(Psych-Folk, Acid-Folk, Indie) Jana Hunter/Lower Dens - 5 альбомов (2005-2012), FLAC (tracks+.cue), lossless

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Jana Hunter is from Texas, the fifth of nine children. She played classical music throughout her youth, but that doesn`t really explain why she writes such haunting songs. Hunter is one of those rare artists whose craft does its work on listeners before they even notice.
Deceptively simple, clear and concise, these songs surround and envelop, seeping into the skin until they are a part of you. "Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom" is a collection of songs written over the period of a decade. The album is a thirteen-song `best of`, recorded on four-tracks, two-tracks and computers, mostly in Texas and mostly alone.
Featured on the Devendra Banhart-curated, Arthur-produced CD Golden Apples of the Sun and sharing a recent split vinyl-only release on Troubleman with him, Jana Hunteris album is the initial release on the Gnomonsong imprint, a spectacular new label begun by Revolver USA, Devendra Banhart and Vetiveris Andy Cabic.
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Janais frail, reedy voice and delicate finger picking make her sound like a young man lost in a peat bog and plucking toads from toadstools to see whether theyill spill their secrets.
Boston Phoenix
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Hunter`s songs are so honest, yearning and intimate, you`d be forgiven in thinking that you`re eavesdropping on someone`s private thoughts.
Eric Boucher, Artvoice
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For better or worse, the solo career of ex-Matty and Mossy singer Jana Hunter will inevitably be tied to Devendra Banhart. While Banhart makes a practice of name-dropping artist friends in nearly every interview he gives, Hunter may be the one most benefiting from her friend’s influence. Many listeners’ first introduction to Ms. Hunter came on the Banhart curated Golden Apples of the Sun, and then there was the Banhart/Hunter split vinyl on the Troubleman Unlimited label.
It’s not surprising then that Banhart would choose to release Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom, Hunter’s first official full-length collection of songs, as the first release on his new Gnomonsong label. But to claim that Hunter is merely riding on Banhart coattails is preposterous in light of just how outstanding the songs on Blank... are. Hunter’s music is stylistically, thematically, and lyrically about as far from Banhart’s as one can get while still working within the ever-widening boundaries of the “folk” genre, and label-name aside, Blank... should put her at the front of the new-folk scene as her own artist.
Culled from numerous self-recorded and released songs Hunter has been dragging around on tour for the past few years, Blank... is more a self-proclaimed “Greatest Hits,” and due to poor track sequencing (one of the record’s most profound faults), it sounds like an unbalanced collection. To her credit, Hunter makes each song a tiny masterpiece in its own right, and while the album doesn’t flow as well as it could (opener “All the Best Wishes” is a fantastic bit of ghostly oldies-balladry, but suffers as the first track) each song works its way into the listener’s head in its own way, in its own time.
While some studio embellishments have been added to songs previously heard on Hunter’s self-released CD-Rs, such as the drums on “Untitled (Hanging Around),” Blank... is still a record that is more ephemeral than it is concrete, doused in reverb and melodies that take awhile to sink in. Rather than Banhart, a closer comparison of Hunter’s musical syntax would be fellow sublime-folk practitioners Castanets, who Hunter tours with as a member.
Hunter’s androgynous vocals, whether doused in effects or brought us richly to the front of the mix, are really the centerpiece of these songs, and are showcased especially well in the two a cappella numbers “The Earth Has No Skin” and “Laughing and Crying” (a holdover from the spilt LP). Hunter’s guitar playing here is fairly understated, relying on bass notes and effects to create the dreamlike mood that pervades the record. Which is not to say that she is all style and no substance. On the contrary, even the most processed of these songs have a lively yet hypnotic core that conveys Hunter’s magnetism where words like ethereal and psychedelic fail.
