Dead Space, Borzoi Quin Galavis went through some shit even before the pandemic hit, as explored in solo albums including 2019’s
Victim/Nonvictim. That didn’t make the resurrection of his hibernating post-punk trio the Dead Space any less of a surprise. Seven years delayed, second full-length
Chlorine Sleep spotlights the local trio’s tension-soaked chemistry. Which makes this pairing with Borzoi at esteemed punk pizza joint the Parlor a smart pairing. The local noise rockers, who share rostership on 12XU with Galavis’ crew, have been promising a new EP since 2019, so new songs should be aired alongside the requisite fan faves. Between the Dead Space’s brittle clangor and Borzoi’s brash crunge, crust may burn and mozzarella curdle. –
Recommended Shows Worth Your Musical Bandwidth This Week
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The Marfa Tapes
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For all the mythos of Marfa as hipster cowboy art colony, what the tiny West Texas destination offers is solitude, and a reset. That certainly draws songwriting partners Miranda Lambert, Jack Ingram, and Jon Randall, who retreat to the town repeatedly for inspiration and produce mega-hits like Lambert s Tin Man.
The Marfa Tapes offers something altogether different from the Texas triumvirate.
Reflective of the creative spark before the studio polish, each artist finds themselves. Lambert s superstar status doesn t distract from the calm twilight of the recordings, but rather reinforces her own grounded songwriting talent, while Ingram continues to mature beyond his Lone Star country roots with poignancy. Randall, best known as a guitarist (Emmylou Harris) and producer (Dwight Yoakam, Dierks Bentley), revels in the stripped-down acoustic camaraderie.
The Dead Space’s
Chlorine Sleep hits all the right notes square on a waiting chin out of the gate. There are mightily propulsive, jackhammer rhythms paired with bright, twinkling guitar (addictive opener “La La Man”, possibly the LP’s finest moment), hyper-pressurized art-rock that’s part OCD Landowner, part new wave Brainiac (“Head on the Glass”), and electrified, mutant blues scales (“Sick and Humble”). That’s in the first three songs. Yes,
Chlorine Sleep, the Austin trio’s second LP proper, sounds like it’s a force with which to reckon… until, you know, it’s not. Recorded in 2015, just days before the band decided to go the way of the Dodo, the second half of the LP unravels with the tension one would expect of that collective moment. The latter half of