Formed after the breakup of Desjardins’ other landmark L.A. Rouse has earned this holiday.ĭivine Horsemen – Hot Rise of an Ice Cream Phoenix (Red Records)Ĭouples therapy for singers Chris Desjardins and Julie Christensen is back in session, as the former partners in marriage and dark, vividly poetic post-punk rekindle their stormy musical relationship by reviving the seminal Divine Horsemen. Romance and reconciliation are contemplated lyrically, with chilled-out instrumentals “Color De Vida” and “Night Moves” showering off the dirt of the day and retiring to beach bungalows of sonic contentment to rest.
Sequenced so that its chilled-out ease never stresses out, even with the scratchy, unsettling ambience of opener “Buenas Noches Baby,” the record is an inviting spa of unhurried tunefulness and airy beauty.įetchingly, it drifts through the relaxed, hopeful pop of the slightly autotuned “It’s Not Too Far” and “Attention,” turning even gentler for “A Sunny Day” and the yearning “Until the Sun Comes Out,” while a lightly buoyant and tropical “12 Bars” is smeared with trumpet echoing from afar, as if Rouse is waving to the Pet Shop Boys from 2021. Not as cold or as distant as similar waves of sound still emanating from Washed Out’s 2020 release Purple Noon, The Mediterranean Gardner was conceived in a cozy little studio close to Rouse’s residence in Valencia, Spain, during pandemic-induced downtime. Taking a break from his usual bouts of folky, roots-music rusticity and earthy storytelling, Rouse basks in the cool, calming, improvised electronica and breezy, island escapism of Isla, his restorative and refreshing new solo side project. Josh Rouse is almost unrecognizable as The Mediterranean Gardener.
Isla – The Mediterranean Gardener (Yep Roc Records)
And a newfound creativity was emerging, too, with the creepy Farfisa organ orgies of “Generation Genocide” and a surreal “Check-Out Time” sleeping with the incessantly dark, droning “Broken Hands” and idolatry of Neil Young’s stinging “Cinnamon Girl” guitar morphing into a space-rock meltdown worthy of Hawkwind. They had rediscovered their stolen identity, returned in its naturally raw, primal state. Moving their operation underground to snug, makeshift Egg Studios came next, as its owner, Conrad Uno, served as a sort of midwife in birthing the lean, mean Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge, which came out kicking and screaming, covered in grimy garage-rock viscera. Reacquainting themselves with original punk era singles brought back stateside from UK tours between 1989-90 was a start. “It didn’t have the dirt,” said guitarist Steve Turner.Ī reboot was necessary. In fact, they abandoned well-scrubbed 1990 recordings set to tape at Seattle’s fancy Music Source studios in the aftermath of their feverishly hot and gritty single “Touch Me I’m Sick,” the contagiously nasty Superfuzz Bigmuff EP and 1989’s self-titled album for being too pristine. Mudhoney never cared about its hygiene, at least sonically. Mudhoney – Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge: 30th Anniversary Deluxe Edition (Sub Pop Records)