Denizen
Whispering Wild Stories
Self-released

Whispering Wild Stories is the third album from French noisemakers Denizen, who thrive on a rare mix of cowboy freedom and back alley boorishness, meaning they roll out endless amounts of dusty and rowdy stoner riffs but shove ‘em in your face with some hardcore attitude instead of letting you bake in ‘em. While Whispering Wild Stories doesn’t quite contain the brilliant animosity of Cursed, the toothless tomfoolery of Maylene, or the Norwegian death roll of Kvelertak, Denizen are able to harnesses the same kind of bloody-lipped urgency of each of ‘em in some way and throw their own wine-drunk, hot rod funk into it as well. Despite the fact this album is self-released, they still managed to snag Nick Zampiello again to master it at New Alliance East in the good ol’ U.S. of A., which no doubt helped shape its eight-song landscape into the motor-driven sewer-fucker it is. Add some sweet cover art by J. Issac and a cover of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” and you’ve got an album that’s truly très bien!

Listen to “Casino Royale” from Whispering Wild Stories!

Suede Brothers
The Night
Bad Breaker Records

In the hierarchy of rock n’ roll fabrics, suede probably ranks just above corduroy and just under whatever that neon shit was that David Lee Roth used to stuff his junk into. I mean, suede’s not completely awful, but it’s certainly no denim or flesh, and it definitely pales in comparison to its much cooler cousin, leather. However, what this Cleveland trio (who, despite their name, are not triplets with a wardrobe shtick, although that could be quite awesome) lacks in texture knowledge, they make up for in name-dropping sound. On their third album, The Night, the brothers suede open themselves up for all sorts of comparisons, each one of ‘em a salute to to the way they mix n’ mash the electricity and fuzz of notable hard power heroes. Basically, there’s not one song on The Night that doesn’t play on the sexy black of Year Long Disaster, the cosmic wail of Wolfmother, the barefoot groove of The Parlor Mob, and the dusty punch of Hermano, and the band delivers each one of them in bold, cross-eyed fashion. And for good measure, dig the sleazy spit of Danko Jones on my fave of the bunch, “Too Late.” Familiar, sure, but an awfully solid album nonetheless.

Listen to “Too Late” from The Night!

D.S. Yancey
Salt the Earth & Fill Your Hands
Thinker Thought Records

So, who the hell is D.S. Yancey? Well, he’s a trucker. Actually, he’s a trucker with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica, so I guess that makes him a blue collar troubadour of sorts. He’s the kind of bare naked and broken folk singer who tells stories of love, loss, and the people and places who fill the American landscape. Salt the Earth & Fill Your Hands, the Phoenix singer’s second album, is a musical travelogue, a bittersweet scrapbook filled with heroes, losers, Jesus, hard times, bad luck, the rape of the land, life on the road, and the belief that the oft-dismal pursuit of the American dream means just gettin’ by as best you can. The songs ramble with a country n’ punk soul, Yancey’s voice straining with the emotion of a man who’s seen it all but is still struggling to understand it, and, despite their occasions of misanthropy (or perhaps because of them), provide an abundance of comfort in their dusty truth. If he hasn’t yet, Yancey really ought to be mentioned in the same breath as singer/songwriters like Tim Barry, Chuck Ragan, Cranford Nix, and Jay Bennett. D.S. Yancey, then, is a trucker with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica, headed down the highway that leads to glory.

Listen to “Barstow To Vegas” from Salt the Earth & Fill Your Hands!