to a lickety-split doublespeed interlude, then a dip into dub reggae and finally a soulful brass fanfare. On one level, this is party music that’s made for dancing. On another, this is also a good high-energy headphone album – it’ll pick you up after a rough day at school or the dayjob.

The Cool Ghouls Bring Their Trippy, Clanging, Period-Perfect 60s Psychedelia to Town

San Francisco psychedelic band the Cool Ghouls are making a swing through town this week. They’re at Union Pool on March 11 at 10 PM on a good doublebill with fuzztone monsters the Mystery Lights, who’re playing at 11. The next night, March 12 they’re at Cake Shop at 10 for two bucks less. Their excellent second album, A Swirling Fire Burning Through the Rye. is streaming at Bandcamp.

The Cool Ghouls’ sound is totally 60s, driven by twangy six- and twelve-string guitars with the reverb-heavy, fast-decaying tone that defined the pre-Marshall Stack era. The name is a misnomer; they’re not really ghoulish at all. What sets them apart from the legions of garage rock clones is how cleverly they mash up familiar riffs with original tunes. Sure, there’s plenty of Beatles, and Byrds, and a little Stones, and maybe even Van Morrison’s Them in their songs, yet they’re distinctive.

Driven by drummer Alex Fleshman’s steady, clustering syncopation, the album’s opening track, And It Grows contrasts guitarist Ryan Wong’s buzzing fuzztone riffage with Pat McDonald’s resonant jangle and biting folk-rock hooks. Wong’s steady repeaterbox guitar fuels a Link Wray sway on The Mile, building to a descendingly anthemic chorus that’s just as catchy. What A Dream I Had is another swaying midtempo number fueled by lingering fuzztone riffage and a heavy Beatles influence, right down to the soaring Ticket to Ride vocal harmonies and some deliciously sputtering Ringo drum riffs.

Orange Light is a jangly minor-key backbeat tune with a little Paint It Black hitched to the Byrds on the chorus. Insight – an original, not the Joy Division tune – sways along with its gorgeous layers of guitar, another crescendoing Beatlesque number capped off by Wong’s slinky George Harrison-esque solo. It morphs into an early Dead-style one-chord jam and then segues into the punchy anthem Get A Feelin’, which takes the Modern Lovers’ Roadrunner backward in time about five years.

Across the River sets Wong’s spiky lead over richly clanging rhythm and a tense beat, with a fuzztone solo straight out of the Jorma Kaukonen playbook, 1967. Reelin’ is another gorgeous backbeat number, glistening rainswept Rickenbacker chime contrasting with deeper washes of jangle and clang beneath it – it wouldn’t be out of place in the Plan 9 catalog, around 1985 or so. New Moon is the trippiest number here, a proto-powerpop tune bookending the jagged Venus in Furs clangfest at the center. The album winds up with Sweet Rain, Pat Thomas’ trebly bass cutting through the strutting folk-rock resonance. If you like your jangle and clang with a trippy edge, or you need catchy hooks for a really super spaceout, the Cool Ghouls are your band.

Jim Jarmusch Turns Out to Be As Interesting a Guitarist As a Filmmaker – In a Completely Unexpected Way

The one quality that was surprisingly absent from the world premiere of indie film icon Jim Jarmusch’s band Squrl’s performance in the Financial District this evening, playing live soundtracks to a quartet of Man Ray silent films, was Jarmusch’s often devastatingly droll, deadpan humor. Sure, there were a few places where Jarmusch – alternating mostly between Strat and what sounded like a Farfisa – and his drummer/keyboardist pal Carter Logan, would accent a pratfall or a sudden shift in imagery with an “omg” drum hit or an eerily bent note or guitar chord. But mostly, the duo stuck to their blueprint. Which meant slow, resonantly droning, Indian-flavored soundscapes, a highly improvisational theme and variations.

