Mirror Gazer - Inhale The Sky

By Phillipe Roberts

Sunny, reverb-drenched harmonies collide with grainy neon visuals in Mirror Gazer’s latest music video for the meditative “Inhale the Sky.” A simmering psychedelic jam that sits comfortably in lounge-indebted grooves, the New York-via-Portland songwriter’s track recalls the airy compositional sprawl and phaser-blasted production of Melody’s Echo Chamber. Its spaced-out beach crawl vibe moves through bubbling synthesizers, oceanic field recordings, and a delightfully twangy guitar solo. While it stretches out past the five minute mark, the constantly shifting instrumentation, playful interludes, and sighing “Everyday” chorus build out a groove that stays fresh long after listening.

The self-directed video for the track plays with a bright, retro-minded palette as we follow Mirror Gazer’s Dorian Duvall around his transplanted home of Brooklyn, tracking his every movement with a distorted fish-eye lens. Artfully combined with washed out and collaged drone shots of Coney Island, and cartoonish close-ups of the lead and rhythm guitar parts that tempt you to pick up a guitar and play along at home, the video imagines Kings County as a single interminable fun house, swimming with color and bursting with potential while Duvall breathes in the streets, stores, and shores that he’s learning to call home.

VIDEO PREMIERE: Harmonica Lewinski - Mango Mouth

Kelly Kirwan

I like to picture the collective that is Harmonica Lewinski having a continuous grin, a twitch of the lip that’s a telltale sign of mischievous demeanor. This is a band of props and puns (case in point, their namesake), and of course, a good time. And if you had any doubts, their latest video release, "Mango Mouth," hums with warm-weather, lackadaisical waves, kicking off with a deep, groovy bass line and continuing on with tropical-tinged guitar. It’s a montage of an isolated beach party, with clips of the band alternately lounging and playing for the crowd (while rocking the Hawaiian shirt aesthetic, I must say). The lyrics are delivered in an even drawl, littered with invitations to join in on the fun, like, “Stop standing in your doorway baby … Please whisper what your soul is craving.” And that easy, Dionysian buzz gradually seeps over us as we listen—even the most uptight of crowds would be inclined to partake. 

As the song progresses, the camera switches between a subtle fisheye lens to broader shots of the amusements—splashing in the water, swaying with eyes closed to the sedated grunge Harmonica Lewinski is peddling. Towards the end, sunspots flicker across the screen, later joined by spots that would suggest a reel melting over a flame. Beach dwellers twirl lethargically, shaking their hair to the beat, completely engrossed. It’s addictively easy-going—the sort of song that begets sunny skies and a few (who’s counting?) spirits.

REVIEW: Max Shrager - Thoughts of You

Laura Kerry

Max Shrager wrote and recorded the songs on his EP Thoughts of You—his debut as a solo artist—over the last five to six years. In that time, he moved to New York, worked with Daptone Records and Dunham Records as a producer, and played guitar and wrote for Naomi Shelton and the Gospel Queens and Lee Fields, among other soul and rock musicians. That’s an impressive five-year resume for anyone, but it’s particularly impressive for someone who turned 20 this year.

As evidenced by his collaborators and labels of choice, Shrager’s musical influences far outreach his age. In his work for others, he produces in analog, often using a four-track recorder, a machine used by the Beach Boys, the Beatles, and other early rock musicians. Thoughts of You shares that old-timey aesthetic, marked by warmth and the lo-fi hum of compressed instruments. Each song on Shrager’s EP reminds the artist of a specific time in his life, but for the audience, the nostalgia reaches back much further.

From the first notes on the album—a combination of sparkling guitar, a prominent bass line, and a soft flute sound—Thoughts of You is a trip back in time, immersive and groovy enough to transport the listener. With its scratchy compression and lyrics such as, “I saw her in a dream… / Her saffron hair in the wind / Blew indigo,” the voice upholds the visit to the past with its traces of psychedelia and soul. Throughout the six songs, genres and influences vary. “Girls of the Galaxy” drifts more decisively towards the trippy with its psychedelic space organ, and with its fuzzed out guitar, more towards the modern; “Train Song” sounds like a tape discovered in a basement box labeled “1972”; and “You’re Still There,” with jangly guitars and chilled out vibe, is more akin to present-day Mac DeMarco or Real Estate. 

On an album marked by its references, the production choices are just as significant as the songwriting and composition. The best songs on the EP, such as “Thoughts of You,” feature a perfect balance of clarity and lo-fi haze. Though the voice is compressed and the drums are dry, the bass and guitar pop enough to maintain structure, and the result sounds both airy and small, like a record player spinning quietly in a tiny room. Shrager is less successful when he gets mired in effects. “Silver,” for example, feels muddy. Mostly, though, the artist has great command over his craft. Thoughts of You—one of many things we’ll see from Shrager on his own, in his band, The Shacks, or with the many collaborators who will continue to seek him out—captures a specific time in the young artist’s life, but it is completely timeless.

