The Lacking Details

A solid debut album, with a wide range of energies and emotions, filled with swirling guitars, moments of unabashed vulnerability, and sheer screeching unhinged psychopathy.

Looking for some wildman rockandroll? You need look no further than this four-song effort (one of which takes up more than half the album), featuring out-of-control guitar stunts, an implacable rhythm section, and a wonderfully unhinged vibe.

This beguiling set of intricate songs could have come out of a Tin Pan Alley songbook, so calling them old-fashioned is somewhat incomplete. And like all the best fluffy shiny pop led by a heavenly female voice, it hides many razor-sharp barbs.

Trebled-out bass lines, disaffected vocals that could very well be reading from a dream journal, and a penchant for occasional dissonance are taking the forefront in this outing, refining their savage punk structures with a more stylized approach.

Get your headphones on and listen to this master of mood make his way across the undulating sands, the wet guitar reverb, warbling organs, crystal-clear claves, and snaking melodies sounding like surf music for a desert holiday.

If you are in for a partial reenactment of the British Invasion, complete with skirling organs and fuzz guitar stabs all dancing about feverishly, all in the space of about a half-hour, this vinyl reissue of a lost gem from the turn of the century is your ticket.

These two have always made for a dynamic pairing, a yin and yang of raw backwoods holler and big-city sophistication that together make for some of the most genuine American folk music to come out of your newfangled contraption.

For a quarter century, Dirk Dresselhaus has been putting out sparse, intelligent electronic compositions that even at their calmest crackle with some subtle form of nervous energy.

Wales has always had an abnormally high number of interesting bands per capita, and listening to these early ‘80s reissues it’s obvious that Datblygu, whose unique style can range all over the musical map while remaining recognizable, is why.

There are many bands named Ghoulies, or something like it, but let it be known that we’re talking about the Australian outfit that can deliver an hour’s worth of mosh-pit worthy punk sprinkled with spastic organ warbles in just about ten minutes.