Exitmusic isn’t exactly what you would call an "in your face" indie band – quite the opposite. Drawing inspiration from the uber-dreamy atmospheres of Cocteau Twins and the lynchian semi-nightmares of other 4AD bands from the 90s like Cranes and This Mortal Coil, this duo of Brooklynites crafts what on record sounds like some of the best psych pop we heard in a while (although Lia Ices – on the cover of our 25th issue – and also signed to Secretly Canadian, is The Deli’s reigning queen in that category). In this digital track, drenched in reverb and suggestive lyrics, we also hear some Twin Sister elements in the vocals. We’ll have the opportunity to check these guys live at Pianos, where they are holding a residency. The next show is on July 26 – recommended to all the shoegazer maniacs out there.

 

Hit snooze. The Sleepwalkas have crafted a somnambulist’s wet dream. The primarily loop-based beats on this album are hot and fresh out of the oven with a flavor recalling many a late-90s and early 00’s summer jam. The lyricism, which shines in its positivity and candor, is full of that MC bravado established by the originators of the artform. Guest appearances by local superstars Homeboy Sandman and Sadat X add extra spice, and are further augmented by a ferocious verse from ex-Sleepwalka Vexed-Lo. The Sleepwalkas exemplify that dreaming big is just the first step towards living large. – BrokeMc

There is something terribly wrong with calling Meaghan Burke a songwriter. Like vodka, the more you question the effects, the blurrier they become. Meaghan Burke is not an artist whose musically over-educated past is a primer for making marketable pop music. Her sound embraces the odd nuances contained in love affairs with free improvisation, lingering music school sadism, a career geographically split between New York and the Vienna intelligentsia.
Meaghan sings jazzy, approachable melodies over cello accompaniments that channel every possible incarnation of Western music all at once. It’s impossibly beautiful but in no way forgiving. Her fingers race in preparation of cadenzas and the orchestration seems totally unrelated to what pours out of her mouth. And then even in moments where one might be so inclined to say, finally: "Yes, OK! She is a songwriter! This part has been pretty for almost a minute…" But then, when you listen closely to what she’s actually singing about, with this voice of hers like an oven, crackling with past lives on newspaper, burning, and, well, it’s not ok. Because what she’s created is too personal, too direct and unusual to claim she’s a songwriter – which sounds categorically absurd but it’s true – it’s like she’s a songwriter, imploded. She’ll sing about anything; bed bugs, the Gowanus, even boyfriends – but look, seriously, it just doesn’t sound right. She squeals and bleeps intermittently like suddenly we’re in a car. Her timing is too dark and immense and she can’t play at this coffeehouse… And then she’ll do this thing where she starts to sing in German. – You can see/hear Meaghan next at Sidewalk Cafe on August 12th @ 9pm.  – Valerie Kuehne