Jazz grip. Via satellite, transmitting from northeast Los Angeles — the Aquarium Drunkard Show on SIRIUS/XMU, channel 35. 7pm California time, Wednesdays.
34.1090° N, 118.2334° W . . .
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The big news about Salt River is the collaboration with Sam Gendel, a celebrated jazz saxophonist who has worked with Amidon in various roles since 2017. However, aside from an extended reedy flight of fancy in “Tavern,” Gendel’s role as producer is primarily to get out of the way, and let Amidon be Amidon, his folky experiments haloed by an aura of extraordinary clarity . . .
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Mogwai’s 11th album takes another sludgy trudge through ambient beauty, delineating radiant architectures of synth and kicking them into gear with a jet-engine roar. They’re still world champions at WTF song titles, offering up “Pale Vegan Hip Pain” and the Philip K. Dick-referencing “If You Find This World Bad, You Should See Some of the Others” this time, among others, and still among the best at raising an anthemic, cathedral-vaulted ruckus. Producer John Congleton, an adept at infusing loud sounds with pristine clarity, captures plaintive ache and triumphant crescendo here, distilling Mogwai’s essence into . . .
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In the nearly six decades since his untimely passing, musicians from all over the world have never stopped honoring John Coltrane. And not just artists in the jazz tradition, those in rock, funk, prog and soul as well. We put together a compilation of twenty-two of our favorite tributes to the visionary saxophonist. In the extraordinary variety of ways musicians have chosen to honor him, you can see an outline of the magnitude of his impact on modern music . . .
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As if to illustrate the neverendless aspect of Blood On The Tracks, Dylan has refused to let these songs settle into a final form; over the past half-century, he’s delighted in adding new verses, switching pronouns and perspectives, introducing new (sometimes very weird) arrangements. “Everything up to that point had been left unresolved,” he sings in “Shelter From The Storm.” And even in 2025, this is an album that still feels beautifully unresolved; you’ll hear it one way today and another way tomorrow. It’s open to interpretation — and interpretations are what we’ve got here, a . . .
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An almost Zelig-like figure whose life and career has seen him careen from postmodern rock and jittery Downtown dance music ensembles, to opera and theater pieces, orchestral works, contemporary DJ culture, and so much more, Peter Gordon is the type of multifaceted artist whose wide range of interests have made him something of a cornerstone of underground music culture in New York City for well over four decades now. Even if few people outside of New York know who he is. And even there he’s not a household name. But that hasn’t stopped him from casting a . . .
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The 30-track collection November immerses listeners in process, allowing one to follow along as Carolina Chauffe jots down musical notes and sketches, some of them to be developed later, others not. We wrote about Hemlock's 444 LP not too long ago, a sort of greatest hits constructed out of Chauffe’s daily songwriting devotion, but appreciate the diversions and half-successes and byways of this collection. Some days yield gemlike beauties, others not, but it is all about the journey . . .
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If one yearns to take solace in a breezy, hypnotic collection of guitar pop, Love In Mind is the antidote. There's a chiming whimsy reminiscent of Teenage Fanclub at their most melodic (such as the compositions of departed songwriter Gerard Love). Lyrically, the jovial and wide-eyed buoyancy of tracks like "Sunday Song" and "Waking Up" will specifically remind TFC heads of classic, Big Star-inspired efforts like Songs From Northern Britain. If the comparison seems too evident to ignore (or one to fellow Scottish legends Belle and Sebastian), the young band actually welcomes it like a badge of . . .
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Freeform transmissions from Radio Free Aquarium Drunkard on dublab. Airing every third Sunday of the month, RFAD on dublab features the pairing of Tyler Wilcox’s Doom and Gloom from the Tomb and Chad DePasquale’s New Happy Gathering. This month, Wilcox continues his annual January tradition of sharing a host of Neil Young rarities — outtakes, live recordings and more, spanning a half-century. Then, Chad delivers a an hour of psychedelic folk, ambient music & orchestral pop. Sunday, 4-6pm PT . . .
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The third album from pianist/singer Nathan Phillips’ Big Bend project blends experimental methods with time-tested tradition. Working with avant-jazz master Shahzad Ismaily and a varied ensemble including Jen Powers of Rolin/Powers Duo and violinist Zosha Warpeha, Phillips transforms delicate folk songs into strange collages and elliptical ballads. At times reminiscent of the fluid, gauzy extrapolations of Talk Talk, Last Circle in a Slowdown might have more in common with Joan of Arc’s controversial ProTools workout The Gap. But Big Bend doesn’t embrace the alienation that comes with such studio manipulation and digital disruption, instead . . .
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A hack Hollywood filmmaker would likely use cliched/corny smash cuts to convey the kinetic energy of NYC’s burgeoning mid-seventies punk scene. The tapes tell a different story, with history unspooling at a leisurely pace. These audience recordings of Television at CBGB during a long winter residency at the club — dangerously lo-fi, utterly priceless — are full of awkward tuning breaks, persistent amplifier hum, muttered introductions, cacophonous false starts, muted applause. Something’s happening here, but no one is quite sure what it is . . .
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Nyron Higor's self-titled sophomore LP starts with a slow-motion frevo that drags amidst the reverb as if it was played inside a ghost motel. It is a perfect encapsulation of the Brazilian multi-instrumentalist's new release: clouds of sonic niceties sculpted from the ruins of library music. Here, bird-like whistles and tremolos emerge into eerie atmospheres, from which they seem detached, like ground and figure . . .
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Like some strange offspring of William Burroughs and Chet Baker backed by The Lounge Lizards, Birmingham, Alabama’s Johnny Coley delivers southern gothic beat poetry in a leathery, slurring wobble on Mister Sweet Whisper. His words, backed by a group of local young musicians from the Sweat Wreath label on guitar, upright bass, vibraphone, saxophone, and organ, are lysergic and hallucinatory incantations–nocturnal, perverse, slithering, and hilarious . . .
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Rolled chords. Via satellite, transmitting from northeast Los Angeles — the Aquarium Drunkard Show on SIRIUS/XMU, channel 35. 7pm California time, Wednesdays.
34.1090° N, 118.2334° W . . .
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Tamara Lindeman is the Weather Station, for all intents and purposes, so what’s remarkable about her seventh album is how she slips into the mix. She flutters and flourishes like a wild jazz flute. She eddies and cascades in slithery runs. She matches the syncopated stop-go of a piano run, her voice just off center enough to be interesting. She spits out knotty strings of striking imagery. But she does it all as another instrument in a breezy, jazzy mix, as significant but no more so than complicated patterns of percussion, sharp outbursts of flute and cloudier eruptions . . .
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