Merge Vinyl, CD & Tape 183 Items

If naming is a form of claiming, of being claimed, how is one tethered to both the physical landscape that surrounds us, as well as our own internal emotional landscape_at times calm, at times turbulent, and ever changing? H.C. McEntire's new album Every Acre grapples with those themes_themes that encompass grief, loss, and links to land and loved ones. And naming_claiming land, claiming self, being claimed by ancestry and heritage_permeates the hauntingly beautiful landscape that is this poignant collection of songs. The songs straddle the line between music and poetry. In "New View," McEntire cites poets "Day, Ada, and Laux, Berry, and Olds"_fixtures in the world of writing, whose works are beacons of light over bleak horizons. The beginning of the song is backed by soft guitar plucks that fall on the downbeat and spangle like stars, and, throughout, guitar, bass, and drums swell together gently, mimicking ebbing and flowing tides under the moon. McEntire's voice (at once tender and fierce) intones the truth of both giving and taking, releasing and claiming: "Bend me, break me, split me right in two. Mend me, make me_I'll take more of you." Permeated by heartbeat-like drums, "Shadows" develops quiet ruminations on surrender and loss_reminiscing, moving on. This ponderous, dreamlike song asks the question of how "to make room." How does one make room, for self and for renewal and surrender, when it is so difficult to leave what you know behind? Playing with slivers of descending chromatics, along with the occasional downward-stepping bass, here McEntire yearns for home, and for nesting. Perhaps one of the more grief-stricken songs, "Rows of Clover" is a lamentation, one that touches on the loss of a "steadfast hound." The lone piano in the beginning of the song is rhythmically hymn-like. The stark verse arrangement gradually leads to a chorus that reads like a moody exhale, swollen with lush guitar strums and a Bill Withers-esque understated soul groove. But what stands out the most is an image of being "down on your knees, clawing at the garden"_the only explicit mention of a person in the song. "It ain't the easy kind of healing," sings McEntire, seemingly from further and further away as her voice echoes; and healing ta;kes time, time takes time_truths that linger painfully. "Dovetail" is a song that tells of various women. The song moves back and forth between solo piano and the addition of bass and drums under vocals. McEntire's gentle, trembling vibrato_harmonized in thirds in a celebratory manner_calls to mind a rejoicing psalm and shines through these images, leaving the listener cuttingly fraught with emotions_such as wonder, sadness, nostalgia_that can only arise with these juxtapositions. Gracious (and graceful) with its lilting melodies and lush harmonies, Every Acre ex - plores the acres of our physical and emotional homes. These songs are reaching for the kind of home that we all seek: one where we can rest and lay down (or tuck away) our burdens of loss. And maybe, moving through every acre of a world that often tries to tear our sense of identity and heritage down, McEntire sheds light on what it is to be human in this life_both stingy and gracious, both hurtful and kind.

With One Day, Fucked Up have delivered one of the most energizing and intricate albums of their entire career, a massive-sounding record that arrives in deceptively small confines. The Canadian hardcore legends have been known for their epic scale in the past, from towering concept albums to 12-hour performances-so it might be a surprise that Fucked Up's sixth studio album is their shortest to date, written and recorded in the confines of one literal day (hence the title). Don't mistake size for substance, though: The band's sound has only gotten bigger, more hard-charging, with even denser thickets of melody. If that sounds like a study in contrasts, well, that's Fucked Up for you-and you shouldn't expect, or want, anything different. The result is a record that sounds full-bodied and immediate, with music that burns brutally and passionately in a way that only Fucked Up can evoke. The guitars sound like ziggurats reaching to the sky, reaching dizzying levels of melodic interplay while always maintaining a tuneful clarity-and the musical adventurousness that marked 2018's epic, lush Dose Your Dreams is plenty present here, too. One Day is an undeniable work of confidence from a band that continues to operate at the top of their game, making music that's guaranteed to last a lifetime and beyond.

