#magic tuber stringband

Earl Sweatshirt, MIKE & SURF GANG — POMPEII // UTILITY (10k / Tan Cressida / Surf Gang)

Who picked it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? No.

Tim Clarke’s take:

I was bracing myself for the possibility of receiving hip-hop again in the Mid-Year Exchange — and boy is this a big ol’ dose of the stuff! Running to 33 tracks and over an hour, POMPEII // UTILITY is a grimly lit hall of mirrors, every surface cracked and smeared, with MIKE as our mumbling guide for the first half and Earl Sweatshirt for the second. Production from Surf Gang is minimal and repetitive, comprising trap beats, window-rattling bass, slurred bars, interjections of “Surf Gang, bitch!” and “Surf Gang, baby!” plus lo-res sound effects such as police sirens and breaking glass. Sometimes you can catch phrases in the lyrics that cast some light on the persistently dejected tone, such as “Come from violence, nothing pure” (“Shutter Island”) and “All I remember is pain” (“Kirkland”). There are sporadic moments of brightness amid the gloom, such as Amysia Kym’s guest vocal on “NOT 4TW,” comparable to the way Martina Topley-Bird counterbalances Tricky on Maxinquaye. In its own way it’s kind of mesmerizing, like staggering through an endless cityscape at night, under the influence.

Lyke Rayne — The Time Will Sort Ye Out (Slow Spell)

Who Picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? No

Bryon’s take:

Sean Conrad typically channels his energy into ambient-leaning zones, so this record that he’s released as Lyke Rayne is quite a surprise. Conrad runs the Oakland, California-based Inner Islands label and has released devotional outpourings under the names Ashan, Gkfoes Vjgoaf and Channelers for over a decade. This new direction leans heavily into British acid folk territory, with a dose of the lysergic radiance of Elephant Six. In fact, the title track gave this writer a flashback to Olivia Tremor Control’s “I Can Smell the Leaves.” Across the rest of the album, Conrad’s vibe drifts closer to the steely grey skies of the British Isles, in that it’s wistful and slightly melancholic. He plays everything on this record, save for drums, flute, and tambourine, and fills out his songs with gentle solos, understated drones, and evocative harmonies. That Conrad has shifted gears to explore more earthy territory is a good thing, and given his ambient pedigree, The Time Will Sort Ye Out is a delightfully surprising first step for him in this new direction.  

Magic Tuber Stringband — Heavy Water (Thrill Jockey)

Who nominated it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? Yep. Jim Marks wrote, “Heavy Water is…a spring and summer record with a powerful message about the inexorability of both natural processes and the forces unleashed by the human drive to dominate nature and other people.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

For a record the concept of which is such a complete bummer (see the extensive background essay at the Bandcamp page, too much to unpack here), Heavy Water is often quite gorgeous to listen to. A related bit of complicating context — for me, at least — is Magic Tuber Stringband’s active identification with freak folk, a subgenre I have almost always found portentously self-stroking or irritatingly precious. Either of those qualities could have defeated this record, but neither applies. The music is serious, but not didactic; frequently pretty, but always somehow raw. Check out “Scintillation,” which keens and moans for about a minute and a half before turning to brightly plucked movements that sound the way eddies in a stream look. That song empties into “Blooms in the Rapids,” which evokes Fahey’s emotive and downbeat playing but also retains signs of the brightness and liveliness implied by its title. Heavy water, indeed; still, the music flows. My favorite song here is “Tribute to the Angels,” which toggles between bowing and plucking that flirt with dissonance and moments of near weightless beauty. They buoy you up.

Mylingar — Út (Amor Fati)

Who nominated it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan said, “The seven tracks are cataracts of sound: the guitars and the voice are horrid, howling rushes and runnels, shaped rather than played.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

Metal is a form that accepts everything from stuff one tiny step away from basic hard rock to some of the most extreme music out there. And Út is the kind of record that can make those on its wavelength want to scream “death to false metal” upon hearing anything less relentlessly, monolithically scouring than it is (so... the vast majority of the genre, then). I am not typically much of a black/death metal listener (doom is often, literally and figuratively, more my speed) but when a band like Mylingar pushes their sound so far into the red it feels this perversely good, I wonder why that is. Even as you do hear the traditional blast beats, intense riffing, “cookie monster” growl screaming etc., the result still edges over closer to something like harsh noise wall at times, give or take an occasional discernible riff. It’s basically a 45-minute tone piece, and I can’t imagine being able to pick out one song versus another, but it’s also tremendously bracing and cathartic. I have not yet listened to much 2026 metal, but I agree with Jonathan’s review: I will be surprised if there’s another new release I wind up liking more.

