Jealous Butcher / Jackpot News

Defying labels across the board, and turning old-style ancestral narratives into brutal and harrowing portraits of life on the edge of nowhere, the Fibbers wrap each of Lost Somewhere Between the Earth and My Home\'s 12 songs into a ball of fury and toss it against the wall of tradition, just to see what happens. Chaotic noise breakdowns give way to melodic singalongs, songs twist and turn through several side paths before reaching their destination, and everything sounds as if total annihilation is imminent. Scary, thoughtful and highly inventive, Lost is the sound of country gone to hell.

Defying labels across the board, and turning old-style ancestral narratives into brutal and harrowing portraits of life on the edge of nowhere, the Fibbers wrap each of Lost Somewhere Between the Earth and My Home\'s 12 songs into a ball of fury and toss it against the wall of tradition, just to see what happens. Chaotic noise breakdowns give way to melodic singalongs, songs twist and turn through several side paths before reaching their destination, and everything sounds as if total annihilation is imminent. Scary, thoughtful and highly inventive, Lost is the sound of country gone to hell.

Portland-based krautrock band Motrik formed in 2013, its four members united by a pledge to modernize their beloved genre. Sharing a passion for pioneers like Can, Kraftwerk, and Trad Gras Och Stenar, the group has demonstrated its ability to deliver over a series of EPs and albums, most recently 2020's acclaimed Artificial Head. As they continue to experiment by incorporating additional influences ranging from funk and jazz to psych and prog Motrik's third full-length, a double LP titled MOON: The Cosmic Electrics of MOTRIK, is a further continuation in the story of an historic genre befitting of the album's cosmic artwork.

Motrik boldly takes full advantage of the space that four sides of vinyl allow on this latest offering. The middle of the album features two long suites that feel typical of the groups dynamic live performances, which frequently feature fog cannons, lasers, and other prop homages to Kraftwerk and company. The 13-minute "Stabilize" emerges from a haze of synth pulses and guitar tones, settling into a steady NEU!-like chug that swells and recedes like an ecstatic wave. On "Space Elevator", the motorik drive from which the band take their name evolves into an insinuating and sensual disco-like throb before the perfect proggy comedown in the final minute.

"Across eleven cinematic tracks — each a melodic treasure and short film — Dienel probes: What does freedom look like when rooted in presence, not escape? “Joy, especially queer joy, is revolutionary,” they muse. “Even in the face of everything else, I wanted to show that happiness is still possible — and necessary.”
The record was brought to life with an impressive ensemble of collaborators: producer Adam Schatz (Japanese Breakfast, Neko Case), bassist Spencer Zahn, guitarists Carly Bond (Meernaa) and meg duffy (Hand Habits), drummer Max Jaffe, mixing engineer Jake Aron (Solange, Snail Mail), and mastering engineer Heba Kadry (Björk, Sade). Breaking from their usual DIY approach, Dienel embraced the power of the collective — an experiment in trust, connection, and openness.
Tonally influenced by My Own Private Idaho and widescreen pop, such as Born in the U.S.A., My Heart Is An Outlaw is a warm-hearted exploration. Can we love fully without being domesticated? Can we resist cultural scripts by choosing presence and community over self-erasure? As they put it, “The heart has a mind of its own…It’s the thing holding you back that you have to set free on your own time, in your own way.”
From the early days of White Hinterland to the lush orchestral pop of her solo work, Dienel has consistently bent and challenged the boundaries of independent music. My Heart Is An Outlaw continues that legacy — an unapologetic, joyous declaration of queer love and creative agency."

"Max Knouse’s voice feels like laughter that follows a well-loved joke. Only afterward, it dawns on you that you don’t fully understand the punchline. Or for that matter the set up. In fact, you’re not even sure what language the joke was told in. What to make of such a laugh—inexplicable, delightful, surprising, seemingly nonsensical? And what to make his voice, at once comforting, beguiling, and just beyond the bounds, like a blues moan or a Mingus lick or some ancient guttural holler? It’s the kind of haunt that lingers long after the record fades, echoing back in your imagination, laden with cryptic possibilities and occulted meanings.

Chipmunk’d Away is his third album. Known for his sessions and live shows with artists like Califone, Jolie Holland, Adan Jodorowsky, Psychic Temple, Simon Joyner, Alex Dupree, and others, Knouse has established himself as an essential factor in the West Coast indie pop underground, brandishing guitar chops that mirror the rawness of his voice; he treats his instrument like a divining rod of spiritual tension and joyful racket, pushing and pulling on it with affection and sometimes something darker.

