Review: Jeff Andrew Compiles Book of Spooky Tales With ‘Blood Moon’

Through a somber, moody, and horror-noir lens, Jeff Andrew stages a chilling epoch worthy of such films as The Old Dark House, The Wolf Man, and Frankenstein. His fusion of genres, from Americana to post-punk, provides a cinematic veneer that will surely send goosebumps galloping down your spine. Darkly-laced guitars rattle like bags of bones, while his voice glides across cracked hardwood as a ghost does in an attic space somewhere. Blood Moon traces through some of horror’s most prolific figures, from werewolves to Jack the Ripper. 10 songs feel primed for the silver screen in the way they assault the senses and summon emotional intensity.

With the record’s mutilated backbone “Monsters,” Andrew combs together tales about monsters, ghosts, and demons. “I’m scared of all my nightmares, but the thing that scares me most is not believing anymore,” he bays at the moon, hanging silver and low in the star-strewn night sky. Guitars thrash around, murderous and bloodshot. Andrew strikes fear with his genre-melting ways; it’s an impressive feat to both display such musical genius and conjure up such devilish images. “Murderers” and “Deus Ex Machina” writhe in pools of blood, with Andrew unleashing a beastly groan.

When he’s not imagining “The Lonesome Death of Jack the Ripper,” he’s regaling tales about wolves (“The Last Wild Werewolf,” “Wounded Wolf”) and shapeshifting specters (“Shadow Figures”). From the tortured cries in “Sacrifice” to the prickly “Footprints in the dirt,” Blood Moon marks an important turning point for Andrew. Such a concept record, at least in terms of its unsettling themes and composition, is a tremendous offering in the scope of the current musical landscape. It’s unlike anything you’ll ever hear, even as he pays homage to some of the greats, like Nick Cave most notably. His vision trembles, unwavering and resolute, with a wonderfully eerie sensibility that will surely crawl under the skin.

Blood Moon is Andrew’s magnum opus. It’s a statement piece, dressed in cultural references, about the state of being human. As the instruments cut into the heart, there’s a sense that you’ll never be the same. His work fits snuggly next to another modern-day renegade, Bror Gunnar Jansson, whose own music is as terribly grim and disturbingly made. With its razor, blood-sucking edge, Blood Moon is far from a trick – it’s a downright frightening treat (in the best way possible).

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