Check out the first 18 or so seconds of "Can I Ride," the title trackon the first release by Polvo, the two-guitar juggernaut thatrepresented the other side of Chapel Hill indie rock (more on that ina moment). That two-note riff, and the guitar twang that follows,recalls the opening notes on another monster song: "The Sprawl," akey track on Sonic Youth's epochal Daydream Nation, an albumreleased in October 1988, less than two years before Polvo formed.This compilation's nine tunes_the first seven from the Can I Ridedouble 7-inch EP (1990), the last two from the "Vibracobra" b/w"The Drill" 7-inch (1991)_are not quite the sound of a torch beingpassed, but they were a sign that Sonic Youth's weird tunings, thehardcore punk and proto-indie rock on SST Records, and R.E.M.'shazy rock (three big influences on this era of Polvo) were changinglives.Even back then, the impossibly catchy roar from Merge's flagshipact Superchunk was known to outsiders as the sound of Chapel Hill.But Polvo was something different from the same region. While theband never cottoned to the "math rock" tag (and it's hard to disagreewith them), there is no question that there was a distinct "how canwe make guitar rock sound different from all the other guitar rock"vibe going on in the mid-Atlantic, from Richmond (math rock's truehome, don't @ me) to the North Carolina Triangle over to Louisvilleand down almost to Atlanta. (If the Mastodon dudes aren't downwith Polvo, I'll eat your shoe.)No, Polvo were their own brand of squall, not afraid of big hooks("Leaf "), odd tempos and textures ("Lull") and rolling thunder ("Totemic"), and answers to the musical question, "What if the Feeliesgrew up on Dinosaur Jr.?" ("Tread on Me").Indie rock? Not the 2019 kind. Math rock? Eh, not really. This wasthe sound of a new Southern rock, of a pre-internet g

As sculpted shards of guitar-tumbling, tolling, squalling-shower the jittery bounce of a piano on opener "Human," it's obvious that Reason in Decline, Archers of Loaf's first album in 24 years, will be more than a nostalgic, low-impact reboot. When they emerged from North Carolina's '90s indie-punk incubator, the Archers' hurtling, sly, gloriously dissonant roar was a mythologized touchstone of slacker-era refusal. But this, the distilled shudder of "Human" (as in "It's hard to be human / When only death can set you free"), is an entirely different noise. In fact, it's a startling revelation. In short, this is not your father's Archers of Loaf, even if you're a father now who was a fan then. (If that's the case, congrats on surviving the Plague and getting to hear this fearlessly poignant record, you alt-geezer!) Otherwise, thank your youthful fucking lucky stars, kids! Enjoy Reason in Decline with fresh ears and do as the Archers have been doing: Stay humble, stay informed, express yourself creatively, and try not to lose your goddamned mind while the polar ice caps melt. Peace.

This summer, Merge will reissue A Giant Dog's first two full-lengths_2012's Fight and 2013's Bone_worldwide on limited-edition colored vinyl, reintroducing the world to the quintetSpoon's Britt Daniel calls "the greatest American rock and roll / punk band since I don't know when."Celebrating its tenth birthday in 2022 is A Giant DogFight , the Texas group's hard-to-find debut album, remixed, remastered, and pressed on green vinyl just for the occasion. All thetrademark tenets of AGD lore are on display at the jump:monstrously adorable album art and punny title, whip-smartsongwriting dolled up in denim and leather, boiled down to thesweetest moments and blown out to the masses with bravadoto spare. Upon Fight's original release, the local Austin Chronicle raved: "The raucous, low-rent squall quakes with affirmative abandon, while a just-right dose of pop girds the buzz and yowl.