For those lucky enough to have Hunter’s self-released material, there are undoubtedly some glaring omissions in this collection, if it was, in fact, a “best of” and some welcome surprises (like SK1-based closer “K”). Still, the 13 songs collected here are a good introduction for new comers and fans alike (largely due to their improved sound quality). They are certainly a hint at what might be, if Hunter is given the resources and time to make a proper album. Until then, we can listen and dream.
by Jon Pitt
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Released on folk activist Devandra Banhart's fledgling Gnomonsong imprint, Jana Hunter's debut full length is everything you could hope for. Banhart is famed for being a figurehead of the American folk movement, 'New Weird America' if you will, and his beardy visage has guided us through a period which might well have been more difficult in less careful hands. Now he has felt it time to launch a new artist on our shores and thank goodness the quality is up there with the best of 'em, so we don't have a reason to start to doubt the travelling beard just yet. 'Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom', although oddly titled, is not as bleak and depressing as one might expect, with Jana Hunter's voice cutting through a distinct and original lo-fi skewed folk sound. This is a record for fans of Diane Cluck, Marissa Nadler and of course the unstoppable Vashti Bunyan.

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Half of the six songs on Jana Hunter's Carrion are unreleased hangers-on from the writing sessions that produced her most recent full-length, There's No Home, while the other half are alternate renditions of works that appeared on that release. But this is no mere grab bag of remnants; it's a real tight product, all around.
"Paint A Babe" is a throw-back to Hunter's earlier material, written and recorded simultaneously on a borrowed four-track recorder. A real sad, longing song. "A Goblin, A Goblin" took a little more time to create: this strong, sturdy number, replete with violins and creepy harmony, tells the tale of an indignant outcast. "You Will Take It and Like It," turns one central, pretty and proud guitar part over and over and over, with others mirroring it, leeching from it, grabbing on like little parasitic danglers. The original version of "There's No Home" is here, the track that spawned an entire record title, followed by "Sleep" (titled, as it was originally, "Ooh Uuh"), from the recording that ended up on a lullaby compilation. Concluding Carrion is an acoustic re-presentation of the country-minded "Oracle," stripped down to one guitar, one melody, and one harmony, as it was originally conceived in its creation as homage.
One of the best and most underrated luminaries on the neo-folk scene, Hunter ... toured the east coast ... in the summer of 2006 by sailboat. Her meditative, playful, sparse, acoustic-driven songs are refreshing, somber, and sometimes eerie.... The most excellent There's No Home ... finds Jana exploring ever so slightly poppier tunes.
Shawn Bosler, Village Voice
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Jana Hunter had just started to shake off her "friend of Devendra" tag. Her sophomore release, There's No Home, sounded bluesy yet confident, with a professional sheen that suited her. Too bad then that this six-song EP collects demos, alternate takes and extra songs from those sessions, returning Hunter to the home-taped, casual ethos of Blank Unstaring Eyes of Doom. It’s a fairly slight undertaking, and, disappointingly, the three strongest cuts are watered down versions of already released songs.
Of the new songs, "A Goblin, A Goblin" is the best, the guitar picking regular and reassuring, with Hunter's violin lending mournful resonance. She spits out the words, rattling through talk-sung verses, then softening and sweetening for the self-harmonized choruses. There's not much of a melody here, and no memorable lyrics, but there is a palpable atmosphere, morbid, skewed and comfortable with its own creepiness. "Paint a Babe" is even more loosely structured, just a bit of picked guitar and Hunter's wavery voice dipping in and out of non-verbal sighs. She sounds exhausted. Her voice never rises much above a whisper, and she moves through the song in fits and starts, a clump of words, then a long pause, a flurry of guitars, then a stop. It's like the whole song is a battle with inertia, and she has to gather her energies just to drift ahead. "You Will Take It and Like It," the last of the new songs (and the only instrumental) is, by contrast, rather peaceful, all bent blue notes and flurried chords. It's an interval, though, not really a song. None of the three new cuts sound anywhere near essential.