As the pieces peaked, Jarmusch – who distinguished himself as an individualistic, talented and unassailably tuneful player – would launch into a phrase, or a chorus of sorts, sometimes evoking Neil Young with Crazy Horse, other times Yo La Tengo at their most epically melodic, or a paisley underground band like the Dream Syndicate. Many of the pieces grew slowly out of lingering, reverb-drenched guitar atmospherics and frequent, simple looped phrases, Logan shadowing Jarmusch with his own organ settings. Other than in a few lighter moments, the duo didn’t seem to be trying to correlate their slowly unwinding jams with any of the films’ playfully dissociative imagery. Then again, plot is an afterthought in Man Ray’s onslaught of action, deadpan dadaisms and wryly aphoristic, proto-existentialist subtitles. A particularly menacing, chromatically smoldering crescendo rose up during one of the lighter moments in a carefree sequence of rooftop dancing on the screen above the stage; similarly, the most ominous imagery onscreen appeared early on as Jarmusch and Logan let their notes ring out, judiciously shifting timbres with an assortment of pedals and a mixing desk.

WNYC‘s John Schaefer – on whose New Sounds Live this performance and the one Thursday night, Feb 19 at 8 PM will ostensibly air at some future date, at least in pieces – cautioned anyone thinking of coming back for Thursday’s second show to arrive early. Logistically, your best and fastest bet is to hang a left into the World Trade Center Path station, then go around the bend, under the West Side Highway and then up into the “winter garden” across the street with its stage in the center of the building’s west wall.

Squrl also have new albums out – the most recent profiled here a couple of days ago – both streaming at Soundcloud and available on delicious gatefold vinyl.

Water Seed Bring Their Infectious Dancefloor Grooves to the Brooklyn Museum

The first Saturday of every month, starting at 5 PM is free day at the Brooklyn Museum at 200 Eastern Parkway, and there’s often music there on free days as well. This coming Saturday, New Orleans-bred psychedelic dancefloor unit Water Seed makes an appearance at 5 PM. Early arrival is always a good idea; take the 2 or 3 train to Eastern Parkway.

What Water Seed is doing is subversive. Like Moon Hooch and Bombrasstico, they’re playing organic whoomp-whoomp dancefloor grooves. But where those two bands mash up jazz, second-line riffage and punk rock along with the disco, Water Seed are more psychedelic, closer to P-Funk or the intricately orchestrated psych-funk of Turkuaz. Now some people might say that Water Seed’s nonstop party vibe isn’t exactly revolutionary, but there’s an enemy out there and its name is EDM. There’s a whole generation, maybe more than a generation, who grew up with the sound of the synthesizer, who learned to dance to the beat of electronic drums, as Black Box Recorder’s Luke Haines warned us fifteen years ago. Obviously, those people don’t come out for the music: they’re there for the hang, and to get wasted (and to meet boys). What Water Seed is doing is something for them – and something for us, bringing everybody together on the dance floor and playfully reminding everybody in the house that beats are more fun when they’re played by people rather than machines.

Water Seed’s latest album, Retro Electro, is streaming at Bandcamp. Imagine Bill Withers, or P-Funk, or Roy Ayers doing tracks from Sade’s Love Deluxe album, hitting on the “one” over and over again and you get the picture. Among New York artists, Jesse Fischer‘s Soul Cycle are similar. The result is as energizing as it is trippy. The opening track, Couldn’t Love You More (a free download) sounds like a minimalist remix of something of Sade’s from twenty years ago. With Joy Clark’s chicken-scratch guitar, J Sharp’s swooshy synth strings and brass and twinkling electric piano over Lou Hill’s undulating percussion, their cover of the Jackson 5’s Shake Your Body Down is akin to how the Gap Band might have done it

We’ve Got to Do This mingles woozily intertwining portamento synth loops, bursts of fake brass and tinkling electric piano. The catchy, oldschool psych-disco number Mama Use to Say has a spicy arrangement featuring Cinese’s flute, Mario Abney’s moody muted trumpet and Clarence Slaughter’s alto sax. Night and Day has tasty, loopy latin percussion underneath its plushly enveloping sonics, Abney again adding tasty trumpet flavor overhead. The album ends with the pillowy 70s-tinged soul/dance epic I Would Die 4 U. Other than the randomly sampled between-song “interludes,” the only mistake the band makes here is to assume that a song by an act as icky as the Eurythmics could be worth covering, even with a clever latin arrangement.