From the swelling cosmic folk of “Mint and Tobacco,” which features Knouse intoning apocalyptically over engineer Michael Krassner’s washing guitars, “Your breathing ain’t so deep,” to the jazz standard swooner-meets-West Coast psych-pop title track, to the nightmare-scape blues of “Clumsy Hunter,” to the concluding audio collage sway of “Banana, Orange, and Something Else,” Chipmunk’d presents the range and scope of Knouse’s style: bold, adventurous, frightening, and then frequently, when you least expect it, heartbreakingly lovely, like a joke that clarifies your feelings before you could actually verbalize what those feelings even are. They had been hidden from you, chipmunk’d away, but now Max Knouse has revealed them."

Like a passenger riding shotgun on a road trip, The Villagers Companion offers its own unique perspective and story to tell. Featuring tracks recorded alongside last year’s acclaimed villagers, TVC captures the miles between the start and destination—the faded gas station pit stops, the plastic saint statue stuck to the dashboard for safe travels or luck. It embodies the essence of the journey without the burden of driving—the experience of the ride itself.

The album takes us through the heart of Califone’s magic: reverb-drenched piano chords, electronic whirs, and layers of experimental noise. Guided by Tim Rutili’s abstract, fragmented lyrics—both strange and familiar—delivered through his warm, well-worn vocals, it creates an experience as evocative as it is haunting. Often passing through what seem to be the spaces between radio frequencies, the stations never meant to be heard. Crackles of static, feedback loops, and fleeting signals bloom into meditative moments, with each sound given space to breathe, unravel, and shimmer in slow decay. The result resonates deeply, transforming what might be noise into something profound, hypnotic, and totally immersive.

As with villagers, Rutili and company continue to explore what it means to get lost while surrounded by modern technology. Like a ghost in a machine or a whispered prayer stuck in a telephone line, Califone adds soul—be it damned or saved. And they do so with the kind of transformative magic granted perhaps only to artists a quarter of a century into their craft. The kind that turns a photograph into a tableau, or any darkened space with a microphone into a makeshift confessional. A song into a hymn, and a hymn into a soundtrack to a life.

Like a passenger riding shotgun on a road trip, The Villagers Companion offers its own unique perspective and story to tell. Featuring tracks recorded alongside last year’s acclaimed villagers, TVC captures the miles between the start and destination—the faded gas station pit stops, the plastic saint statue stuck to the dashboard for safe travels or luck. It embodies the essence of the journey without the burden of driving—the experience of the ride itself.

The album takes us through the heart of Califone’s magic: reverb-drenched piano chords, electronic whirs, and layers of experimental noise. Guided by Tim Rutili’s abstract, fragmented lyrics—both strange and familiar—delivered through his warm, well-worn vocals, it creates an experience as evocative as it is haunting. Often passing through what seem to be the spaces between radio frequencies, the stations never meant to be heard. Crackles of static, feedback loops, and fleeting signals bloom into meditative moments, with each sound given space to breathe, unravel, and shimmer in slow decay. The result resonates deeply, transforming what might be noise into something profound, hypnotic, and totally immersive.

As with villagers, Rutili and company continue to explore what it means to get lost while surrounded by modern technology. Like a ghost in a machine or a whispered prayer stuck in a telephone line, Califone adds soul—be it damned or saved. And they do so with the kind of transformative magic granted perhaps only to artists a quarter of a century into their craft. The kind that turns a photograph into a tableau, or any darkened space with a microphone into a makeshift confessional. A song into a hymn, and a hymn into a soundtrack to a life.

Over the last 20 years, Portland, Oregon's Federale has carved out a unique niche within the indie music landscape, blending their signature spaghetti-Western instrumental sound with increasing doses of moody vocal arrangements in the spirit of Lee Hazlewood or later-period Leonard Cohen. Still, through it all songwriter (and lead singer, when there is one) Collin Hegna has maintained a strictly retro vibe, and Federale's records have always sounded period-correct for an alternate-universe 1971 where rock and roll never caught on.

Reverb & Seduction, Federale’s sixth studio album, marks the band’s 20th anniversary, and finds them beginning to color outside those Ennio Morricone lines. Perhaps Hegna—who also spent the last 20 years as a dues-paying member of The Brian Jonestown Massacre—has finally decided to give his psych-rock alter ego a seat at the Federale table.

“Before, I'd have an idea and think, ‘Well, that can't be a Federale song’, because it had distorted guitars or whatever,” says Hegna. “But then I thought, 'Well, why not?’” This openness to a broader palette of influences allows Reverb and Seduction to veer into psychedelic and even gothic territory—think Love and Rockets or Sisters of Mercy—that the 2010s Federale might have considered off limits.

The album's first single “Heaven Forgive Me,” for example, draws on Goblin (the Italian prog-rockers who scored Suspiria) and perhaps even a little Depeche Mode, while “Advice from a Stranger” borrows the fuzz and feedback of DIG!-era BJM and The Electric Prunes.