Friendship's Merge debut, Love the Stranger, moves like a country record skipping in just the right spot, leaving its fellow travelers longing for a place they've only visited in their dreams. Guitarist Peter Gill, drummer Michael Cormier-O'Leary, bassist Jon Samuels, and hawkeyed balladeer Dan Wriggins map out the group's particular, breathtaking landscape and invite the listener to share in its glory. Between instrumental pit stops at "Kum & Go" and "Quickchek," local references in Love the Stranger create a catalog of human perception, presented as roadside attractions. From grape jelly residue ("Ramekin") to the site of a demolished cathedral ("St. Bonaventure") to King of the Hill quotations ("Smooth Pursuit"), the record's images craft a symbolic language of high and low Americana, both evocative and consistently accessible. Spending time with Love the Stranger creates a community _ one in which the window between the listener and the musicmaker shatters in full, until all that remains are the fragments you decide to pick up together. Like its sprawling lyrical references, Love the Stranger's production is both familiar and capacious enough for pedal steel, synth strings, airy folk guitar field recordings, and Midi pad exploration to work in vital harmony. Influenced by Friendship's punk and indie peers as much as road-star forebears like Lucinda Williams and Lambchop, Wriggins says of the recording sessions: "I wanted the album to sound like Emmylou Harris and the Hot Band in the '70s. Pete wanted it to sound like a semi full of spent fuel rods, barreling towards a runaway truck ramp. Jon kept reminding us that the studio is an instrument, and Michael wanted it to sound like the breakdown two-and-a-half minutes into Shuggie Otis' `Strawberry Letter 23.'" Friendship is probably already your favorite band's favorite band, a long-revered Iykyk of DIY with a devoted cult following from Wawa to In-N-Out. With Love the Stranger, the Friendship universe only continues to expand and grow more open-hearted, more inviting, with every passing note. It's a record that locates the listener exactly where the listener is, and wherever that may be, makes a friend out of them, too.

With Happy Hour, her ravishing new LP, Hollie Cook matures into the queen of modernday "lovers rock"... the lush girly harmony reggae style beloved in Britain since the 1970s. Evolution rings from the bittersweet opening title track; tender yet assertive, Hollie's voice caresses evocative lyrics through the arrangement's tumbling changes. Hollie dares to invite listeners into her true personality through these alluring songs, which she co-produced with her General Roots band members Ben Mckone and Luke Allwood, and executive producer Youth. "Particularly with the songwriting, I was trying to really push myself and be open, to not be restricted in any way. I have always been a fan of theatrical pop music and wanted to experiment more with the song form." Indeed, the dizzying arrangement of "Gold Girl" shows Hollie as boldly orchestrated, cinematic. "Now I don't shy away from it when I want to be dramatic," she declares. Full of emotion, leaning into healing and understanding, Hollie's lyrics on Happy Hour speak directly to our pain and confusion and steer us towards resolution on tracks like "Moving On," "Unkind Love," and "Love in the Dark." Touring as a teenager with punk legends The Slits encouraged the fierceness within her sweetness. Hollie's mentor was Ari Up, the band's lead singer and a lifelong friend of Cook's parents (Sex Pistols drummer Paul and her singer mother Jeni). "My father always said I would be a singer. But I discovered lovers rock on my own. I heard it on pirate radio and at friends', and I was bewildered, enchanted," she recalls. "The Slits are the reason I have pursued this career. I was surrounded by powerful women at a young age, and when my time came, I was never fazed by male dominance. They were my wall of courage." From those feisty roots, Hollie has only grown. Her soulful directness on Happy Hour is relatable and authentic.

Like every record Superchunk has made over the last thirty-some years, Wild Loneliness is unskippably excellent and infectious. It's a blend of stripped-down and lush, electric and acoustic, highs and lows, and I love it all. On Wild Loneliness I hear echoes of Come Pick Me Up, Here's to Shutting Up, and Majesty Shredding. After the (ahem, completely justifiable) anger of What a Time to Be Alive, this new record is less about what we've lost in these harrowing times and more about what we have to be thankful for. (I know something about gratitude. I've been a huge Superchunk fan since the 1990s, around the same time I first found my way to poetry, so the fact that I'm writing these words feels like a minor miracle.) On Wild Loneliness, it feels like the band is refocusing on possibility, and possibility is built into the songs themselves, in the sweet surprises tucked inside them. I say all the time that what makes a good poem_the "secret ingredient"_is surprise. Perhaps the same is true of songs. Like when the sax comes in on the title track, played by Wye Oak's Andy Stack, adding a completely new texture to the song. Or when Owen Pallett's strings come in on "This Night." But my favorite surprise on Wild Loneliness is when the harmonies of Norman Blake and Raymond McGinley of Teenage Fanclub kick in on "Endless Summer." It's as perfect a pop song as you'll ever hear _ sweet, bright, flat-out gorgeous_and yet it grapples with the depressing reality of climate change: "Is this the year the leaves don't lose their color / and hummingbirds, they don't come back to hover / I don't mean to be a giant bummer but / I'm not ready / for an endless summer, no / I'm not ready for an endless summer." I love how the music acts as a kind of counterweight to the lyrics. Because of Covid, Mac, Laura, Jim, and Jon each recorded separately, but a silver lining is that this method made other long-distance contributions possible, from R.E.M.'s Mike Mills, Sharon Van Etten, Franklin Bruno, and Tracyanne Campbell of Camera Obscura, among others. Some of the songs for the record were written before the pandemic hit, but others, like "Wild Loneliness," were written from and about isolation. I've been thinking of songs as memory machines. Every time we play a record, we remember when we heard it before, and where we were, and who we were. Music crystallizes memories so well: listening to "Detroit Has a Skyline," suddenly I'm shoutsinging along with it at a show in Detroit twenty years ago; listening to "Overflows," I'm transported back to whisper-singing a slowed-down version of it to my young son, that year it was his most-requested lullaby. Wild Loneliness is becoming part of my life, part of my memories, too. And it will be part of yours. I can picture people in 20, 50, or 100 years listening to this record and marveling at what these artists created together_beauty, possibility, surprise_during this alarming (and alarmingly isolated) time. But why wait? Let's marvel now. - Maggie Smith

