It was everywhere in the ’90s: lining the front shelves of record stores and coffee shops in equal measure: the tired “acoustic album.” You couldn’t get away from it, whether MTV was sponsoring it for the likes of Nirvana and…KISS? I realize it’s completely unfair to lump Alice In Chains in with the profit-rubbing going on (on the part of the labels, though I’m sure Simmons/Stanley saw the trend lit with dollar signs); they were already baring their Seattle-soaked souls on 1992’s Sap EP. But somehow in the combination of Dirt immediately entering godhood upon its release and the omnipresence of “I Stay Away” and “No Excuses” soured me to the point that I waited over 30 years to hear Alice In Chains, the band’s proper follow-up. God, I am such a dumbass.

Last weekend I dropped my son off for his sophomore year at college. For the past month I've been trying to play guitar around my pinkie, which still won't work right since being broken back in July, snapping and clicking when I slide up the neck, or even something as mundane as catching it in my own pocket. Learning to live again without parts of myself.

Are we ready to retire the phrase "Lost Classic" yet? With thousands of people starting bands, there are bound to be a bunch that never really make it, and some of those reasons are fair. I don't know if Jodo and their sole release Guts (or 'Guts' if you want to go by the album cover) count as a "lost classic"—I know, writing this, I looked everywhere for my copy of the CD, only to discover it might actually be lost. Does that count? Otherwise, while everything here is perfectly listenable, much of Guts feels like a showcase of the band's obvious influences that never really congeal into something uniquely their own.

There is no conundrum like an Italian conundrum. I mean that in the best possible way, being 1) married to an Italian which means I'm married to her entire family 2) my maybe not entirely coincidental love of Italian cinema, particularly the giallo era of thrillers from the likes of Mario Bava, Dario Argento, Lucio Fulci and others. Does any of that go to any lengths to explain that Segreti Nel Nero is the expanded 2026 version of the 2012 self-titled album by L'Ombra Della Sera, a mysterious Italian band who in fact is simply an alter ego of Italian retro-progressive band La Maschera DI Cera, who have a habit of making great things out of other people's things in a beautiful way, like their musical sequel to Le Orme's 1973 classic Felona e Sorona. Here they pay homage to the eerie thriller, sci-fi, and horror themes that permeated their childhood via state television in the 1970s and resurrect not only the music, but the feeling they evoked, creating something new once again.

Distraction is at an all-time high; I'm probably shifting between half a dozen home projects, none of which have progressed beyond half-hearted stabs at prep. Work is busting me hard, my wife spent two weeks of overnights we're both still acclimating to. There are moments when I can brush the power of music with my fingertips, but it's rare, more often than night feeling obligatory.

Time keeps on slippin', man... in this case for real. I originally meant to review Time Machine, the sophomore record from Germany's Dzyan in conjunction with their third and final release Electric Silence, since that was how the Digipak reissue from MIG Records was packaged. Even if it wasn't all written out in the header, this is obviously going to be some jammy Krautrock, served up more psychedelic than motorik in its cadence. Any wheels reinvented? Nope. But like most bands of the era, who burned just enough to get a few records out before combusting, the playing here is absolute fire.

I'm sure those more embedded in the bootleg game would have avoided my pitfall, but as it turns out not only did my pursuit and purchase of Physical Presence, a gray market live set capturing three FM broadcasts from 1973, 1975, and 1977 from the mighty Led Zeppelin, yield a few (we'll get to it) great performances I wasn't aware of, but also got my caveman brain to finally grasp a basic tenet of the bootleg game—since it's a bootleg, ANYONE can sell it: slap a fresh photograph and some cool fonts—no AI required!—you got yourself something some dummy will buy, not realizing they already owned it, and a better recording of it, to boot.

Take that to mean anything you want; for me it's the reality of coming back from a great family vacation - minus me breaking my finger playing catch of all things, and a jellyfish sting to my son's ankle (no, we did NOT pee on it...but only because I forgot to think of it) - only to discover that yup: you got the airport crud all up in those lungs.

Would it shock you to know that I've been digging heavily into reissue labels? Sigh...I didn't think so. Anyway, PQR specializes in vinyl reissues of obscure progressive and jazz rock around the world, and I've covered a few of their releases, including Lift and Mirthrandir. Bubu hails from Argentina, and their debut Anabelas has been sitting in my unlistened stack of albums for close to a year now. What a mistake: this progressive odyssey takes influences from all over the world, concocting a lush, unclassifiable sound that sits firmly at the crossroads of jazz, rock, and classical composition.

