Sonic Reducer: Foster Dog, Nizhóní Girls, Glitter Vomit!

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Foster Dog is the project of Marshal Lawrence. His latest in a series of mind-blowing recordings was made in the basement of the notorious flower-child hang out and beautifully tasty, soul-rousing caffeine dispensary known as Winning Coffee. I’d argue that the production of this latest, jangly and sky-seeking recording was dependent on the sacred dark juice of pin-point focus; how else does one account for blistering tuneage like the opener, “Garbage Fire,” a burning low-fi anthem to action-oriented slackers nationwide. The bit of hipster-annunciated riffage that accompanies this luxurious sonic foray is further described and declaimed on skate-trick worthy tunes like “Try Not To Die” and “Dumpster Wave.” Where’re Kelley Deal and Kristian Svitak when you need them? The answer: somewhere in Dayton digging this record.

Nizh—n’ Girls EP (Chapter House)

This introductory EP by a notable trio of nascent musicians and effective community activists is by turns densely melodic—mostly through the profoundly plangent vocals that do a wondrous duty soaking up and distilling the instrumentation that surrounds the voice of this band—yet also focused on a bare-bones DIY aesthetic that bears the brunt of any criticism such work assuredly must face. Upon listening, it’s clear that there is much beauty in repetition, in the nuance that carries provocative narratives and plaintive tellings along on wings made from grungy guitars and a persistent 4/4 beat. There’s also a surfy, pop-stained part to this recording that adds to the joi de vivre it generates as it moves through honest to goodness rocanrol like “Some How” and “Sagan’s Song.”

Glitter Vomit! Web Web Web (Self-Released)

Here’s this week’s attempt to let agents of some elfin realm spirit you away to the very far away. Web Web Web, by Glitter Vomit! is sparse, unrelenting and mostly focused on the ghosts seen and heard whilst the record got made—I think. Elsewise, it may be transdimensional in nature and only repeated listening will sort that assumption out. Frighteningly low-fi, but still capable of summoning the most weighty and impenetrable entities available in the vast realm of space and time explored by the psychonaut musicians in charge of this roomy, echoey project, this work tantalizes with tracks like “Solitary Walker” and “Pavement And Wire” but delivers the goods on “We Are Monsters”—which sorta explains where music like this originates. I mean, you have to glimpse the abyss in order to lovingly recreate it as an art form, amirite?

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