Chicano Batman Bring Their Trippy LA Latin Soul to NYC

Every January, the booking agents’ convention hits New York and brings in its wake a handful of spectacularly good multi-band extravaganzas. Will there be a better show in NYC this year than the seven-band lineup at Drom on Jan 11 at 7:30 PM? Probably not. Check out this insanely good bill put together by the Barbes folks, all this for a ridiculously cheap ten bucks at the door: pan-latin revolutionary anthem singer/bandleader Ani Cordero; ten-piece Balkan brass band Slavic Soul Party (who do Duke Ellington as well as they do their own rat-a-tat originals); nine-piece original psychedelic Afrobeat dancehall monsters Zongo Junction; serpentine LA psychedelic soul band Chicano Batman; politically-fueled, bitingly funny son jarocho folk-punk group Las Cafeteras; Ethiopiques keyboard legend Hailu Mergia & Low Mentality; a bit of a lull and then at around 1 AM Chop & Quench playing Fela classics and their own originals. If you can’t make it or can’t pull it together for seven or so hours of music on a Saturday night, Chicano Batman and Las Cafeteras are also at the Shop in Bushwick, 234 Starr St. (Wyckoff/Irving; L to Jefferson St.) at 7 the following night, Jan 11.

Of all those bands, the most intriguing one might be four-piece LA crew Chicano Batman. Their 2012 ep Joven Navegante was a pretty straight-up retro latin funk affair with wah-wah guitars, slinky organ and an infectious dance groove. Their latest one, Cycles of Existential Rhyme – streaming at Bandcamp with their other stuff – is a lot more psychedelic, and eclectic, and a lot of fun. It’s less a bolt of sunshine for a gloomy NYC winter night than a shiny haze rippled with riffs that are as catchy as they are expansive and trippy: happy, upbeat music for people who aren’t shallow.

Frontman/organist Bardo Martinez plays either a vintage Farfisa organ or a newer keyboard with a rippling setting that sounds like one, while guitarist Carlos Arévalo spirals and resonates with a similarly vintage reverbtoned sound over the slinky groove of bassist Eduardo Arenas and Gabriel Villa. Among New York bands, Damian Quinones y Su Conjunto are similar, although this group is both more keyboard-driven, soul-oriented and likely to go way out with an organ or guitar jam.

The album’s opening instrumental, El Frio sounds like something by Country Joe & the Fish at their trippiest yet most succinct. It’s less of a chillout theme than the title might indicate, especially when the band reprise it later as a shapeshifting psychedelic ballad with a pulsing outro that nicks the hook from Steam’s Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.

The title track is a swaying Farfisa soul tune with jazzy, reverbtoned guitar behind Martinez’s expressive vocals. The band follows that with Lisandreando, a spiky, upbeat, tropical-flavored guitar miniature and then El Jalapeño, a droll Mexican folk tune spun through the kaleidescope of 60s American psych rock.

“She lives on my block so I ride by, I haven’t had the opportunity to stay high,” Martinez laments on the next track, a brightly shapeshifting, catchy soul tune about a purple-haired girl who got away; Arévalo kicks in with a tasty wah guitar solo at the end. After that, they slow things down with some weirdly warping sonics and then pull the groove together again with a sunbaked, guitar-and-bass-fueled pulse.

They go back to the psyched-out Mexican folk with Amor Verde and then the sunny, jazzy A Cool Blessing and its wry blend of lingering guitar, ah-ah vocals and wah-wah keys, like Os Mutantes with fatter production values. The album’s best and most epic track, Magma (that’s the name of a girl, go figure) sets slowly unwinding, intertwining guitar and organ over a dancing beat that the band picks up with a labyrinthine, trippy rhythm. They do the same later with Wednesday Morning.

