The simple concept of this disc was to put together a mix tape of sorts, the type of thing that Larry would have enjoyed listening to as he drove his little truck into the gloam’ with a cooler full of beer
Her languid, dreamy, smooth-as-honeyed whiskey voice will take you on a pleasing journey through the un-make believe lands of sorrow, betrayal, and emotional devastation.
Tight four-part harmonies and songs that combine a world-view that’s equal parts Carter Family and “American Chopper.”
On this album they've layered the sound up with dusty cloaks of reverb and echo and created a hillbilly noir classic. It's the Cramps, Dock Boggs, and Hasil Adkins all fronted by the hypnotizing vocals of Melissa Swingle.
You better get in the cellar 'cause there's a tornado coming and it's called In The Mud, the second record from Split Lip Rayfield.
Something of a classic. A big, broad and beautiful snapshot of where the world was at the end of 20th Century. Our biggest selling compilation, find out why.
2 discs and 40 tracks to gorge yourself on.
Kids music with a brain and that won't make the adults run screaming from the room.
The young will thrill to the sing-a-long tunes about ducks, squirrels, flies, newts and turtles, while the music geek in all of us will marvel at the dexterous harmonica and National steel guitar playing and super excellent vocals.
Ethereal, gorgeous, dreamy, and just downright satisfying.
Songs by John Cale, Procol Harem, Del Shannon, and others.
The Wacos find fresh ways to gleefully and despondently tell it like it is--the warts, the injustice, and the crushed dreams--without batting an eye or spilling a drop.
Has a stripped-down, but not sparse, campfire feel full of jaunty and crushing songs of hope, desperation and heartbreak.
A sexy, smoky apocalyptic masterpiece. This one will boil your blood, raise the hairs on your arms, and tickle your monkey nerve.
Takes the punk chutzpah of Langford and meshes it with the garage savvy of the Sadies, busting out 12 tracks to rattle the cage of genre purists. Bawdy, exuberant and, at times, full of surprising pop smarts.
14 country-SOUL smokers slathered in grit and grease and Andre's high-mileage, velvety growl, with sexy booty bottom provided by Toronto's masters of spaghetti western-surf-garage-punk, The Sadies
Unaffected, unpretentious, unvarnished, un-sanitized, and, most importantly, un-Nashville-ized cuts from right beneath the noses of the Towers of Doom (i.e. Music Row)