Read any description of the music of Glasgow's The Cosmic Dead: amorphous space rock, psychedelic stoner epics with krautrock rhythmic tendencies...in other words, tailor-made for me. So of course, as my friends insisted I would love 2024's Infinite Peaks, I pushed back. Maybe I needed to discover the band for myself, because here we are a few years later with Beyond the Beyond, and I love it. Got into it so much I bought it, Infinite Peaks (there, Josh, now you can say I told you so), and their fantastic split with Giöbia, a band I'm already on record as liking a great deal. But it started with the latest, so we're starting there, too.

We all have musical vibes we chase. And not just one vibe (let's agree here and now to call this ineffable thing a "vibe" cool okay great); I'm looking for something completely different when I'm, say, psyching myself up versus chilling myself out. I've known about the French electronic duo Air for years, but I figured they were outside my realm of interest and kept to my side of the street for the most part, dabbling parasitically when exposed via other avenues, like their contribution to Sofia Coppola's adaptation of The Virgin Suicides. But there was an itch just under the skin of my skull: recent Dolby Atmos excursions and the realization that Moon Safari, the group's debut, was reissued in 2024 forced my hand (like I actually resisted), and I grabbed a copy.

It's impossible to talk about Crown Lands without spotting the Rush elephant in the room. See it there, behind the couch with the battered 2112 blanket over the tear in the fabric? I kid, but why complain? Rush themselves dig the band, and on their first proper offering for new label InsideOut, Apocalypse (we're skipping the instrumental Ritual albums released last year, for good reason), it's muted down in favor of a generous dose of Led Zeppelin, White Stripes, and uh...okay, '80s Rush.

Think on this for a moment as you listen to Splat!, the 24th album from everyone's favorite classic "learn this riff FIRST" band, Deep Purple: Ian Gillan and Roger Glover are 80 years old. Ian Paice and Don Airey are right behind them at 78. You can argue that the addition of the spry 47-year-old Simon McBride on guitar gave the band a shot in the arm, but c'mon...who else is this old, going this strong? Along with everything else I've come to expect from late-era Purple, there's a new focus on streamlined, heavy songs. Nothing over five minutes, no ballads...this is a band intent on reminding you how potent rock and roll can be when done with the energy and enthusiasm of young men, but the experience of generations behind them.

You don’t believe words have power? I was there in the trenches when the mysterious Denver, CO unit (don’t call them supergroup, even if they’re a group that’s super) Stormkeep uttered in print the words that caused undue headaches and overarching expectations when it came to their previous release, 2021’s Tales of Othertime: “Limited Edition.”

Happy 250th, if that's your thing. I'll be celebrating by listening to a lot of music, watching movies, and doing anything I can to stay out of the heat. I have a son who can barbecue, and a wife working all day. This is how I like holidays. The playlist this week is an assortment of new stuff that's come in.

I've been listening to Psychedelic Jungle almost every night. They sound like hot, sticky New York nights. Or what I recollect at this point: the times were few, but memorable, the wisps able to get past age and weed still strong with lights, sounds, sweat, and salt. That was The Cramps for me, both in the heated moment of discovery and for decades afterward.

As in an actual trial, one which I sat on for two weeks and just ended last night. I'm exhausted, with little desire to write about music. Listening, however, is another matter. So hopefully we'll be getting to these sooner rather than later. Anyway, a quick one for you below.

This week's playlist brought to you by an exhausted man with piles of laundry in front of him who desperately needed som kind of unifying theme to get this together this week. Also my wife's not home and let's say I was smart enough to, uh, schedule a myriad of deliveries to arrive while she was gone, thus exacerbating the problem.

The reasons behind the purchase of the self titled debut from Procol Harum are hazy at best, but I'm sure it had something to do with the discovery that Robin Trower was their original guitar player. Is that enough to make me a fan of the band? My knowledge of anything beyond "A Whiter Shade of Pale" and the fact that Transatlantic have a kickers cover of the band's massive epic "In Held Twas In I" was basically nil, and so I went with one of my standard gambit when faced with a new band. Start at the beginning. So here we are with Procol Harum. It's fine, with moments of greatness. It's a solid debut, in other words.

