Slothrust

dangerbird records 3801 sunset bl., los angeles ca 90026 323.665.1144| dangerbirdrecords.com SLOTHRUST Everyone Else With their long-awaited third album Everyone Else, Slothrust deliver ten riveting anthems that reward repeated listens. The songs grab the ear and pierce the psyche with complex arrangements and lyrical depth intensified by guitarist/vocalist Leah Wellbaum's penetrating vocal delivery. Slothrust is Wellbaum, Kyle Bann (bass), and Will Gorin (drums). The trio first staked out their unique strain of jazz- and blues-afflicted rock as students at Sarah Lawrence College. The band's 2012 debut Feels Your Pain, and its successor 2014's Of Course You Do, established the band as a breed apart, serving up deceptively clever epics that veer satisfyingly between incandescent riffing and pop hooks, winsome anxiety and powerful heft. "People have always had trouble comparing us to other bands, but someone recently described us as Nirvana meets Wynton Marsalis, and I loved that," says Wellbaum. Even the band's name inspires a beat of thoughtful consideration as the eyes take in the letters and the brain makes its snap judgement: Slo Thrust? Slot Rust? Slo Trust? Sloth-Rust. We all studied jazz and blues, so I often use chords and voicings that aren't quite as conventional for contemporary rock," she continues. "Certain harmonic movement can get stale, so I try to incorporate colorful notes to give it more depth. The improvisational spirit of blues music is also something we try to always keep with us, even in more composed playing. I am drawn to musicians a bit further outside of the rock tradition, such as John Fahey, Elizabeth Cotten, D'Angelo, and Portishead. Growing up I listened to a lot of R&B and classical music. And musicals." While Everyone Else clearly shows Wellbaum fulfilling her early promise as a singer, it's where she hits her stride as a lyricist: Pulling the listener under the surface to explore a submerged world brimming with exotic creatures. Water motifs abound, detailing oddly off-kilter observations about floating, submerging and drowning that are anything but morose. Instead, they contort and reflect worldly truths about life on dry land. Nowhere is this vision clearer than on the slow burn of the album's centerpiece track "Horseshoe Crab." Here, with storm cloud riffs and Will Gorin and Kyle Bann's perfectly calibrated rhythmic undercurrent, Slothrust's erupts in a geyser of emotional and spatial distance, as Wellbaum observes, "I don't have anything in common with myself, except that I came from the sea, like everyone else did."
dangerbird records 3801 sunset bl., los angeles ca 90026 323.665.1144| dangerbirdrecords.com "Like a Child Hiding Behind Your Tombstone" opens like some bizzarro world lullaby dispensing sage advice: "Drink seltzer, smoke weed when you can't sleep. Think about shooting birds, everyone has got a violent streak." Then, as the guitars explode, the rhythm section dials into stylish, disciplined groove to set up an expansive instrumental break that gently floats to a close with Wellbaum, at peace: "Hold me under the water. My lungs are filling with plankton. But the lake is not lonely. No need for you to come with me."Above all the overriding ethos of Everyone Else is its sense of inclusiveness: all people, every feeling, quiet, loud, any time signature. With a snap of the neck the band launches into the hyper-adrenalized "Rotten Pumpkin" with Wellbaum singing in a rapid-fire vomit burst, "I'll make you sick because I'm soft water. Reach inside of me, and scoop out my seeds." This midpoint between grunge and art rock is the aesthetic Slothrust elevates: sharp-eyed individualism, serious musicianship, humble intelligence, controlled abandon. slothrust.com dangerbirdrecords.com

"I have a way of loving too many things to take on just one shape," Jilian Medford sings over and over again on the title track of the Brooklyn-based band IAN SWEET's debut album, Shapeshifter, repeating it like a mantra. This is Medford's thesis statement, a narrator to carry us through Shapeshifter, which is above all else a meditation on loneliness and displacement. It's about losing love and your sense of self in the process, about grabbing at the little things in life that bring joy when nothing else is going according to plan. It's also an ode to the bandmates, and the friends, that see you through.
IAN SWEET started in 2014 with a string of text messages. Medford was a few days away from embarking on her first tour when the driver and drummer she recruited cancelled. Medford sent IAN SWEET drummer Tim Cheney -- whom she barely knew -- a series of desperate messages, asking if he knew how to drum and whether or not he would be willing to take two weeks off of life to go on tour. Cheney responded soon after with a simple: "Yes."

Medford and Cheney's friendship evolved from their time spent on the road into something that she describes as intuitive, telepathic. At the time, Medford had been performing solo under the moniker IAN -- in honor of the nickname her skater friends gave her in high school -- and put out a self-recorded EP titled Have You Ever Loved Anything This Much. That year, she and Cheney enlisted bassist Damien Scalise, and IAN SWEET became a trio. Medford describes Cheney and Scalise as polar opposites that compliment one another; two charged forces that she mediates, forming a platonic balance that brought Medford stability at a time when she didn't have any.

While she was writing Shapeshifter, Medford's life was in turmoil. She ended an emotionally abusive relationship in Boston, graduated from Berklee College of Music, and briefly moved home to the San Fernando Valley, thinking she would stay there. Medford was unsure of the band's future and suffering from a severe, undiagnosed panic disorder. When she returned to Boston to record the album in July of 2015 alongside Cheney and Scalise, Medford was reminded of everything she'd hoped to escape after graduation. She felt stagnant; trudging through a quicksand made up of heartbreak and severe depression, a process she references on Shapeshifter stand-out "Slime Time Live."

That's one of many lighthearted, nostalgic references on the album that subvert the pain beneath. Like its title suggests, most of the songs on Shapeshifter don't settle in a particular scene so much as they delve into a sensibility. Whether Medford's singing about Slime Time Live, eating ice cream in bed on "All Skaters Go To Heaven," or honoring her favorite athlete Michael Jordan on "#23," Medford displaces loneliness by falling in love with the small things that make her happy; like skateboarding, basketball, candy, and her preferred footwear: Crocs.

Accompanied by Cheney and Scalise's playful instrumentation, Shapeshifter becomes a celebratory purging, an album that finds humor in self-deprecation and vice. IAN SWEET's debut interrogates capital-e Existence through a candy-coated lens, their mathy precision scaffolding the chaos of Medford's personal neurosis and turning those anxieties into something hook-laden and relatable.

And though the narrative of Shapeshifter clings to an ex-lover, the yearning felt on this album isn't directed at a particular individual so much as it's turned inward.

"You know the feeling. When you really like someone, you forget to do anything for yourself, you forget all of the things that gave you your shape," Medford says. "The things that form your absolute."

On Shapeshifter, IAN SWEET prove that there is no one absolute; just the ease that comes with knowing everything will be OK as long as you hold tight to the pocket-sized things in life that bring happiness while you watch the rest of your world fall apart in slow-motion.

$10.27 - $12.00

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