Buried Sounds

I remember sometimes waking up in Portland (OR) after a night out, sweating out the events of last night, breathing in the hints of smoke left on my jeans and skin. It wasn’t the best feeling in the world I have to admit, but I can’t help thinking of those mornings when listening to this album. Everything started out sour, but after I got some grub in me and an afternoon shower, I couldn’t have felt better.

Zola Jesus pushed me more than any other artists this year, and I have to admit that I had a really hard time trying to figure out why. The Spoils had similar qualities that made My Bloody Valentine or the Microphones intriguing, but what I have really fallen for is how the keys ride waves of distortion, without being buried underneath them. I keep returning to “Smirenye,” “Soeur Sewer,” and “The Way” like silver antiques hidden under the floorboards in a dusty wooden box with iron trimming, or maybe one buried in your grandmothers garden, made of dented and rusting tin.

This album has been a labor of love for me, and while at moments I lose my train of though, I always come back to a simply melody in the mess. I really dig this album. Check this out if it shines in your direction.