There's a lot of music out there, folks. Some of it's
good; most of it's not. And 'tis my civic duty to
filter it for you. Yes, indeed. It's a dirty
job, but someone's got to do it.
Well, I've got quite a
lot of shit albums taking up space, wasting time and
filling my ears with sounds I'd've survived quite
nicely without. But you got to dig through the dirt to
find any gem and, by God, I think I've found one.
Today I bring you the self-titled debut from
Innaway, a band whose smoldering, dreamy rock 'n' roll
sounds stand out shiny and new from above the shite. A
little psychedelic and jangly, a little Led Zeppelin
heavy, Innaway's new album has remained, unlike many
others, in my stereo for about two weeks now. I like it. I like it a lot
actually. It moves, it travels. It swims and
streams and bubbles and breaks. And then, oozing
friction and heat, it grinds and wails and cries. And
through all its movements, it takes you with it, on
its back, like a wild animal through uncharted
territory, on a journey through space and time (that's
a joke).
It's at once dark and beautiful, precise and
lost. "Follow Moon" taunts you from a bleary distance,
beckoning you to grab hold of the long, drawn-out
riffs and eerie, chanting moans and come, come
listener, come. Opening with a bluesy harmonica wail
and back-porch stomp, "Threat Hawk" builds into emotionally charged breathy vocals and vibrating,
shaking shimmers that you can't help but fall into.
Led off by cricket chirps and funeral-home organ
drones, "Rise" is a Sabbath-style dirge, ready
to bring you down with it, then transitioning between
Pink Floyd-like hopeful premonitions atop delicate,
minimal instrumentation. Innaway is,
genuinely, a good album. I listened to a lot of crap to find this gem, so don't let me know. Check it out. You'll be glad you did.
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