Whyte Horses – When I Was a Scout

All the best music is made by fanatics. The kind of people who are immersed in its wonder, obsessed by the never ending panoply of electric noise.Whyte Horses are an enigmatic group from Manchester who make guitars chime like lysergic bells and sing songs so full of wonder that they make your heart ache. They shape-shift from Turkish psyche to Brazilian trip music, from acid house to electronica to punk rock to guitar classic in a heartbeat. It really shouldn’t work, but it’s synthesized that it absolutely does. There is a hypnotic beauty to their music and a poetic perfection to their muse. The band is the brainchild of Dom Thomas, a music fanatic and chronologist who scours the planet for obscure and rare vinyl genius. This obsession is in their musical DNA and Whyte Horses are the sound of people who, on the quest for the perfect record, decided to make one themselves.

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The summery groove and pop majesty of ‘It’s Alright’ soon sends you spinning into infinity, cares eased by the warm tones of chiming guitars, while Beth de Cent’s smokey vocals come together in perfect harmony with Kennedy’s. ‘Andy’ treats you to a yearning tale of forbidden love, packed with homoerotic overtones so full blooded they’d make Morrissey blush like a young Caligula, while the marbled melodies of ‘Broken Light’ come on in nostalgic ripples and waves of sepia-tinged beauty. ‘Let You Down’ finds Kennedy’s voice sounding better than ever, detailing visceral regret over a full bodied groove which marries the baggy backbeat of his hometown with the sultry exoticism of Thai-funk.

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Pinegrove – Old Friends

In their native New Jersey, Pinegrove have spent the past few years as staples of the Montclair DIY scene, playing often with locals like Forth Wanderersand out-of-towners Alex G. After a series of EPs that spun alt-country through a more straight-ahead indie rock sound, Pinegrove signed with Run for Coverfor their upcoming debut LP, Cardinal. Its opening track, “Old Friends,” acts as a companion piece to the closer “New Friends,” both odes to the fluctuating relationships that come with young adulthood.

Pinegrove’s lineup shifts depending on time and place, but frontman Evan Stephens Hall remains at its core. “Old Friends” finds him dipping in and out of his head, his footsteps breaking up “solipsistic moods.” Led by a lumbering bass offset by the faint twang of a banjo, “Old Friends” evokes early Wilco, post-Uncle Tupelo, with an emotional directness. Over sprawling electric guitar, Hall reflects, “I knew it when I saw it/ So I did just what I wanted… I knew happiness when I saw it.” Pinegrove straddle a fine line between country revival and sunshine pop, between melancholy and optimism, but their focus is strong: a sweeping heart.

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Eric Bachmann has reinvented himself several times in the last quarter-century: After breaking through in the ’90s, with the jagged, sneering indie rock of Archers Of Loaf — and releasing an album of rock instrumentals as Barry Black — Bachmann took on the name Crooked Fingers, which he’s used for solo works, experiments and full-band explorations. Now, nearly 10 years after his last official solo album (To The Races), Bachmann says he’s ready to permanently shed Crooked Fingers, though he’ll continue to play with many of his longtime collaborators. Hence, the appropriately titled new album, Eric Bachmann, brings a clean break from his past work.

It’s a maneuver that’s got Bachmann thinking grand thoughts, as evidenced by the mission statements of “Mercy,” the first song shared from the album. Amid a lavish array of “doo-wop-wop” backing vocals, the singer shows little patience for those who try to explain away injustice, even as he comes back around to compassion: “I don’t believe in Armageddon / Heaven, hell, or time regretted / I’m gonna love you like we’re all each other have.” Bachmann’s voice has always felt lived-in, but his life of rambling and rumination has led him to some profound, if plainspoken, epiphanies to match.

In the past, Bachmann has often built barriers between himself and his words, most notably with the youthfully obtuse, ironic poses of his Archers records. But at 45, he’s drawn to the sincerest and most straightforward possible conclusions: “Maybe all of this is all you get / So fill your heart with love.”

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