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This review appears here thanks to a new initiative sponsored by my friend Austin up in Seattle. He’s a brilliant bloke. Everyone loves him. He likes to go to shows, he likes to support the band by buying merch, but he hates physical media! (It’s his worst quality.) This prompted him to start handing off a merch table-purchased cassette each time we meet, which in turn I will write about here.
Playing the inaugural bash is Seattle’s Broodzone and they’re bringing the doom, perfect for the Rocktober season. Sure, they might lull you into a false sense of comfort on Ravine Nights with the pretty arpeggios of “Scorpio Moon” but Broodzone seems most at peace dropping D (C?) and letting those Metal Zoned chords suffocate you like a 50lb down comforter, most notably on the highlight “Slumping”. Whether “Slumping” or letting their freak flange fly on “Mud Rot”, Broodzone doesn’t really evolve the tracks beyond the initial chord progression, and I love it. Peace through sheer volume. That’s not the only trick Broodzone has up its sleeve, “EKF” imagines a world where the natural evolution of instrumental Surf music was post-hardcore. Can you surf a ravine? Broodzone is aiming to find out.
Ever/Never is always good for (at least) one sterling 45rpm 12” platter per year, Bullseye is here to fill 2026’s quota. E/N recently ventured into the realms of modern day heartland rock with releases by Ryan Davis and Workers Comp (ooh baby get me some new Comp, stat!) and recent releases from National Photo Committee and aforementioned Bullseye makes me think we’re only a half mile past the trailhead.
Bullseye’s eponymous debut is for folks (like me) that listen to 80s Dream Syndicate (and not just The Days of Wine and Roses). Like the Syndicate before them, Bullseye have a knack for synthesizing, or distilling really, decades of American rock & roll into something that is immediately familiar but also tricky to pinpoint. For instance, “Blue Eye Blue” has a hint of Big Star DNA (check the killer opening riff of “Dangers of the Heart” too) but Bullseye doesn’t land anywhere near Matthew Sweet and the legions of Big Star tribute acts that have passed through the annals of American record stores. Just like you and me, Bullseye’s gotta pinch their pennies and watch their grocery budgets. This record is purposefully economical: all six songs are direct and to-the-point, and feel short (I didn’t get my stopwatch out). They aren’t here to waste anyone’s time, yours or theirs. The first side is solid, “Angels Share” makes for a perfect introduction to their sound but the band really pops off on the second side. “Kid”, about hanging with friends at the park, is a great hang itself with a catchy unexpected chorus. Though I’m really burying the lead here. I might as well call “Papillyou Papillons” my favorite song of 2026. Nothing in recent memory has prompted me to burst out in gleeful song like this. I don’t know what the (seemingly) nonsense chorus means but I can’t stop singing it! (“Pappy-you! Pappy-on!” “Pappy-yoo-hoo!”) The slick (and tasteful!) guitar lead is just icing. If you haven’t heard it, get with it, all the kids are singing it, or at least their middle aged dads are.
I must admit I was predisposed to like this tape by Dial Alaska because it brought back memories of teenage me and my first noise band Drill Alaska. Unlike Dial Alaska, we never reached the stage of releasing a cassette of our recordings, which is probably for the best. Dial Alaska, on the other hand, has gone ahead and done it and named it Joy.
And Joy is not a bad moniker for this candy colored noise. Peep the opener “12th of Always” in all its bouncing glory. A lost 80s game show theme with a robot singer. I’m not fibbing about the robot singer. I’d call “Double Negative” an a cappella track but can a vocoder ever be a cappella? Smack dab in the middle of Joy, the minimal electro pop number “Holy” is granted a human female voice in lieu of the cyborg formant and you’ll do a double take. I tend to dig when Dial Alaska is at its most maximal, with layers of samples, bits and hiss piled high, though my strong enjoyment of “me≠me”, the great cyber-piano bar ballad which sees Dial Alaska become a real boy, flies in the face of that statement. I also appreciate Dial Alaska’s fearlessness to release a tune called “Soda Pop” in a post-K-Pop Demon Hunters world, sounding much more Silicon Teens than Saja Boys, and with the fizz to back it up. What was that Mug Root Beer slogan? “The foam goes straight to your brain”? Sounds about right.
I’ve been listening to a lot of The Shadow Ring and Alternative TV’s Vibing Up The Senile Man (Part One) lately and then this record by Arak James showed up. West of Around fits nicely into the rotation with a like-minded penchant for unexpected thrills but, whereas The Shadow Ring and ATV invigorate via chilly flecks of water splattered on my face, Arak James is more like a soft ray of sunshine on my cheek. First time through, I immediately thought of Mickey Newbury. Not because James (his voice or songwriting) particularly sounds like Newbury (his voice or songwriting) but they seem to be broadcasting intimate art-country opuses from the same converted garage studio. Glistening acoustic guitars, the sounds of the natural world around them, big bear hugs to the American folk hymnal. West of Around moves progressively into this mode, getting particularly deep into it on side B.
“You Can’t See Over Me” ambles amiably from the speakers with its generally “Western” acoustic guitar outro. “Pretty Round” and “Garden Variety Blues” follow suit. Handsome cowboy tunes all, but welcome cracks in the facade start to show in the jumbled interlude “I”, stirred with fragments of conversation. “Lackadaisy” breaks it open with spoken, apocalyptic lyrics against organ tones, jangling cowbells, (synthesized?) cricket creaks, and double tracked acoustic guitar runs. Buckle up as “Into The Sun/Oror” launches into a chorus of croaking frogs and a literal ice cream truck hymn amid poems, sung and spoken, one into the other until a beautiful guitar lullaby tucks you in. One of the most warm-hearted trots into the avant-garde in recent memory and a lovely soundtrack to the sunset. James leaves his best tune “Heaven is Right Here” for last as a gentle reminder he’s a still a songsmith, perhaps to his core.
The melody of “Home on the Range” is quoted in “Sunny & Linda”, I’m a bit rusty on the lyrics but I’m pretty sure “seldom was heard, a discouraging word” is in there. And that’s the damn truth. I have nothing but encouraging words for West of Around.
