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The beauty of musical collaboration is that you can never totally anticipate what will happen, even when the people coming together have established aesthetics of their own. Some groups devise a concept and never stray from it, while others incorporate unexpected twists and turns–and Boston postmetal project Wear Your Wounds (started by Converge front man Jacob Bannon) has spawned a whole new band. As the story goes, Bannon and Wear Your Wounds guitarists Sean Martin (formerly of Hatebreed) and Mike McKenzie (the Red Chord) would start rehearsals with gnarly death-metal riffs that didn’t fit the group’s melodic, mournful template. They had so much fun with it that they started Umbra Vitae as an outlet for that material, recruiting Red Chord bassist Greg Weeks and Job for a Cowboy drummer Jon Rice. The ferocious death metal on their debut album, the Kurt Ballou-produced Shadow of Life, mixes 90s and modern influences with hardcore energy and plenty of grit, anxiety, and rage. The urgent, seething “Mantra of Madness,” with its weighty grooves and hair-raising riffs, indicts a system that offers only meaningless “thoughts and prayers” as nihilistic assailants force crime victims to plead for their lives. Few songwriters in heavy music can write about the heart-crushing agony of human relationships as poetically as Bannon, and the bleak atmospheres and bleaker refrain of “Blood Blossom” (it repeats the phrase “Do not resuscitate”) make cutting ties feel as pleasant as ripping off a Band-Aid that’s been upgraded to industrial-grade adhesive. The music may be fun and games–at least if you consider death metal fun–but the title track, which closes Shadow of Life, tackles some of the album’s heaviest subjects as it spins into a powerful, chaotic rumination on our inner conflicts and struggles. v

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If you’re going to put out your first solo album in 13 years, you’ll probably want to make sure it includes a few songs that will appeal to your longtime fans. What country audiences want is obviously a moving target–country has been shifting toward including independently minded crossover pop artists such as Kacey Musgraves, so that it’s harder to define what a “true” country star should sound like–but Pam Tillis has a long history of gently pushing the envelope without alienating mainstream listeners. As a second-generation member of the Grand Ole Opry (her father is country legend Mel Tillis) with two CMAs under her belt, Tillis has unimpeachable country cred, but her music career hasn’t been confined to one genre. She got her start in the 70s as a songwriter working mainly with jazz, rock, and R&B groups, and her album debut, 1983’s Above and Beyond the Doll of Cutey (Warner Brothers) is a pop romp in the vein of Cyndi Lauper. She first hit the country charts with 1984’s “Goodbye Highway,” and by the early 90s she’d found a niche (and commercial success) tweaking country’s mainstream formula; her 1994 album, Sweetheart’s Dance, hit number six on Billboard’s Top Country Albums chart thanks in part to the Tejano-flavored swing-pop of “Mi Vida Loca (My Crazy Life).” Tillis’s new album, Looking for a Feeling, released this month on her own Stellar Cat label, features tracks that highlight her roots in soul and rock as well as appearances from her country-musician friends. Though ballads such as “Last Summer’s Wine,” which Tillis wrote with longtime Nashville hit maker Bobby Tomberlin, could easily fit on country-with-a-capital-C radio, the album’s highest points are when Tillis allows her rocker side to shine. “The Scheme of Things” has a soulful feel that makes her alto seem like it’s in a broken-hearted duet with the bent notes of the lead guitar, and the beautiful “Better Friends” would be at home on an indie folk rocker’s playlist. I’m a little disappointed with her cover of “Dark Turn of Mind,” but only because Gillian Welch and David Rawlings’s 2011 original has a slow, subtle weirdness that seems lost in this version’s Texas shuffle. Still, Looking for a Feeling is a strong and personal set of songs that showcases who Tillis is at her core; it’s a great album from an artist who could easily be resting on her laurels and playing to the 90s retro-country circuit. v

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Kris Esfandiari is no stranger to side projects. Since cofounding doom-metal band King Woman in 2009, she’s released solo material under the names Miserable, Kris, Dalmatian, and Nghtcrwler. Her latest project, Sugar High, is a collaboration with Berlin-based songwriter and producer Darcy Baylis, whose credits include recordings by Wicca Phase Springs Eternal and Camp Cope singer-guitarist Georgia Maq. The two met and forged a creative connection over Instagram, and in summer 2018 they spent a week together recording in Esfandiari’s Los Angeles practice space. The result is Sugar High’s debut, Love Addict, which actualizes the inner world of someone pining for genuine connection–it transforms the most solitary feelings of love into something that can be shared. Opening track “Vein” pulls listeners into a trance by pairing a twinkling, descending guitar with swelling synths that softly glow like twilight. From there, in the soporific stupor of night, thoughts of longing start to run amok. On “Alone,” Baylis breathily sings about intrusive, lingering emotions over reverberating guitar lines and Esfandiari’s wordless, sirenlike backing vocals. “Asleep,” which includes vocals from LA ambient artist Mirsy, chronicles the agony of waiting for a late-night call that never comes. Sometimes Sugar High seem lost in their own heads, but “Ugly,” the duo’s second single, anchors the album to reality: Esfandiari drops her voice into a deep murmur as she sing-speaks about the dreaded vulnerability of love atop steel-heavy synth drones and staccato beats. It’s a sobering comedown after the love-drunk haze of the five previous tracks. Though Love Addict clocks in at just 20 minutes, its ethereal songs feel as expansive as the night sky. v

