Drumming Bird sends a lifeline on their new single All God’s Children. Scary relatable, the bright lyrical narrative unfolds like a faded polaroid. The singers voice quivers with truth and conviction as they read from their diary. “We’re all God’s children and he left us in a hot car in the backseat buying cigarettes in quick mart. The head rest CD player was playing ‘Fox In The Hound.’ I only say I believe in God when you’re around.”
The slightly dreamy, vague indie-country style is lifted with an analog presentation. It recalls works by Dr Dog and Hiss Golden Messenger. A built up layered arrangement gives it sonic weight, and the trebly voice cuts right through the mix.
A great vocal performance, catchy melody, and sharp lyrical imagery brings mainstream potential in the world of indie.
Simple and elegant, Niall Summerton is classic on Playing Dumb. A bare arrangement commits to a vibe and never falters. Subtle textures including droning organ and clean lead guitar are patiently introduced and melded into the sonic melancholy of this folk gaze groove. Summerton’s gentle vocal delivery plots his honest apathetic mantra like he knows the score but he’s remiss to tell it. “I don’t mind playing dumb.”
This aura is rooted in the sad songs of Elliot Smith through updated iterations by Alex G and associated acts. Indie folk kids bred from basement punk scenes and embraced by the gatekeepers who typically turns song boys away. Be yourself and don’t oversell it. Niall’s got it down, he even wrote a cute song about it.
We were drawn to the authenticity and charm of The Mother In Me, the new single from Say Something In The Morning. The singer churns like a punk Americana hybrid while the band rumbles beneath. It’s got the raw alt country appeal of Langhorne Slim and Shakey Graves, mixed with the undisciplined indie aesthetic of Philly icons Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.
The composition at its core is rootsy and familiar, it’s how it’s presented that kept us going back for more. A treated vocal rambles in the background like a devil on the singers shoulder, responding to his every lyrical cue with pomp and jest. A profanity filled closing rant brings the gutter beer attitude to the front. They might get canned from the lineup at your local folk fest, but they’ll light a dive bar on fire and max out their city wide specials. We can dig it.