Throughout his career fronting Superchunk and Portastatic, Mac McCaughan has channeled more than his share of angst into a microphone, resulting in undeniable rock anthems. So how can a voice so familiar to others still seem foreign to its owner? On The Sound of Yourself, McCaughan's second release under his own name, he explores that question fully, shooting his voice through a prism and refracting it across these songs in new and rewarding ways. In January 2021, McCaughan found himself at his home studio in Chapel Hill North Carolina staring down a clean slate after wrapping a film score and several other music projects. His thought process was simple: "Each day is blurring into the next, so what are we doing today? How can I disrupt this? I think what resulted was a theme of subdued_ `joy' is the wrong word, but it's at least comforting if not propulsive to have something open-ended to work on every day without any kind of structure or deadline or rules." McCaughan leaned into allowing randomness and accidents to catalyze his compositions. Where a guitar riff might typically start a Superchunk song, an indistinguishable loop found on an old sampler dictates the mood on "Found Cricket," and simply opening up his studio to the woods outside channels Another Green World on "36 and Rain." Instrumentals make up nearly half of The Sound of Yourself, and are integral to the album's atmosphere. While the pop-oriented tracks hint at sounds explored on Non-Believers, McCaughan's recent scoring work and frequent excursions with synthesizers and sequencers (see: the Moogfestcommissioned Poms and his ambient project with Mary Lattimore) add a particularly crystalline spaciness akin to The Durutti Column and Bowie's Berlin trilogy. A sloping new wave bassline grounds the catchy "Circling Around" as McCaughan rejects rumination with cleverly cyclical lyrics and a few strategically placed "whoa"s. The warbled synthetic voices emanating from the Mellotron on "Sleep Donor" are already singing isolation blues well before McCaughan frets, "I hear a footstep in the hall when there should be no one there at all_" These could be the same ghostly sounds "softer than the light, under the door" he describes in "I Hear a Radio," a track on which Michael Benjamin Lerner (Telekinesis) and Annie Hayden (Spent) provide shimmering vocal harmonies. For a record titled The Sound of Yourself, the irony in having many contributions from friends is not lost on McCaughan: "I'm constantly inspired by the work of my peers. I feel lucky to be able to collaborate with them despite the distances between us. Sending off a song into the ether and having it returned greatly improved and in often surprising and moving ways was one of the most satisfying aspects of making this record." Additional guest appearances include Sabrina Ellis (A Giant Dog, Sweet Spirit), Mackenzie Scott of Torres, plus three moody saxophone tracks that Matt Douglas of the Mountain Goats offered McCaughan, layered on top of one another. Mary Lattimore introduces and concludes The Sound of Yourself with her singular harp playing. The bittersweet single "Dawn Bends" is bolstered not only by Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster but the esteemed trio of Yo La Tengo on bass, organ, guitar, and vocals. The album's title track asks, "Do you ever get used to the sound of yourself?" For an artist like Mac McCaughan, the answer lies in experimentation_testing his voice in a different light, deconstructing it, sometimes relegating it elsewhere or removing it altogether as the piece dictates. He knows that within the creative pursuit of an album as illuminating as The Sound of Yourself, familiarity reveals itself in the unknown.