Fifty-three years old. Six more years until I outlive my father. I think about it all the time. I thought about it Wednesday night as I saw Gary Clark Jr. put on an incendiary show with new material getting worked for the next album (no photos though, hello my first experience with Yondr). I thought about it Thursday, on my actual birthday.

Listening to Dakila reminded me a few months ago I finally caved in and bought a copy of Santana's Abraxas and have yet to really dig into it. That's how similar the vibes are between the legendary guitarist/band and this sole offering from the San Franciso-based Philippine acid rock group. Which is a shame because Dakila the album has the kind of searing leads, polyrhythmic percussion and a psychic sensibility between the members that this should have been much, much bigger than it is.

LabelConstruction Records · ReleasedOctober 13, 2013 · FormatVinyl · ReviewedJune 1, 2026 It's been a minute since we checked in on Roine Stolt and The Flower Kings. While later albums have been a bit of a mixed bag, Love was a strong rebound, and Construction Records has slowly been reissuing the albums InsideOut left on the pavement, so I've been taking advantage when applicable, starting with 

Don't read too much into the title of this week's playlist. Originally I was going with "Curious Paths" as a way to capture the wending way my listening took me this week, but I mistyped and "Oaths" it was. The "Pruning" part refers to my massive pruning of albums from my digital library, which I'll talk about more below. First, playlist.

LabelSuicide Squeeze Records · ReleasedJanuary 30, 2026 · FormatVinyl · ReviewedMay 29, 2026 There's this dance I do when I'm enjoying myself at a live show. Doesn't matter what the genre is; my body starts to rock back and forth, some old hippie dude hearing his own music. My eyes close, my head begins to sway, and it looks like I'm possessed by someone possessed with the stereotype of imitating Stevie Wonder.

Under my feet I could feel the firmament tremble, the tectonic plates shifting not from natural forces, but from the reawakening of that Leviathan of the Kvlt, those Purveyors of the Primitive…yes, Fenriz and Ted, aka the mighty Darkthrone, have returned to put my body back into its St. Vitus Dance of delight with the 100% subtlety removed Pre-Historic Metal. Let’s get into it.

Let's take it slow. An hour's worth of music bookended by the record we just completed in our Album Discussion group, and the one we're starting next. In between are a bunch of records from the last 20 or so years that were the stone steps this particular musical journey led me on. I *think* we're getting back to a normal cadence: I already have one review in the can for tomorrow, and more on deck.

There was a moment in time when I decided to go all in on Soft Machine. They were one of the big guns of early UK prog, and helped establish what would come to be the Canterbury Scene. The rotating band membership alone could fill the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and yet despite a number of tweaks to the formula not only have Soft Machine maintained a a clear through line of jazz-emphasized progressive rock, but in Thirteen have delivered a killer album that straddles the line of guitar heroics in ways I was not prepared for. Old guys rocking for the win once again, my friends.

LabelBonsound · ReleasedApril 3, 2026 · FormatVinyl · ReviewedMay 19, 2026 Population II may have come to my attention via Jon Dwyer and Castleface Records (is that even still a thing? What happened?), but in the time since discovering 2020's Á la Ô Terre, I've been steadily keeping track of how the group bend the sounds of psychedelia, krautrock, electronica, synthwave…

The all-purpose home of critic and screenwriter Drew McWeeny

I really needed a break. That's pretty much the long and short of it.

There are still moments in this age of instant access where you come across an album whose cover strikes you in such a way you have to try it out. It may be a pale facsimile to browsing the shelves of a local shop, but this introvert hermit will take what he can get. In the case of wonderfully named 

From October 24, 2023 Three years. I’ve been waiting three years for something new from Howling Giant, the Nashville power trio trafficking in hard rock that stretches into desert, stoner, and progressive territories. For three years I’ve played their debut The Space Between Worlds and – even more – their split with Sergeant Thunderhoof until the grooves wore out (because of course I have them on vinyl).

I swear...I actually did have the playlist entire built and ready to go yesterday. But we have a guest staying with us this weekend and, well...I did not factor in how the "adorbs" factor would contribute to another late playlist. But I mean, come on...do you blame me? I'll also note the title this week has nothing to do with mer and everything to do with two of the tracks below.