The second half of the album is comprised of demo versions of "Ooh Huh" and "There's No Home" and an alternate acoustic take of "Oracle." They're all much stronger songs than the discarded tracks. Langurous as it is, "Ooh Huh" represents an uptick in energy, its melody delicate but instantly graspable, the kind of thing you can hear in your head after a listen or two. "There's No Home" has a similar heft and internal sense to it; Hunter's voice sounds ghostly over slow guitar strums, but not spent or strung out. It is with these tracks that you remember what Hunter brings to the table – an intense spirituality, an unapologetic eccentricity, a loose, unmediated but not unstructured approach to songwriting.
Carrion is intermittently enjoyable but not especially memorable. You get the sense that there's no real reason for it to exist, except to keep Hunter in front of her audience. None of the demos or alternate takes expand our understanding of There's No Home very much, and the extra tracks seem to have been left off the full-length for good reason.
by Jennifer Kelly
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Jana Hunter's incredible sophomore album 'There's No Home' really took us by surprise when it dropped back in April. From the subtle, rattling folk songs that populated her debut she had moved on in leaps and bounds, piecing together an album which has stayed embedded in our consciousness since its release, an album which in our opinion has had nowhere near the attention it deserves. Well with any luck this follow-up EP will make people take notice. Okay it might not have the recording prowess and studio trickery (those of you who heard 'There's No Home' will know how Goddamn beautiful it sounds!) but there's a charm to these simple songs which is impossible to ignore. The EP is made up of three exclusive songs taken from the album sessions, two demos of songs which later made it to the album and one acoustic version, but far from an 'odds and ends' compilation, this is a hugely enjoyable companion piece showing Hunter's sense of restraint and genuine talent for affecting, melancholy songwriting. We open with the gloriously lo-fi, sweet symphony of 'Paint a Babe' and are instantly reminded of why Hunter is one of our favourite artists at the moment, that waltzing jazziness, the easily traced path to old American folk music and that all encompassing sense of sadness that as we all know is so crucial in songwriting of this kind. The highlight of the EP is an instrumental track; 'You Will Take it and Like it' - to my mind one of the most powerful compositions Hunter has ever put her name to bringing to mind Vincent Gallo's 'When' or the windswept Americana of Bruce Langhorne's 'The Hired Hand'. Ending on a stripped down acoustic version of 'Oracle' I'm left with no doubt in my mind of Jana Hunter's undervalued genius. I implore you to give this a listen, whether you've heard her music before or not - Hunter might not have the profile of so many other artists on the scene but what she does have is the songs, and for those of us that really care, that's all that matters. Totally essential.

#777***
"There's No Home" is the second full-length formal release from Jana Hunter. Recorded over two consecutive weeks in Fall 2006 at a friend's home in Houston, TX (known locally as "Feagan House"), the album features Hunter writing, playing and producing throughout.
As extroverted as Hunter's previous release "Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom" was introverted, There's No Home focuses on community involvement. While Hunter plays most of the instruments herself, she's aided and abetted here by her brother John (Inoculist, Dethro Skull), John Adams (Fatal Flying Guilloteens) and Matt Brownlie (Bring Back the Guns), among others.
In 2004, Hunter made a big splash among fans of distinctive music with "Farm, CA," a track featured on the Devendra Banhart-curated Golden Apples of the Sun collection released by Arthur magazine's Bastet label, followed by a vinyl-only split with Banhart on Troubleman.
Late the following year, Hunter's full-length debut was the inaugural release on Gnomonsong, a label founded by Banhart and Vetiver's Andy Cabic in conjunction with Revolver USA. A thirteen-song "best of," compiled in part from various CDR releases, this collection garnered impressive critical acclaim.
Hunter spent the bulk of 2006 touring Europe and the US (including one string of East Coast dates traveled by sailboat). She hits the road again April, 2007.