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Trump hates China in order to better hate the United States; by blaming the Chinese for the virus, he can pretend he’s not at fault for our own dead and our own misery. In that poisoned atmosphere, the new self-titled album by Wu Fei and Abigail Washburn isn’t just a relief but a call to solidarity. Born in Beijing and based in Nashville, Fei plays the guzheng, a traditional Chinese zither, while Washburn plays clawhammer-style banjo. Their songs are amalgamations and/or medleys of traditional tunes from Appalachia and China, with vocals sung in English and Chinese. Though the high-lonesome traditions they draw from were established continents apart, the duo’s keening voices and the sustained plucked notes of their instruments weave around each other in such a way that the synthesis seems effortless. On album closer “Pretty Bird,” Fei’s guzheng glistens like sunlight off feathers while Washburn sings in a harsh Appalachian falsetto: “Fly beyond the dark mountains / To where you’ll be free ever more.” It’s one of several tunes on the album, including “Water Is Wide/Wusuli Boat Song” and “The Roving Cowboy/Avarguli,” that are about travel and freedom; while people throughout the world are nailed down in their own boxes of anger and fear, Fei and Washburn have made an album that can cross borders. In doing so, they’ve declared their love not only for these musical traditions but also for themselves, for others, and for a world where people can thrive together despite those who seek to divide them. v

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Psychedelic Chicago indie rockers Cafe Racer emerged from a young north-side scene obsessed with garage; in fact, guitarist-vocalist Michael Santana previously played rugged, bratty garage pop in the three-piece Grosse Pointe. When he burned out on that band’s sound in 2015, he started working with guitarist-vocalist Adam Schubert–a prolific musician with a lo-fi solo project called Ruins–on sketches of what would become sprawling, enchanting songs. By the time they made their live debut as Cafe Racer in 2016, they’d expanded into a five-piece, and since then they’ve tinkered with hypnotic combinations of nimble Krautrock rhythms, melodic shoegaze riffs, and effervescent psychedelic melodies. A subtle touch of new-wave glamour enlivens Cafe Racer’s new third full-length, Shadow Talk (Born Yesterday), and hints of 80s pop glitz sparkle in the dusty western guitars that course through “Breathing.” Santana, Schubert, and third guitarist Andrew Harper shade their colorful psychedelic riffs as a unit, subtly criss-crossing their parts to create deep, expansive soundscapes. Drummer Elise Poirier and bassist Rob McWilliams make sure everything goes where it belongs, invigorating a relaxed melody with a light touch or detonating a crescendo with a bombastic blast. The rhythm section’s incendiary throb on the lean, fierce “Zenith” burns enough rubber that Cafe Racer sound like they could go airborne. v

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Ever since COVID-19 seeped into every detail of our everyday lives, I’ve struggled to articulate the mental gymnastics I go through just to remember to brush my teeth twice a day. Thank goodness for Chicago rapper Joshua Virtue, who does it for me on his new solo album, Jackie’s House (Why?). On “Fenti Face,” Virtue (aka Alex Singleton) captures the surreal mishmash of tension, anxiety, and confusion that passed through him as Illinois skidded toward its current state of limbo; his poised, serene performance collides with the distressing subject to give the song an emotional slipperiness that captures this moment’s specific feeling. Virtue wrote and recorded Jackie’s House during the first couple weeks of Governor Pritzker’s shelter-in-place order, and though he vents plenty of frustration and anger (at the way COVID-19 disproportionately harms the most vulnerable, and at the capitalists exploiting it to fill their coffers), he ultimately fuels this music with love. The album is an homage to his mother, the titular Jackie; Virtue has pledged to give her all proceeds from the Bandcamp-only release while she looks after his sister and grandmother in her Florida home (the Jackie’s House Bandcamp page also includes Venmo and Cash App handles for Virtue’s mom, in case folks want to give more). Jackie’s House is an act of kindness–the joy Virtue expresses here can help people find ways to heal themselves during an ongoing tragedy–as well as a reminder of what can be lost. Virtue’s anger is likewise an act of empowerment: when Ruby Watson and Malci join him to tear into our corrupt political and economic systems on “12 Billion Wulong!,” they wield their serrated barbs on behalf of the people they love. v

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For decades, percussionist Hamid Drake and reedist Ken Vandermark have sustained a partnership founded upon a deep engagement with the history of free jazz. Both within and outside the DKV Trio, their long-running ensemble with bassist Kent Kessler, their improvisations often arise from rhythmic foundations. But they’re also restless explorers, and on Open Border a pair of Italian musicians helps them move into new territory. Neither Gianni Trovalusci nor Luigi Ceccarelli has much background in jazz. The former is a classically trained flutist who plays ancient and contemporary repertoire, while the latter is a composer and electronic musician; each has contributed to experimental theater and dance performances. Over the course of a 35-minute improvisation recorded live in 2018 at the festival Forli Open Music, the quartet delves into an unstable sound environment where Drake, Trovalusci, and Vandermark can never be sure just what Ceccarelli’s sound processing might do to their instrumental voices. The taps of key pads blow up like soft explosions, and parts of Drake’s drum kit seem to freeze while others flow freely through the open spaces between the two woodwind players. Their darting gestures coalesce and disperse like a flock of birds infiltrated by tiny avian robots. v