Stoned Soul Picnic isn’t the Laura Nyro blue-eyed soul classic but an original that bookends a brightly unwinding guitar solo with a similarly glistening vintage soul-pop tune. The album winds up with Para Agradecer, a summery soul strut that gets your head bobbing before you realize what’s going on – something you can count on at either of these two shows.

Some Possible Context for the New Pink Floyd Album

Imagine that you didn’t know who David Gilmour and Richard Wright are – and if you don’t, you will soon. The former, an icon of improvised music; the latter devoted to meticulously composed soundscapes. An unlikely pair of collaborators considering their backgrounds, wouldn’t you say?

Sometime in the early 90s, the two find themselves together in the studio and jam out a series of themes. Sounds pretty avant garde, doesn’t it? Twenty years go by: meanwhile, the session sits, unedited, in a vault at a once-dominant record label, whose global sales fall to about one-fifth of what they were when the session was recorded.

In 2006, Gilmour releases a rare solo album, On an Island, a magically crepuscular, foreboding suite of sorts. Two years later, Wright dies at 65. Another six years go by; Gilmour plays a successful world tour of midsize venues, reunites his old 70s band for a cameo at a one-off tv concert, then pretty much retreats from view.

Was it the desire for filthy lucre that set loose The Endless River, the latest album released under the Pink Floyd name? Or was it more of a genuine need for same, considering that Gilmour isn’t making any money touring these days, and that the entire Pink Floyd discography can be downloaded in seconds flat if your connection is fast enough? And is there anything to this release by the post-Roger Waters version of the band, more than the uneven and aptly titled Momentary Lapse of Reason or the ponderous and tunefully deficient Division Bell, which sounds like a collection of Dire Straits outtakes?

Best to take this “new” album out of context and forget Gilmour and Wright’s glorious art-rock past for a minute. As a series of simple, mostly one or two chord vamps, all of them instrumentals except for a single track, it showcases each musician’s strengths and signature tropes. Throughout these seventeen brief, often barely two-minute excerpts, obviously a series of carefully chosen edits, Gilmour unleashes his usual mournful wails, anguished screams and ominous swells, building the expected, majestic wall of reverb. Wright, true to form, is more judicious, even careful, peppering the mix with pensive, sometimes gingerly placed neoromantic chords and piano riffs and the occasional blues or gospel-tinged phrase. Every so often, there’ll be a hint of a big ballad or a sweeping, cinematic theme, the last of them a particularly triumphant one. Drummer Nick Mason, one of the art-rock era’s most underrated and richly musical players, anchors these miniatures with his reliable combination of elegant color and mighty thud.

Gilmour distinguishes himself the most when he uses a slide, much as he did on Dark Side of the Moon. The sample of Wright reputedly playing the organ at the Royal Albert Hall in 1969 is insignificant and is over before you know it. And the single song with vocals is a throwaway that tarnishes the band’s legacy. Even so, every year, a new generation of alienated kids discovers this band, just as they do Sartre, and Margaret Atwood, and Frida Kahlo. They’ll make their way through the catalog to this one eventually, and will find it as musically intriguing as the band’s iconic 70s work. The elephant in the room, or, rather, lingering just outside the door, is Roger Waters: one can only imagine what these tantalizing fragments could have become as vehicles for his visionary lyricism.

Can We Please Never Ever Hear Xmas Music Again?

How sadistic is it to review an album of Christmas music the day after the holiday? Well, kind of. But there’s a catch here. See, Super Hi-Fi‘s Yule Analog Vol. 1: A Very Dubby Christmas – streaming at Spotify – was written by and for people who HATE Christmas music.

And who doesn’t? Come to think of it, Hanukkah music is pretty awful too. There isn’t any of that on this masterfully crafted dub reggae remake of a bunch of old carols, but there might as well be: the source material for most of these songs is quickly subsumed in an icy wash of echo and reverb and tasty trombone. The point of all this is that it’s good all year long, a good joke to pull on a roomful of stoners:

“Dude, you just put on a Christmas album! Hahahahaha!”