Ratboys — Singin’ to an Empty Chair (New West)

Who nominated it? Alex Johnson

Did we review it? Nope.

Ian Mathers’ take:

Chicago’s Ratboys have been doing this for a while now, but with their sixth record they manage a couple of impressive balancing acts. Part of it is in their sound, which at various points flirts with alt-country, power pop, indie rock, even a bit of jam band-style sprawl, without ever losing the plot or feeling disjointed. Part of it is the subject matter, directed at and about a family member frontwoman Julia Steiner is currently estranged from. It would be easy, when writing from the middle of that situation, to either not have anything to express but distress, or to succumb to the temptation of inventing some conclusion. Singin’ to an Empty Chair resists all that, though, and wears its sincere emotions lightly even when things are getting darker. It’s nuanced and resonant instead of heavy or overly dramatic.

R.E. Seraphin — Tiny Shapes / A Room Forever (Take a Turn)

Who Picked it? Alex Johnson

Did we review it? No, but Alex said of Seraphin’s 2024 release Fool’s Mate that “for all the robust buzz of music around him, here Seraphin’s lightly-fuzzed words always stand out.”

Bryon’s take:

Ray Seraphin is a mainstay of the Bay Area’s lo-fi jangle pop scene, which orbits around the prolific Paisley Shirt Records label. Here, Oakland imprint Take a Turn has collected two Seraphin-helmed gems and draped them across a single slab of vinyl. The Tiny Shapes mini-album and A Room Forever EP are dynamic vehicles on which the musician flexes his power pop chops. The former focuses on jangle and chug, while the latter introduces a dreaminess that wraps around Seraphin’s Jim Reid-like voice.

There’s a variety on offer that highlights the elastic boundaries of the genre. Across the two releases, Seraphin deftly navigates a spectrum that spans the urgent, rhythm-centric jangle of The Feelies, the abrasive textures of The Dream Syndicate, and the melancholic romance of The Smiths. Contributions from a full band line-up of Bay Area rockers fill out the songs, especially the tight timekeeping of drummer Phillip Lantz. For those enamored with the new resurgence of power pop vibes emanating from the likes of Sharp Pins, this record makes the West Coast’s efforts known.

Setting — S-T (Thrill Jockey)

Who picked it? Christian Carey

Did we review it? Yes; Christian said it “feels like a super group meeting… engaging from start to finish.”

Tim Clarke’s take:

There’s a wonderfully rolling, glowing quality to Setting’s self-titled, which brings to mind Totality, last year’s excellent collaboration between Natural Information Society and Bitchin Bajas. The combination of banjo (Nathan Bowles), synths (Jaime Fennelly), and drums (Joe Westerlund) doesn’t necessarily come to mind as a natural instrumental fit, but it all ebbs and flows beautifully. The acoustic sounds create a three-dimensional space that’s expanded and populated by other layers, such as metallophone, zither, percussion, and tape loops. The five tracks stretch out to seven, eight, even eleven minutes at a time, sequenced smartly to make the journey as smooth and immersive as possible. There’s even some moments when the trio gets surprisingly funky, such as the synth bass and organ blasts on “Gum Bump.” I’m delighted I was allocated this album in the draw — it’s definitely among the best instrumental records I’ve heard so far this year.

Kelley Stoltz — If You Don’t Know Me, Buy Now! (Dandy Boy)

Who Picked It? Jennifer Kelly

Did We Review It? Yes. Jennifer Kelly said: “His songs bounce and groove with garage band light-hearted-ness…It’s a good one, maybe a great one, which is no surprise at all.”