Black Vinyl In Jacket W/ Vellum Overwrap + Bonus Cd "Bestial Warning" (Acoustic Demos For "Here's To Shutting Up").To Write The Songs For Here's To Shutting Up, We Gathered In Jim's Garage (He Lived Way Out In The Woods) A Couple Times A Week For What Seemed Like Months. We Started From Actual Scratch With No Demos Or Concepts, Just Playing Instrumental Music With Our Usual Gear Plus A Casio. Sometimes One Of Us Would Play The Keys Instead Of Our Normal Instrument, Or Jon Would Hop On Guitar And We'd Use The Casio Drum Machine For The Beat. We Ended Up With A Lot Of Ideas And Plenty Of Good Names For Them_"Frank's Bath," "There's Something About Marvin," And"Bestial Warning" To Name A Few. We Recorded Practice Onto Minidisc Or Cassette, And I Would Ride Around Listening To These Demos And Thinking Of Words. The Subject Matter, In Retrospect, Has A Lot To Do With Touring And Travel ("Out On The Wing," "What Do You Look Forward To?"), Coming Home ("Rainy Streets," "Act Surprised"), The 2000 Election ("Florida's On Fire"), And Late-Stage Capitalism ("Late-Century Dream," "The Animal Has Left Its Shell"). Once We Wrangled The Songs Into Recognizable And Playable Shapes, We Re-Created Them In Acoustic Form And Recorded These "Demos" At My House So We Wouldn't Forget How They Went And So We Could Learn How To Play Them. Some Have The Whole Band, Some Are Me Learning Jim's And Laura's Parts From The Practice Tapes And Playing Them On Acoustic Guitar.We Recorded The Album In The Cabbagetown Neighborhood Of Atlanta At Zero Return, The Studio Built By Brian And Rob (Aka Birdstuff And Coco The Electronic Monkey Wizard) Of Man Or Astro-Man? Brian Paulson Came With Us To Produce It. The Studio Itself Was Amazing. We Also Slept There In A Dorm-Like Setting And Stayed Up Too Late. We Had Some Great Guest Players On The Record Including The First Appearance Of A Pedal Steel On A Superchunk Album, Played By John Neff Of Athens Band Japancakes. Local Chris Lopez (The Rock*A*Teens) Came Over To Sing Backup Vocals...

Much like the New Orleans-born artist who created it, Second Line is an unapologetic genre bender that pushes boundaries, expands possibilities, and shatters expectations. It's more than just an album: Second Line is a cohesive sensory experience that questions traditional ideas of sound, production, and visual aesthetics as they relate to music. Its interlocking parts tell an epic story about the quest for artistic expression, with Dawn describing her project as "a movement to bring pioneering Black women in electronic music to the forefront." She elaborates: "You never see women appreciated as producers and artists alike _ especially Black women in the electronic space. The time is now for us to start recognizing their talent, not only in electronic music but in all genres. I wanna be the reason why a young Black girl from the South can be whoever she wants to be musically, visually, and artistically." Second Line cuts to the chase with its opening suite of dancefloor bangers, immediately displaying Dawn's mastery of layered production and melodic hooks. Second Line treats Louisiana Creole culture, New Orleans bounce, and Southern Swag as elemental, allowing Dawn to weave in and out of house, footwork, R&B, and more. As she says, "I am the genre." The story of Second Line centers on Dawn's persona King Creole, assassin of stereotypes, a Black girl from the South at a crossroads in her artistic career. To move forward, she decides to look back, but where previous album New Breed took influence from her father, Second Line is illuminated by Dawn's mother. Her proud repeated proclamation of "I'm a Creole Girl" introduces the ecstatic dancehall pop of "Jacuzzi," and later, on the cinematic album centerpiece "Mornin | Streetlights," she answers Dawn's question of how many times she has been in love. Intimate conversations like this between the two are interlaced throughout Second Line, giving credence to how the protagonist came to be, and direction to build a lane forward. It's no surprise that King Creole's story parallels Dawn Richard's. As a founding member of Danity Kane, and later with Diddy's Dirty Money, Dawn was able to explore the ins and outs of commercial pop music. As a solo artist, she opted to selfrelease her music. Over the span of five critically acclaimed full-length albums, Dawn has made the message clear that she will not bow down or bend to industry norms. All the while, she's built her resume with enough extracurriculars to make your head spin: Cheerleader for the New Orleans Hornets? Check. Animator for Adult Swim? Check. Owner-operator of a vegan pop-up food truck? Check. Martial arts expert? Check! Second Line embodies the heritage of soul music and the roots of New Orleans, all surrounded by the influences of electronic futurism. "The definition of a Second Line in New Orleans is a celebration of someone's homecoming," says Dawn. "In death and in life, we celebrate the impact of a person's legacy through dance and music. I'm celebrating the death of old views in the industry. The death of boxes and limits. I'm celebrating the homecoming of the Future. The homecoming to the new wave of artists. The emergence of all the King Creoles to come." Dawn Richard is bold, confident, purposeful, and a King throughout Second Line. Are you ready to dance?