REVIEW: Bür Gür - Have You Lost Your Faith In God?

Kelly Kirwan

What's the best way to side-step a sophomore slump? Blend California indie rock with a dose of chill, manipulated percussion, and a hint of far-off places (perhaps with clever use of diereses), and you've got yourself safe passage out of one-hit wonder status. It's what I'll call the Bür Gür method, named after the LA-based duo that most recently put this practice to the test and succeeded.

The second album in their discography is the wryly provocative Have You Lost Your Faith in God?, which mixes island-style guitar plucking with (at times abrasive) ambiance. It's the sort of music that drifts out of an Echo Park dive bar—and whose chords, you imagine, were the by-product of some impromptu strumming on the backyard hammock. A crinkled joint features somewhere into that imagery as well.

Which isn't to say Bür Gür is just your average SoCal stoner group, hotboxing at your nearest In-N-Out burger. Corbin Clarke and Makan Negahban are childhood friends with eclectic tastes, and while their vocals may at times be sunshine-dreamy and lackadaisical, there's an element of layering to their beats and harmonies that assures these two are as keen on depth as they are on easygoing ditties.

Take "If I Was A Child," a track that plays like a proverbial piece of origami, its overlapping parts coming together and unfolding as an impressively connected orchestra of synths and alt rock. A style point of Bür Gür is this use of diverging vocals, whether it be call-and-response or a shift in pitch—in this case, it's the latter. "If I Was A Child" drifts between soothing and subdued to a more nasal tone for the hook. It works, with the various beats and steady clapping in the background emphasizing once again that Bür Gür is all about the multi-dimensional approach. 

The lyrics on "If I Was A Child" also circle back to the album's title, gently musing, “We are all the road to the place where our souls will rest / Or maybe not / Maybe this is it / Maybe God is dead and we’ll all die alone.” It’s a pretty dire thought that’s delivered with the sonic equivalent of a shoulder shrug and a smile. Bür Gür isn’t trying to put its ideas out into the world as an anchor; it really is about the journey. They even laid this out in writing, referring to their album as a vestibule to transport you somewhere else—preferably to a place painted in a “broad spectrum of bright, beautiful colors.”

Another song that could’ve given in to the trappings of dark, heavy material is "Couch Spliff," which instead trots along with an airy, lilting ambiance. It definitely has that South-Pacific, guitar-plucking inspiration, wrapped around references to abortion and a lullaby-esque chorus on rolling its titular spliff. It’s a fairly straightforward song, compared to the other melodies on the album, but it’s too smooth to not play twice.

Have You Lost Your Faith in God? is effortless and intricate, with roots on the California coast and sights set on wherever Bür Gür, or its audience, damn please. So check out their vibrant pink cassette and give it a listen—you may just find yourself swimming in cerulean blue waters and being born again.

REVIEW: Good Morning - Glory

Will Shenton

By the time late January rolls around, I'm usually pretty done with winter. There's still a blizzard or two kicking around, but the novelty has worn off and as the days gradually lengthen I find myself tallying the hours until spring like a prisoner in some hackneyed revenge flick. But, that's why I moved to California, so I guess I'm not allowed to bitch anymore—even if it did hit 45 last week in San Francisco (sorry, East Coast friends).

The reason I bring this up is that Glory, the latest EP from Melbourne-based slacker-rock group Good Morning, is exactly the sort of thing I end up seeking out this time of year to get me through the winter doldrums. It's more than just the beachy guitars that draw me in—there's something particularly endearing about the album's hazy, lackadaisical tone that puts it right up there with Deerhunter in its ability to capture the carefree atmosphere of summer.

"Cab Deg," arguably the closest thing Glory has to a single, is a perfect example of this. The drums are simple and hypnotic, the guitars are ever so slightly out of tune, and the vocals are drenched in so much reverb it sounds like every word has an extra syllable. It certainly follows the recipe for a laid-back surf jam, but it manages to do so without feeling formulaic.

The rest of the EP takes each of these elements and makes them the centerpiece of their own song. "To Be Won" is a droning, down-tempo acoustic track with no percussion at all, "Give Me Something To Do" introduces a saxophone section to balance its almost shoegazey sound, and "The Great Start" sounds like something straight off of a Matt Mondanile record. It's a deconstruction of the genre, to a certain extent, and it turns what could've been a fairly forgettable album into something self-aware and engaging.

Sadly, Glory is a bit short (coming in at just 23 minutes), but I'm hoping we can expect a sophomore full-length release sometime in the relatively near future. It'll be interesting to see how these guys adapt their sound to a more comprehensive structure, as they've grown quite a bit since their 2014 debut Shawcross. In the meantime, though, this EP is going to be the soundtrack to my pining for the equinox.