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Three years after releasing their first record with new guitarist Brandon Ellis, the Billboard-charting Nightbringers, the Black Dahlia Murder have returned with their ninth studio album, Verminous. It turns out the Detroit five-piece have been trying out some new tricks and angles in their fervent death metal, making this release arguably their most diverse and varied yet. Front man and songwriter Trevor Strnad (one of two remaining original members, along with guitarist Brian Esbach) is more intuitive than technical, and takes a literary approach to his tales of vampires, serial killers, plagues (timely), and Things That Should Not Be. On “The Wereworm’s Feast” he provides especially potent nightmare fuel: “I am the wriggling horror / Inching through your cold insides / Nesting in your death / And I brought friends / We’ll multiply in time.” The title track and “Removal of the Oaken Stake” are actually slightly hooky (hardly something you can count on in death metal), and the riff that opens “How Very Dead” wouldn’t sound out of place on a classic Slayer record. The Black Dahlia Murder sound utterly in control, creating exactly the effects they intend, and they pace themselves by balancing face-ripping speeds with gnarly midtempo grooves that dig deep. Death metal is always about catharsis, about weaving unacceptable impulses and fear of the void into a ritualized celebration. On Verminous the Black Dahlia Murder use melodic beauty more effectively than perhaps they ever have before, and in the process give the void even more of a siren song. v

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Born from the ashes of Rapper Chicks, one of the city’s best and most slept-on rap groups of the past decade, Big Silky reintroduces two members of that crew, Psalm One and Angel Davanport. On their debut EP, Big Silky Vol. 1, written in tribute of former bandmate Henny B (she passed away in 2018, and she’s honored in the liner notes as “executive producer”), the duo deliver music that would’ve made their comrade proud: bold, vicious rhymes and a succession of slick, rat-a-tat rhythms that allude to classic hip-hop composition, courtesy of beat makers Optiks, Budah Tye, Benzilla, OnGaud, and Bionik. Psalm and Davanport are both accomplished solo artists, and they don’t hesitate to remind you of their lyrical and vocal dexterity–their cocksure cadences make them sound like rascally descendants of east-coast heavyweights Big Pun and Lil Kim. Big Silky is the sharpest presentation yet of their forces combined, and their cunning assessments of rap’s boys club, clout chasers, and players serve as reminders to always give praise where and when it’s due. After years of sharing the stage with each other in one project or another, they’ve been able to capture their live energy and chemistry in the studio on Big Silky Vol. 1. They revisit themes from their collaborative tracks on Psalm’s album Flight of the Wig and EP Don’t Get Lazy Now! (both from 2019), including taking direct aim at the way society’s adherence to traditional gender and sexual binaries elevates some artists over others. “They don’t show you where the pain start / Y’all gon’ be straight with this gay art,” Psalm declares on “Put Your Cape On.” On “Smokin’ in Therapy,” their perseverance shines like aspirational quotes on vision boards: “Real bitches never break,” Davanport raps. “We knuckle up and elevate, hoe.” Though the EP’s closing track, “Rprchx Iz Ded,” is a summation and farewell to one chapter of Psalm and Davanport’s musical journey together, with Big Silky they make it perfectly clear that they’re not going anywhere. v

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Chicagoan Frank Zango possesses something like magic: under the name Zango the Third, he’s able to create oddly soothing, stylistically scrambled outsider-soul songs fast enough to fill several full-lengths a year. In early April, he self-released his second album of 2020, Aunt Ida’s Asteroid Mixtape, where he continues to stretch to the outer edges of his pop proclivities; on “They Ain’t Heavy, That’s My Devil” he warps his warmhearted voice into a high-pitched chirp, and on “Woo! Han Solo” he builds an entire melody around a wordless two-syllable vocal loop that sounds like he’s gasping for air after a long, intense workout. Zango punctuates Aunt Ida’s Asteroid Mixtape with absurdist lyrics, audio pranks (a surreal sketch called “Zeitgeist Radio”), and an unexpectedly vulnerable soliloquy (“Dear Aunt Ida. Goodnight Goji”), all of which lend the album an intimate, diaristic quality. Zango frequently builds his songs atop kitschy synth parts reminiscent of 1960s lounge instrumentals, and they bolster his most vivacious pop hooks–the quasi-tropical “My Clothes Will Burn Too,” for instance, uses a fluttering keyboard to shadow the glum, bluesy singing that gives the song its strange gravitas. Had Zango put out Aunt Ida’s Asteroid Mixtape as a limited-run LP in the 1970s, fanatical modern-day collectors of private-press records would surely canonize it; fortunately, it’s just one easily accessible piece in the catalog of a fascinating player who continues to enrich Chicago’s underground. v

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