In the five years since Will Butler released his debut album, Policy, he's toured the world both solo and as a member of Arcade Fire, released the Friday Night live album, recorded and released Arcade Fire's international #1 album Everything Now, earned his master's degree in public policy from Harvard, hosted a series of touring town halls on local issues (police contracts, prison reform, municipal paid sick leave, voting rights), and spent time raising his three children. He also found the time and inspiration to write and record a new album, Generations. "My first record, Policy, was a book of short stories," Butler says. "Generations is more of a novel_despairing, funny, a little bit epic_ A big chunk of this record is asking: What's my place in American history? What's my place in America's present? Both in general_as a participant, as we all are, in the shit that's going down_but, also extremely particularly: me as Will Butler, rich person, white person, Mormon, Yankee, parent, musician of some sort, I guess. What do I do? What can I do? The record asks that question over and over, even if it's not much for answers." While the songs on Generations contain their fair share of dread and regret, there is ultimately a lightness that shines through Butler's music. That brightness is at its most intense when he and his solo band_Miles Francis, Sara Dobbs, and Julie and Jenny Shore_perform on stage. Their electricity is palpable throughout Generations, with the bulk of the new songs having been worked out live. Wild synth production_gnarly bass synths with live drums_and anthemic backing vocals as on first single "Surrender" are punctuated by intimate, direct moments: Butler's voice cracking on "Fine" as he conjures his ancestors, and "Promised," a meditation on friendship, how lives are built together, and how and why they drift apart. Generations was recorded and produced by Butler in the basement of his home in Brooklyn. Tracking finished in March 2020, as New York closed down for the pandemic. Half the record was mixed in Montreal by longtime Arcade Fire engineer Mark Lawson, the other half by Brooklyn-based producer Shiftee (who is, incidentally, bandmate Julie Shore's husband and Will's brother-in-law). Generations opens a dialogue with the world. It posits answers_and deals with those answers being refuted. Ultimately, it navigates the conversation as a way to find the truth_ or at least a way forward.

Narratively, H.C. McEntire's Eno Axis is about finding direction in the natural world, and following love. Sonically, it's an album shaped enormously by the atmosphere it was recorded in_the crew's synergy and positivity, the proximity and presence of a band in a room playing with intention. Structurally, it's a group of songs inspired by the colors and tones of open tunings, by the sacrality of space and instinct. Stylistically, it's folk-rock leaning into its curious experimental side and moved by the spiritual rawness of classic soul and the simplicity of earnest pop. Eno Axis feels like a confident and mature step forward from her debut album LIONHEART_in tone, arrangement, production, and spirit.

This special 40th anniversary edition of the Red Cross EP, which includes the band's six-song eponymous debut and adds five contemporaneous extra tracks, is the most comprehensive document to date of the extraordinary birth of Redd Kross.Redd Kross incubated alongside such SoCal luminaries as Black Flag, Descendents, and the Minutemen, and this new 11-song collection_which includes rare and unreleased demos plus a live track recorded in 1979 at "The Church," the infamous Black Flag birthplace in Hermosa Beach, CA_puts in proper perspective the McDonald brothers' contribution, at the ridiculously precocious ages of 12 and 16, to that area's punk scene.