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Texas native Jana Hunter’s world is a dolorous place where every journey ends almost exactly where it begins. Wan ghosts haunt the corners of her songs, and her lovely but ragged voice rarely betrays any sentiment save indifference. Hunter’s original claim to fame was her association with Devendra Banhart, and her music is as whimsical and idiosyncratic as this association would suggest. The gloomy outsider folk of her first album on Gnomonsong, Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom, was well described by the album’s title. Simple guitar parts marked time behind Hunter’s distorted washed out vocals. Sparse, fuzzed out, and strange, her songs sounded like echoes from the foggy nether world where singer-songwriters go when they die. Hunter’s latest full-length on Gnomonsong, There’s No Home, contains songs as dark as anything she has released, but the crisper production and fleshier arrangements help to bring out a sense of humanity not present on Heirs of Doom.
The professional production values of There’s No Home are strikingly different from that of its predecessor. Most notably, Hunter’s voice is allowed to sing in its natural state. With the distortion and reverb stripped away, Hunter sounds, surprisingly enough, a bit like Kirstin Hersh (“Babies” and “Recess” especially). Where Hersh’s demons nip at her heels and work her into frenzy, Hunter’s hold a death grip on her ankles – her sluggish and detached vocal delivery makes her sound burdened and weary. When Hunter’s voice dips down into the low end of her range (“Pinnacle,” “Recess,” “Valkyries”) you can hear her sinking into nihilism and lethargy.
Not surprisingly, the most effective moments on There’s No Home are by far are the saddest, exemplified by the plodding guitars of “Recess,” the evil lullaby “Sleep,” the beautiful, aching sadness of “Sirens,” and the shoe gazer guitars of “There’s No Home.” But there are, however, a number of tracks that reach toward the light (“Vultures,” “Oracle,” “Palms”), and even some of the depressive songs are somewhat up-tempo (“Regardless,” “Birds”).
There’s No Home is more accomplished than Hunter’s previous work, but some of her deadpan whimsicality and murky charm has been filtered out in order to make room for variety of emotion. None of the individual songs suffer under the change of aesthetic, but the overall vision seems compromised. Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom was more inconsistent in tone and style from song to song, but created a much more compelling whole. At her most arresting, Hunter is like a spectral guide leading you down the shadowy alleys of her past life – you may become confused, desperate, or afraid, but Hunter is too long dead to care. On There’s No Home, Hunter reveals a human (albeit a chemically depressed human) range of emotion, making her narrative more believable but much less captivating.
Malini Sridharan, September 12, 2007
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In There's No Home, the follow-up to her 2005 debut, Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom, Houston native Jana Hunter keeps her songs pithy, with only one of the fifteen tracks here lasting longer than four minutes. Hunter lets the components of her music speak - an implacable voice, smooth instrumentation that never becomes too self-indulgent, an ability to spark interest before a song gets dull for themselves. The result is a collection that glides alongside with her talent rather than stalling on tedious instrumental quirks or laborious vocal displays, which even celebrated neo-folk figures like Sufjan Stevens and Joanna Newsom are guilty of.
"Babies" encapsulates Hunter's grainy voice and eclectic songwriting played over a charming rhythm as she jumps from high-pitch to throat-clearing tones in lines like "Gypsies have babies just the same." Of the songs where she is the lone voice, "Babies" is the highlight. A lively beat sets the tone on "Bird" and "Oracle" for similarly impressive tracks. In "Bird," a gathering of background vocals complements Hunter's mystique, creating a haunting duel between the two. "Regardless" catches her brother John echoing her words to pleasing effect. (He also sings the lead on numerous songs, including opener "Palms.")
"There's No Home" offers a rewarding finish as a slow syncopation turns to an eerie final verse featuring Jana and John and Matthew Brownlie. It can be difficult to find nuance in such brief songs, but the lack of filler is an accomplishment, and closer "There's No Home" -- the aforementioned four-minute track -- displays Hunter's ability to write and compose. Perhaps her next step is to expand upon the talent laden throughout this impressive second effort.