“You’ve been listening to it for the last half hour, doofus.”

Bassist Ezra Gale rescues We Three Kings with a classic minor-key riff, and does much the same with his arrangements of the other cheeseballs on the program. To his infinite credit, most of this stuff is just plain good, woozy, echoey dub in a purist oldschool Black Ark vein. Beyond fiddling with the knobs, his secret is to reharmonize the melodies just a smidge, an old jazz trope.

The trombonists – Rick Parker and Alex Asher (of John Brown’s Body) can barely contain their cynicism on It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, but Gale’s chart quickly sends them off on a soca tangent with Jon Lipscomb’s guitar spinning amiably behind them. There’s a second version of that song later on that’s much better, and catchier, for being unrecognizable.

Little Drummer Boy, arguably the ickiest Christmas song ever, will leave you on the floor laughing: it’s an audio whippit, courtesy of Lipscomb’s full-on nitrous assault. Gale and the band get away with leaving Go Tell It on the Mountain more intact than most everything here, which works since it’s a spiritual and hasn’t been played to death during the holiday season. The second version of the song, which appears later, is even better and more dynamic.

The band flips the script by kicking off God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen as a ska tune, drummer Madhu Siddappa keeping it pretty straight-ahead before Gale gets crazy with the faders and the reverb knob. There are two versions of the title track, the second one longer and with more of a duppy-invoking 70s Jamaican atmosphere than the other. Either way, it’s the most hypnotic, psychedelic piece of music here, and if it’s not an original, what it was to begin with is a mystery. There’s also a ska version of Auld Lang Syne that sounds like it was inspired by a lot more beer than weed. For those whose contempt for Christmas music hasn’t reached breaking point, this album’s good for plenty of laughs.

Singles for 12/18

These things accumulate like dust bunnies around here. Imagine if dust bunnies could talk. What would they say?

Birmingham, Alabama trio Wray’s Bad Heart is Jesus & Mary Chain x Lost Patrol with a little dreampop swirl mixed in with the postpunk growl and the reverb-iced surf catchiness (via youtube).

Black Light White Light’s Running sounds like peak-era 90s Wilco doing paisley underground, with an echoey Rickenbacker jangle, a little glam and a LONG stoner outro (via last.fm – don’t worry, this is their free page, you don’t have to pay to hear it).

Tori Vasquez will bring you back into focus with the uneasy southwestern gothic folk of Wear You Thin (youtube). And here’s Pale Green Stars doing Lesson 27 (via Reverbnation): slide guitar swamp rock straight out of the Gun Club songbook circa 1985, an unrepentant reflection on a stoner past complete with a sweetly sarcastic verse from a famous hymn.

Garage Punk Madness at Don Pedro’s in Bushwick This Saturday

Marauding garage-punk trio Sun Voyager have a split ep out with Greasy Hearts (streaming at Bandcamp, and also available on cassette, yay). The opening track, Desert Dweller, is the best one, a truly gorgeous feast of multitracked, distorted Fender Twin guitar amp sonics. It’s like a slightly less noisy version of what the Skull Practitioners do. Mind Maze, Sun Voyager’s second track, sounds like something from the Boomtown Rats’ first album if that band had switched out the punk for stoner garage production values. The last one, Let It Ride has trickier rhythms and a searing, tone-bending guitar solo out. Greasy Hearts’ three contributions to the ep include one with a Coney Island High-style late 80s/early 90s punk-metal swagger, a more trad garage tune and then a surprisingly eclectic number with echoes of both oldschool soul and vintage Sabbath.

Another heavily Sabbath-influenced track is Sun Voyager’s latest single, God Is Dead (also up at Bandcamp). Both bands are playing the King Pizza Records mini-festival which starts at 4 PM this Saturday, Dec 13 at Don Pedro’s. Sorry for the short notice, but the show never made it onto the radar here: the venue’s calendar hasn’t been updated in a couple of months.

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