180gm LP+CD set features not only the album in its original European tracklisting but also a revelatory set of covers, rehearsals & B-sides
that reveal the earliest iterations of the group. And there's the previously unreleased "Sarah's Prelude," too, the lovely, lonely & abandoned opener of an album that stuns, even without the strings.

Pink vinyl. Includes original inner sleeve.

“It has been a lengthy hiatus, but we have finally finished our latest ‘masterpiece’ and named it after an incredible indigenous-rights movement that is happening right now called Idle No More. I was born and raised in Montreal and spent a lot of time on the Kahnawake Mohawk Indian reservation. Idle No More is probably the most refined piece of music we have made to date. The songs are about the state of the world we live in today. Originally, I was going to call the album Of Madness I Dream, but then I became very enthused about the amazing work of the Idle No More movement. Everyone I asked had never heard of it, so I contacted the leaders of the movement and, with their permission, decided to rename the album Idle No More in hopes that it would increase the world’s awareness of this miracle that is taking place for the indigenous peoples of the world. If you are not familiar with Idle No More, look it up and GET Involved! It took a long time to make, but we are very proud and pleased to bring you this album. I hope that the future will brighten up every time it is played. Ultimately, John and Yoko were absolutely right: Love IS ALL YOU Need! Peace and Love.”—King Bama Lama Khan Emperor of RnB.

Recorded over 6 months by Jon Drew at Giant Studios in Toronto, Year of the Ox is the band's fourth record in the continuing 12-year cycle and adds to its evolving retinue of guest musicians. The patient and building Year of the Ox features Nika Rosa Danilova of Zola Jesus for a guest vocal passage and Toronto's string quartet, New Strings Old Puppets. B-side "Solomon's Song," a gothic vampire love tribute to Twilight, features a 5-minute saxophone solo from Aerin Fogel of the Bitters and heavy synthing from Trust.

Friendship's Merge debut, Love the Stranger, moves like a country record skipping in just the right spot, leaving its fellow travelers longing for a place they've only visited in their dreams. Guitarist Peter Gill, drummer Michael Cormier-O'Leary, bassist Jon Samuels, and hawkeyed balladeer Dan Wriggins map out the group's particular, breathtaking landscape and invite the listener to share in its glory. Between instrumental pit stops at "Kum & Go" and "Quickchek," local references in Love the Stranger create a catalog of human perception, presented as roadside attractions. From grape jelly residue ("Ramekin") to the site of a demolished cathedral ("St. Bonaventure") to King of the Hill quotations ("Smooth Pursuit"), the record's images craft a symbolic language of high and low Americana, both evocative and consistently accessible. Spending time with Love the Stranger creates a community _ one in which the window between the listener and the musicmaker shatters in full, until all that remains are the fragments you decide to pick up together. Like its sprawling lyrical references, Love the Stranger's production is both familiar and capacious enough for pedal steel, synth strings, airy folk guitar field recordings, and Midi pad exploration to work in vital harmony. Influenced by Friendship's punk and indie peers as much as road-star forebears like Lucinda Williams and Lambchop, Wriggins says of the recording sessions: "I wanted the album to sound like Emmylou Harris and the Hot Band in the '70s. Pete wanted it to sound like a semi full of spent fuel rods, barreling towards a runaway truck ramp. Jon kept reminding us that the studio is an instrument, and Michael wanted it to sound like the breakdown two-and-a-half minutes into Shuggie Otis' `Strawberry Letter 23.'" Friendship is probably already your favorite band's favorite band, a long-revered Iykyk of DIY with a devoted cult following from Wawa to In-N-Out. With Love the Stranger, the Friendship universe only continues to expand and grow more open-hearted, more inviting, with every passing note. It's a record that locates the listener exactly where the listener is, and wherever that may be, makes a friend out of them, too.