Eric Fitzgerald, May 18, 2007
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Many listeners first became aware of Jana Hunter through her appearance on 2004's catalystic folk compilation Golden Apples of the Sun, curated by her friend and sometime collaborator Devendra Banhart. Not out of place for a neo-folk comp, her song "Farm, CA"-- a dark country-ish tune with haunting strings and lackadaisical acoustic guitar - didn't fully intimate the depth and diversity of Hunter's songcraft and wise-beyond-her-years croon. Then she hit us with the dusky, dreamy full-length "Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom". Similar in feel to Banhart's early lo-fi bedroom album Oh Me Oh My, and to a degree, CocoRosie's early ramshackle naiveté (minus the corn and bloated self-importance), the dimly lit, introspective, and cathartic nature of that excellent debut felt almost hermitic. Appropriately, the record also marked the launch of Gnomonsong, the label started by Banhart and Vetiver's Andy Cabic.
For her sophomore release, There's No Home, Hunter stands in the light, brings along a few friends, and seems ready to go emerge from her cave. The album opens with "Palms", a meditative invitation ("I open my hands to you/ I've showed you my palms/ I've showed you my soft skin for what it really was") wherein Hunter's breathy, long-held chorale-like voice reaches out to someone who she senses is nearby, but in fact, is "already long gone."
Hunter's tone quickly changes with the sassy second track "Babies", a tune evocative of Moon Pix-era Cat Power. One of Hunter's poppier numbers, its "bah bah bah" backing vocals are accompanied by bouncing drums while strings and guitars spiral around. It's also a great example of what makes Hunter's music so rich: Here, she tills a fertile bed of melancholy, only to yield colorful, joyful flowers. One contributing factor to the album's relative lightness - like Blank Unstaring, it's pretty blue on the whole - is the concise and fluid songwriting: Most of these songs are under three minutes.
The emotional complexity - or rather, saddled contradictory feelings - aren't all that set her apart from her peers: She also draws on influences from outside folk which, largely due to her finger-style treatment and accompaniment choices, wind up adhering to a folk template. For example, the excellent "Vultures" pairs a rhythmic, flamenco-like guitar part with syncopated drums, evoking a dusty desert highway. The country- and gospel-tinged "Bird", and the experimental "Pinnacle", add fusion drum flourishes, angular electric guitar bursts, and feedback drones that wouldn't sound out of place on a Ghost or Six Organs of Admittance record. "Recess" is a somber ballad akin to some of the Pretenders' saltier sad songs. And "Sirens", stylistically in line with numbers like "All the Best Wishes" and "The Earth Has No Skin" from her debut, is a ballad with minor-chord arpeggios and the waltz-like time-signature used in all those 60s girl-group breakup songs.
Hunter's winding melodies possess a mysterious déjà vu quality, like lost tribal folk hymns, and the captivating sense of mystery inherent in her voice, which is at once both husky and wispy, is enhanced by keeping the subject matter purposefully vague. She often employs the Björk-like lyrical conceit of using "it" to refer to some ambiguous source of discontent or exaltation. Once again, take the poetic "Vultures" ("I can feel my thoughts a circling like vultures do/ When it comes on/ Comes on so strong") or the reflective "Babies": "For many reasons I left my home/ Most of the reasons I still don't know." Which leaves us to guess, finding our own empathic reasons.
