He may go by Your Jack, but this humble poet of the people belongs to all of us.

On Halloween I fell asleep to this horror-punk platter playing, and dreamt of whirling in a mosh pit in a toxic swamp, catching elbows and knees from zombie alligators and bouncing off leaking radioactive waste barrels. I woke up covered in bruises.

There you are, nodding your head along to Immersion when you realize you’re soaking in it.

Wine Lips invite you into their sweltering garage, where you can drink straight fro the bottle.

Like the whoomp from pouring too much firestarter on and throwing the match in, this band is in your face, exciting and a bit scary at the same time, with its snarling guitars, sneering vocals, and the heft of every possible item in the garage.

Camilo Lara teams up with some influences from the southern hemisphere to bring about this collection of decidedly cumbia-inflected tracks. The sounds lean heavily towards the casiotoned but are expertly counterbalanced with orchestral decorations.

The necessities of busking NYC subways gave birth to this trumpet-sax-drums trio, and on this outing they turn their ears towards the honks and thumps of the boom-bap, building up a collection of soulful and engaging loops out of brass and skin.

Your Jack is a trailer-park poet singing his life into your answering machine, backed with a stripped-down bluesy combo. You will laugh, you will cry, you will sing about sweet countertop love, you will want to give the bass player a goddamn medal.

Music about putting one foot in front of the other… whatever gait you choose, Mosey Home has a song for you.

All Pokey LaFarge is asking for is some time for his cowboy haikus.