Музыка и песни L.A. Witch / L.A. Witch

Pressing info: 1st press pink translucent vinyl 2nd press clear vinyl 3rd press 180 gram black vinyl 4th press neon orange vinyl

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Where L.A. Witch's self-titled album oozed with vibe and atmosphere, with the whole mix draped in reverb, sonically placing the band in some distant realm, broadcast across some unknown chasm of time, Play With Fire comes crashing out of the gate with a bold, brash, in-your-face rocker "Fire Starter." The authoritative opener is a deliberate mission statement. "Play With Fire is a suggestion to make things happen," says Sanchez. "Don't fear mistakes or the future. Take a chance. Say and do what you really feel, even if nobody agrees with your ideas. These are feelings that have stopped me in the past. I want to inspire others to be freethinkers even if it causes a little burn." And by that line of reasoning, "Fire Starter" becomes a call to action, an anthem against apathy. From there, the album segues into the similarly bodacious rocker "Motorcycle Boy"_a feisty love song inspired by classic cinema outlaws like Mickey Rourke, Marlon Brando, and Steve McQueen. At track three, we hear L.A. Witch expand into new territories as "Dark Horse" unfurls a mixture of dustbowl folk, psychedelic breakdowns, and fire-and-brimstone organ lines. And from there, the band only gets more adventurous. Play With Fire is a bold new journey that retains L.A. Witch's siren-song mystique, nostalgic spirit, and contemporary cool. Despite the stylistic breadth of the record, there is a unifying timbre across the album's nine tracks, as if the trio of young musicians is bound together as a collective of old souls tapping into the sounds of their previous youth.

Artist: L.A. Witch Label: Suicide Squeeze Records

The name is a partial misnomer. Though the band hails from Los Angeles, they do not partake in any sort of witchcraft. Yet their ability to conjure a specific time and place through their sound does suggest a kind of magic. On their eponymous debut album, L.A. Witch's reverb-drenched guitar jangle and sultry vocals conjure the analog sound of a collector's prized 45 from some short-lived footnote cult band. The melodies forgo the bubblegum pop for a druggy haze that straddles the line between seedy glory and ominous balladry; the production can't afford Phil Spector's wall-of-sound, but the instruments' simple beauty provides an economic grace that renders studio trickery unnecessary; the lyrics seem more descendent of Johnny Cash's first-person morality tales than the vacuous empty gestures of pre-fab pop bands. This isn't music for the masses; it's music for miscreants, burnouts, down-and-out dreamers, and obsessive historians. Album opener "Kill My Baby Tonight" is the perfect introduction to the band's marriage of 60s girls-in-the-garage charm and David Lynch's surreal exposés of Southern California's underbelly. Sade Sanchez's black velvet vocals disguise the malicious intent of this murder ballad, with the thumping pulse of bassist Irita Pai, the slow-burn build of drummer Ellie English, and Sanchez's desert guitar twang helping beguile the listener into becoming a willing accomplice to the narrator's crimes. "Brian" follows the opening track with a similarly graceful, if not somewhat ominous, slow-mo take on a well-worn jukebox 7". It's a vibe that permeates the entire album, from the early psychedelic hue of 13th Floor Elevators on tracks like "You Love Nothing," through the motorik beat and fuzzed-out licks of "Drive Your Car," to the grittier permutation of Mazzy Star's sleepy beauty on "Baby In Blue Jeans." Record Label: Suicide Squeeze Style: Alternative Rock

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