All Them Witches: Dying Surfer Meets His Maker

Psych-blues rockers whisk you away to a dreamlike state.

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Dying Surfer… was born of isolation. Recorded in a converted cabin in the mountains of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, the remote, desolate tranquility of the context stains these songs like blood in snow.

From the whirling psychedelia of El Centro to the pain-flecked, lucid harmonica jams of This Is Where It Falls Apart, it is both a record of translucent beauty and fuzzed-up aggression. Take Talisman; founded on clean guitar chord progressions, it is plundered by layers of dirty guitars. Like a welcome raging bull in the china shop of your serenity, it’s a ying-yang combination that fizzles and reacts with aplomb.

This is the blues with a free-flowing freneticism that swallows you whole.