With Happy Hour, her ravishing new LP, Hollie Cook matures into the queen of modernday "lovers rock"... the lush girly harmony reggae style beloved in Britain since the 1970s. Evolution rings from the bittersweet opening title track; tender yet assertive, Hollie's voice caresses evocative lyrics through the arrangement's tumbling changes. Hollie dares to invite listeners into her true personality through these alluring songs, which she co-produced with her General Roots band members Ben Mckone and Luke Allwood, and executive producer Youth. "Particularly with the songwriting, I was trying to really push myself and be open, to not be restricted in any way. I have always been a fan of theatrical pop music and wanted to experiment more with the song form." Indeed, the dizzying arrangement of "Gold Girl" shows Hollie as boldly orchestrated, cinematic. "Now I don't shy away from it when I want to be dramatic," she declares. Full of emotion, leaning into healing and understanding, Hollie's lyrics on Happy Hour speak directly to our pain and confusion and steer us towards resolution on tracks like "Moving On," "Unkind Love," and "Love in the Dark." Touring as a teenager with punk legends The Slits encouraged the fierceness within her sweetness. Hollie's mentor was Ari Up, the band's lead singer and a lifelong friend of Cook's parents (Sex Pistols drummer Paul and her singer mother Jeni). "My father always said I would be a singer. But I discovered lovers rock on my own. I heard it on pirate radio and at friends', and I was bewildered, enchanted," she recalls. "The Slits are the reason I have pursued this career. I was surrounded by powerful women at a young age, and when my time came, I was never fazed by male dominance. They were my wall of courage." From those feisty roots, Hollie has only grown. Her soulful directness on Happy Hour is relatable and authentic.

Like every record Superchunk has made over the last thirty-some years, Wild Loneliness is unskippably excellent and infectious. It's a blend of stripped-down and lush, electric and acoustic, highs and lows, and I love it all. On Wild Loneliness I hear echoes of Come Pick Me Up, Here's to Shutting Up, and Majesty Shredding. After the (ahem, completely justifiable) anger of What a Time to Be Alive, this new record is less about what we've lost in these harrowing times and more about what we have to be thankful for. (I know something about gratitude. I've been a huge Superchunk fan since the 1990s, around the same time I first found my way to poetry, so the fact that I'm writing these words feels like a minor miracle.) On Wild Loneliness, it feels like the band is refocusing on possibility, and possibility is built into the songs themselves, in the sweet surprises tucked inside them. I say all the time that what makes a good poem_the "secret ingredient"_is surprise. Perhaps the same is true of songs. Like when the sax comes in on the title track, played by Wye Oak's Andy Stack, adding a completely new texture to the song. Or when Owen Pallett's strings come in on "This Night." But my favorite surprise on Wild Loneliness is when the harmonies of Norman Blake and Raymond McGinley of Teenage Fanclub kick in on "Endless Summer." It's as perfect a pop song as you'll ever hear _ sweet, bright, flat-out gorgeous_and yet it grapples with the depressing reality of climate change: "Is this the year the leaves don't lose their color / and hummingbirds, they don't come back to hover / I don't mean to be a giant bummer but / I'm not ready / for an endless summer, no / I'm not ready for an endless summer." I love how the music acts as a kind of counterweight to the lyrics. Because of Covid, Mac, Laura, Jim, and Jon each recorded separately, but a silver lining is that this method made other long-distance contributions possible, from R.E.M.'s Mike Mills, Sharon Van Etten, Franklin Bruno, and Tracyanne Campbell of Camera Obscura, among others. Some of the songs for the record were written before the pandemic hit, but others, like "Wild Loneliness," were written from and about isolation. I've been thinking of songs as memory machines. Every time we play a record, we remember when we heard it before, and where we were, and who we were. Music crystallizes memories so well: listening to "Detroit Has a Skyline," suddenly I'm shoutsinging along with it at a show in Detroit twenty years ago; listening to "Overflows," I'm transported back to whisper-singing a slowed-down version of it to my young son, that year it was his most-requested lullaby. Wild Loneliness is becoming part of my life, part of my memories, too. And it will be part of yours. I can picture people in 20, 50, or 100 years listening to this record and marveling at what these artists created together_beauty, possibility, surprise_during this alarming (and alarmingly isolated) time. But why wait? Let's marvel now. - Maggie Smith