After Sunrise, the new collaboration from Circles Around The Sun and Mikaela Davis reunites the disco cosmonauts and acclaimed harpist for further explorations of the synergy first showcased on the title track of CATS’ 2023 album, Language.

Comprised of two new original compositions, ‘Gloaming Way’ and ‘Moonbow’, and an inspired interpretation of Brazilian legend Sérgio Mendes’ ‘After Sunrise,’ the album features the first appearance of vocals on a Circles Around The Sun recording, sung by Davis. A live take on ‘Language’ rounds out the second side and brings the pairing full circle.

Once the endless night of the discotheque finally gives way to morning light, you may find yourself seaside as the sun peeks over the horizon. As the party rolls through the dawn and into the day, this is the soundtrack.

This is After Sunrise. If it’s nice, play it twice."

The band is devoted to the creation/destruction dichotomy, along with an American roots music aesthetic and punk attitude. After their initial self titled record, recorded live and performed mainly on the street, The Builders and the Butchers entered the studio with acclaimed and beloved Portland musician and producer Chris Funk to record the bands next collection of songs. An album to be titled Salvation is a Deep Dark Well. The spirit of the Builders has always been, and always will be, inclusion and collaboration. From the early shows on the street, to passing out instruments in clubs, the early days were always about how many people would be “in the band” on any given night. The Builders took this spirit of inclusion into the studio where they invited some of their favorite musicians and best friends to perform on Salvation is a Deep Dark Well.

SticklerPhonics explores a world of brass 'n' skin on debut album Technicolor Ghost Parade featurin drummer Scott Amendola, trombonist Danny Lubin-Laden and tenor saxophonist Raffi Garabedian. The trio revels "in a situation where there's no bass and no chords," Amendola says. "Our sound is ever evolving and there's a feeling we can go anywhere." Technicolor Ghost Parade plunges into the unmediated terrain that opens up in the absence of the usual guidelines, the trio revels "in a situation where there's no bass and no chords." The band is a volatile combo that draws on a vast continuum of jazz practices, from traditional jazz polyphony and ambient soundscapes to funk and free jazz. The trio can generate fierce grooves and render through-composed pieces with the textural acuity of a chamber ensemble. The canny use of electronics expands their sonic palette to the horizon.

After Sunrise, the new collaboration from Circles Around The Sun and Mikaela Davis reunites the disco cosmonauts and acclaimed harpist for further explorations of the synergy first showcased on the title track of CATS’ 2023 album, Language. Comprised of two new original compositions, ‘Gloaming Way’ and ‘Moonbow’, and an inspired interpretation of Brazilian legend Sérgio Mendes’ ‘After Sunrise,’ the album features the first appearance of vocals on a Circles Around The Sun recording, sung by Davis. A live take on ‘Language’ rounds out the second side and brings the pairing full circle. Once the endless night of the discotheque finally gives way to morning light, you may find yourself seaside as the sun peeks over the horizon. As the party rolls through the dawn and into the day, this is the soundtrack. This is After Sunrise. If it’s nice, play it twice. The vinyl is pressed as a neon & yellow disc.

Chicago rock ensemble Red Red Meat hit hard with 1995’s Bunny Gets Paid. Arguably the band’s most complete album, the record pairs Stones-indebted blues-rock roots with beautiful songs, sounding miles removed from the era’s grunge and radio-friendly alternative rock tropes. Recorded at Idful Studios in Chicago’s Wicker Park by producer Brad Wood (Smashing Pumpkins, Liz Phair, Tortoise), Bunny Gets Paid finds Red Red Meat’s core members, Tim Rutilli, Brian Deck, Ben Massarella, and Tim Hurley, straddling the line between their most accessible set of songs and a desire to explore a kind of “alternate fidelity,” employing layers of distortion, natural reverb, and room ambience. “At the time, I felt like we’d made a classic rock record,” Rutilli says. “I was like, ‘This is our Astral Weeks.’” But listening back 20 years later, Rutilli recognizes the band’s ambition, a desire to break songs down to their barest, most primitive elements to “see what survives.”

What will always stay the same with Blue Cranes no matter how much they change as people, as players and as composers is the vibrant emotional core within the music they create. Each song on My Only Secret has a core memory attached to it, whether it is the birth of a child ("Sloan"), a parent's comfort after the death of a beloved pet ("Rhododendron"), or the agony of the 2016 election results ("Forward"). They feel every moment of every song deeply, something which colors every note they play. "We're a good emotional band," says Cunningham. "We can go to that place." The beauty of My Only Secret, like all of the work Blue Cranes has produced to date, is that they want anyone and everyone to join them.