Who and what Missus Beastly are is dependent on the album you discover them with. Maybe you were there during the early days of the self-titled debut, when the heavy psych and krautrock elements were more apparent (extended flute solos, anyone?). Or like me, maybe you saw 1974's Second and needed to understand what kind of band could use 

It turned out Saturday was a bit of a bust in terms of mental and emotional health, so instead of my usual morning ritual of making playlists I dealt with that. It happens, and I'm working through it. My brain has been spinning with different wants and needs when it comes to music, and the most recent batch of stuff that's either come to my attention or possession has been a balm.

On this episode of Cinema Dual, Jon and Chris look at a couple of movies up for Best Picture at this year’s Oscars.

I'm beginning to realize how much of my stress is attributed to my insistence on doing so many things, and then feeling weird when I stop. Taking a break from the constant reviewing has not only given me more time for practicing guitar, but for getting back into reading, something I've been woefully lax on. Trying to do this site, build a guitar curriculum, write for Nine Circles, record for Cinema Dual (

John Dwyer kicks off his one-man synth project Damaged Bug with a count, "1, 2...". Who is he talking to? Is this the central mystery of Hubba Bubba, of Dwyer's near obsessive release schedule of different projects, not to mention his nearly annual Osees release? There's no denying the garage punk inherent in the man's sound regardless of the configuration or or musical framework he puts himself in.

From November 1, 2023 Sometimes you make mistakes. I wrote a whole post about some of the mistakes I made when it came to end of year lists, and then just a month or so later made another mistake: putting A Romance With Violence by Denver’s Wayfarer at only 21 when it should have been much, much higher. Since then, it’s been one of my most listened to records, with that opening section of “The Crimson Rider 

Work not only continues on the website, but on the intended purpose of the website: after a week I can already hear a difference in my playing, and I do have my first song ("Purple Haze") learned if not yet 100% in the fingers, if you will. Work proceeds apace on both "Paranoid" and "Sunshine of Your Love" – I know the songs pretty much backwards and forwards but never learned the solos so that's next along with more ear training and adjusting my pick position and preference (

Shaken, Not Stirred takes a (brief) look at the James Bond canon from Eon Productions. Twice a month, Chris and Jon share their impressions of each film, both on its own terms and in terms of the c…

From April 23, 2024 Here’s something you don’t read or hear about everyday: band hires a permanent keyboard player, then makes sure their new album isn’t so focused on filling every ounce of space in the mix with said keyboards. It’s refreshing, and one of the highlights Scottish sludgy progressive/post metal outfit DVNE have taken to heart on their third full length 

If you don't know the story of The Fret Shed, formerly The Shed, you can read about it here. In the spirit of oversharing the next few weeks are going to cover the songs I'm trying to learn. A lot of these songs I know parts of. A few I know most of. But I don't know any of them front to back.

The all-purpose home of critic and screenwriter Drew McWeeny

I didn't intend to be away from the site that long; I started reviews for both the latest Ulver and some boogie rock courtesy of Birth Control. But then life hit, as it does. The stress and events led me down a different path than before: I picked up my guitar and started playing. And a number of events criss-crossed and tangled, and here we are with the above image: my friend at work "loaned" me a Marshall 2x12 cabinet and a Bugera 1990 Infinium head for the month to see if I was interested in buying them.

From April 23, 2024 Who holds aloft the torch for heavy metal, I ask? Who lights the fires for righteous, riff-tastic old school heavy metal, out of which we would forge dreams of furious battles, willing our bodies into the fantasy-driven artwork, becoming one with the hook? I lift my head from the beaten path, paved with the bones of false metal idols, letting my gaze fall upon the wicked cover for 

Too much coming in, not enough time or energy to listen to it all. I wish I could say the spree of purchasing ended with last week's 20 Buck Spin stop, but Small Stone Records was there, and so was the local record shop, and a bunch of preorders made their way in, and... ...you get the idea. I'm once again heading back upstate to drop my son off at college and hopefully get some time to sit and decompress with my thoughts and stuff on the long drive.

Sometimes there are no words. Not because the music leaves you speechless, but because you have no reference points to express your thoughts. That's kind of where I'm sitting with the latest from composer/pianist/ambient explorer Midori Hirano, whose Otonoma (roughly translated to "the space between sounds") balances layers of synths and waves of sound again field recordings and acoustic piano to conjure shades and impressions of moods both nostalgic and immediate in my head.