Taste Test, Edition #4: Indiana, Emily Brown, Guytano & more

Welcome to Taste Test, a review wrangling of SubmitHub-only gemstones.

“Paper Cut” by Indiana

We must confess: we wish it hadn’t taken this long to discover Indiana. “Paper Cut,” from her new album Not Girlfriend Material, is dangerously obsessive. It’s a tight-rope act when you’ve got a dizzying fear of heights. It’s that thrill of speeding down a backroad and hitting that bump that sends your stomach into your throat. It’s that last shot of Goose on a Friday night that makes you teeter just on the edge of a manageable buzz and crashing into being totally, unapologetically wasted outta your mind. When the drip drops, your body will no doubt be sent into rave-like convulsions. You better get your mind right.

“Who Can Say” by Emily Brown

Step into the magical land of ’70s folk-rock with Emily Brown’s “Who Can Say,” a nearly-psychedelic, homespun and lilting mid-tempo from her latest record, Bee Eater. It’s almost like Brown is a long lost band member of The Carpenters or Crosby, Stills & Nash. It’s transportive and twinkles with the very spirit of a better time in mainstream music, glued with delicate frills and booming “ooo”s that make you yearn for the past you never knew you so desperately needed.

“Moon Pocket” by Diemm

Canadian singer-songwriter Diemm crafted the ethereal folk song “Moon Pocket” in a tiny tree house in the forests of British Columbia, and it flows with a homegrown beauty that draws clear inspiration from where it was born. And though the instrumentation sounds like the wild beauty of the outdoors, the melodies and songwriting reach to the cosmos, both pondering on and celebrating the nature of existence. – Chris Will

“devil in a dress” by benny mayne

Sweaty and outrageously sticky, “devil in a dress” slugs out a brash lyric that’s packed tightly beneath the swampiness of classic hip-hop. Benny Mayne’s swagger punches in short, quick jaw jabs, but even within such a seemingly apathetic approach, the music emits the kind of hard-boiled aroma that is altogether contagious. You can’t really blame him; the vibe scorches everything in its wake, and that’s really all you need to hit it out and over the fence.

“Smooth Sailing” by the 94s

Early roots of gospel serve the 94s well. “Smooth Sailing,” while predominantly folk in build and decoration, marries a smooth, southern Baptist inflection that bubbles below the blistered melody in brisk waves and the traditions of mountain music. The guitar solo later on heightens the dynamism of the song’s influences, and when it does finally open up, soaring higher than you might have expected, it harkens to such touchstones as Mary Chapin Carpenter and Keith Whitley. The harmonies hang like olive branches, brushed with sun and tenderness, and leave you truly at peace amidst whatever storm you might be weathering.

“Fake It” by Wingtip

They say you need to “fake it till you make it.” Well, electro-pop mastermind Wingtip frames that notion around a relationship that’s souring like tear-inducing cottage cheese right before his eyes. He implores his lover to give him some time to save himself (and her in the process). Heart-torn and downcast, his tears are hidden behind erupting and sloshing pop juices, as if he’s trapped in some kind of maniacal blender drink, and he ultimately offers a compromise. But to what end? Will he lose himself completely? “So, I smile through my teeth / Say things I don’t mean,” he sings, turning his attention onto only his lover’s needs, leaving a shell of himself on the hardwood floor, cold and alone and shaking.

“Burn It Slow” by Guytano

Guytano are restless. The ache in their bones builds and shatters, the throbs increasing with each beat, each lyric, each vocal moan. “Burn It Slow” is the kind of genre-blurring mid-tempo that zags feverishly and erratically between styles, from indie-folk to alternative to electro-pop. Their brokenness is mirrored in the faint glow of heartbeats that guide them further into a darkness they’ve never known. The diamond-shaped swirls only loosens their grip on sanity, and as the burn crackles and smokes, they find themselves lost in memories that aren’t even memories anymore. Was it all a fantasy?

“Angela” by William Fitzsimmons

The fear is baked into his voice. Like the sands through an hourglass, a once promising love is fading fast. William Fitzsimmons wrestles with his inability to let a former lover go off into the starburst sunset like her destiny states. The tears staining his cheeks deceive him, juxtaposed with the otherwise fragile but vibrant winks glinting off the jagged rocks down below. “Angela,” from his new album Mission Bell, calms the nerves amidst personal upheaval, and through whispered cries, the urgency descends into catastrophe.

“Code of the West” by The Lark and the Loon

Finger-plucked from too many hours in the sweltering sun on the front-porch swing, “Code of the West” pulls from the almost foreign landscape of the western states. Jeff Rolfzen and Rocky Steen-Rolfzen charge full-steam ahead on a song depicting the meanderings of the classic outlaws, who are forever untethered from family or home. The super-charged bluegrass tune is ripped from their new album Homestead Hands, a hearty and well-worn collection of tunes about country life in all its various shades, from triumphs to devastation.

“The Highway” by Red Cedar Review

“The highway called me on the telephone,” confronts singer and songwriter Brad Edwardson. As many traveling musicians can probably profess, too, when the open road calls from the great, wild yonder, you have to go. The pull is irresistible, and that breeziness and liberating energy seeps into Red Cedar Review’s own recollection. “The Highway,” serving as the title cut to their 2018 album, carries a tremendous sorrow brought on by the long stretches of pavement and the passage of time, as well as an utterly gratifying redemption within the music.

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