Alex’s take:

It really is no surprise to find that Stoltz’s latest is poignant, buoyant, and crammed with ecstatic jams. “Compeitive Bastard” sets the tone with a bumping rhythm and chiming, dissonant flourishes. It’s a funky, rueful and telling look back from a lifer who “don’t work for exposure anymore.” What a thrill to hear Stoltz embrace that he’s both “too old for competition” and, per the Paul Westerberg-ish “Come on Spirit,” “just a leaf on a river called destiny,”and wear it lightly, triumphantly even. The delights are many. For instance, the whistling on “Repercussions” that’s as jaunty as it oughta be over vibrant drums and a rubbery, woodpecker bass, or the almost tossed off “shala-lala-lalala” complimenting “Daughter of the Golden West”’s bright, crystal guitar bursts. Stoltz isn’t lying on “Look Again” to “guarantee you a real good time.” I hear Semisonic and The Cure on that track’s devouring, sprightly jingle. I also hear the latter on my favorite song here, “Not Gone,” where Stoltz leaps into a joyful, romantic momentum on crumpled bass and escalating guitar. It’s a jangling, sky-high gem that Stoltz keeps stirringly human with his understated, multitracked vocals. “One family to hold me/one muse that still controls me/ten friends who really know me/keep pushing me on.” Who could ask for more?

Winged Wheel — Desert So Green (12XU)

Who nominated it? Bryon Hayes

Did we review it? Yes, Bryon wrote, “The swirling juggernaut is now balanced by steamy jet streams and vaporous vortices. The textures are still thick, but not overly dense; you can discern shapes in the mist. The daydream nation is still thriving, but it’s embraced ambient drift and a variety of sonic signifiers.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

Winged Wheel got its start as a COVID-era remote collaboration, but Desert So Green, their third album, follows episodes of touring, writing and recording together. Presumably consensus has been achieved, as this album feels like a medley of Whitney Johnson, Steve Shelley, Matt Rolin, Lonnie Slack, Fred Thomas and Cory Plump’s shared affections. One hears a Joy Division bass line here, a Wire guitar lick there, some 4 AD shimmer and of course signature sounds from the participants’ constituent projects. It’s so easy on the ears that this writer would never ask you to turn it off, but nothing sticks; this music feels destined to fill out playlists named after other bands.

The opening track pairs an uneasy droning fiddle with a highly processed recording of a midcentury folksong lamenting the displacement of the town of Ellenton, SC to make way for the Savannah River nuclear complex, which, in the 1990s, after decades in operation, was identified as a Superfund site. The sense of unease continues in “Marker of a Drowning,” featuring Evan Morgan’s spidery fingerpicking, which commemorates the deaths of a young couple in the river in the late 19th century, perhaps a reminder of an earlier time when the river was a threat to people instead of the other way around. In “Sound of a Million Stars,” inspired by an experimental film about another nuclear site gone awry (Fukushima), the field recordings mesh with the stringed instruments in a dense and aggressive mat of sound. A particularly stark presentation of the antithesis between nature and culture is the juxtaposition of field recordings of woodpeckers and gunfire, the former apparently responding to the latter in a track named after the birds. Pared back to fiddle, banjo (and perhaps guitar), the eerie “Scintillation” refers to technology used to measure radiation. Morgan’s guitar drives “Blooms in the Rapids,” which refers to a rare lily endangered by the ecological degradation of the Savannah River.

The more bucolic and wistful feel of “Tribute to the Angels” and “Where the Place Becomes Forgetting,” the latter with field recordings from a pond tainted with radioactivity and chemicals, suggests the possibility of appreciating the fleeting and fragile beauty of compromised ecosystems. On “Wintering Grounds,” keening fiddle, rustling guitar, and thunking banjo combine to pay homage the countless birds that have been passing through the Savannah River corridor for millennia, with the pace picking up in the middle like wings taking flight.

The rather gentle closing tracks, “Soft and Pliable” and “Dog-Headed Man,” hide melodies beneath scraping fiddle strings, otherworldly slide, banjo harmonics, and loops and field recordings. In fact, there seems to be a kind progression over the course of the album from alarm and indignation to resignation and appreciation of the persistence of nature amid the devastation, with an inflection point between “Woodpeckers” and “Scintillation.”

Mention should be made of the lineup: Werner and Morgan have previously brought other musicians into the recording studio and on the road with them, but Heavy Water marks the debut of the band as trio, with the addition of Mike DeVito as a full member on upright bass and, less frequently, banjo and fiddle; he also contributes the composition “Dog-Headed Man.” DeVito was part of the team that recorded the band’s previous release (Needlefall, 2004), and here he is completely integrated into the original duo. In keeping with the band’s project of redefining the traditional string band for the 21st century, he tends to prefer pizzicato pulses and arco drones to the one-five and walking basslines associated with this kind of music.

Heavy Water is, then, a spring and summer record with a powerful message about the inexorability of both natural processes and the forces unleashed by the human drive to dominate nature and other people. Kudos to Magic Tuber Stringband for consistently engaging both the head and the heart with their music.