D. Shawn Bosler, May 14, 2007
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Jana Hunter's debut album, Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom was a gentle yet psychedelically disturbing affair. It gave real weight to the term "freak folk." Its songs were wonderfully unnerving and as its titles suggests, often bleak. While the title of There's No Home doesn't make it sound like a much happier affair, musically the two sets couldn't be more different. This set, like its predecessor, was recorded for Devendra Banhart's and Andy Cabic's Gnomonsong imprint, as her sophomore effort rings truer and stronger than her first. With skeletal help from brother John Hunter, John Adams (Fatal Flying Guilloteens), and Matt Brownlie (Bring Back the Guns), Hunter's songs, while slow, drawling affairs -- she's a Texan and it was recorded there -- are lighter, breezier, tighter, and wittier. This is not to say she's become a pop singer. Hardly. She's still on the left side of the folk underground divide, but the practice of her craft is more disciplined and her lyric writing is tighter if no less offbeat. There are 13 new songs here, all of them standing heads and shoulders above her debut -- which was no slouch. The beautiful weave of voices in "Vultures" by Hunter, Brownlie, and Ashlynn Davies turns a leaving song into a real road song. There is no bottom dwelling sentiment anywhere. The droning lilt of "Movies," on which Hunter layers her own voice and guitars with Brownlie's synth, is an atmospheric interlude worthy of anything directed by Wim Wenders. "Regardless" is a moving, fingerpicked series of open strings and guitar knots. This is not to say that Hunter's left all her darkness at the door. "Pinnacle," with its fuzzed up and droning guitars amidst the reverb-laden vocals and rumbling drums is creepy as hell, especially when followed by the guitar interlude that follows it. But "Oracle," brings it all back down to the roots of back porch, rock & roll folksy psych. "Sirens" is a haunted and hunted lullaby and the title track is one of the more wistful heartbreakers to come out of the indie folk scene period. What it all adds up to is a nice step forward for Hunter. For those who find themselves lingering on the fringes after her debut, There's No Home is the greeting card to dive in with both ears and get drenched in pleasure.
Thom Jurek
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Jana Hunter's 2005 debut, Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom, is akin to Elliott Smith's Roman Candle: ghostly, engaging tales of death and anxiety. Her latest finds the paranoia sliding away slightly. Recorded at a home in Houston with accompaniment from brother John on bass and drummer John Adams of Fatal Flying Guilloteens, the 15 songs eye home longingly, kicking up a folkier dust. Last summer's sailboat tour with Peter & the Wolf was no doubt an influence, nomadicism as a lifestyle weaved throughout, from the procession of misplaced opener "Palms" to the awkward trot of "Babies." Thankfully, Hunter still takes a witching stance: "Valkyries" and "Vultures" cast tales of mythical birds and hangings, "Regardless" mirrors Elliott Smith tethered with lap steel, and "Recess" is pure sunburned narcotic. On the closing title track, we finally get to hear Hunter's vocal range and her feeling comfortable in her skin.
Audra Schroeder, April 6, 2007
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If "now" were the mid- to late 1960s, Jana Hunter's There's No Home would likely be released on the legendary ESP-Disk label. It was one of the most uncompromising American labels ever, and the New Weird America/Free Folk scene with which Hunter is identified has roots (at least in part) in ESP artists such as Tom Rapp & Pearls Before Swine, the Fugs, and Erica Pomerance. They took aspects of folk music, glazed them with hallucinogens, and affectionately turned them askew, as does Texan singer/songwriter/guitarist Hunter. She has a gentle, brooding, predominantly acoustic approach (a wee bit like Townes Van Zandt and Ramblin' Jack Elliot), borne by strummed, rolling chords and reveries adorned with distant, thundering drums and judiciously distorted or sighing electric guitar. Her languid, slightly blues-flavored voice (think Bobby Gentry, Lucinda Williams) isn't very high (or clear) in the mix, which melds perfectly into Home's overcast, fuzzy, Syd Barrett-like ambiance. Hunter's songs aren't git-go grabbers, but they tend to grow on you with repeated spins. The overall mood is primarily (and claustrophobically) pensive, recalling such cheery classics as John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band and Big Star's Sister Lovers, albeit with comforting undertones. If you need to retreat from the world on a particularly dreary day, There's No Home makes an ideal soundtrack.
Mark Keresman, May 02, 2007
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Sometimes a song settles in the brain just so, regardless of what kind of reservations we are bringing to the table. When an album has you at hello (like Person Pitch, for example) there is the temptation to think that the spell will wear off. To safe-guard oneself against a hang-over, we set the thing down for awhile. Rather than putting on the album on we’re depressed, we wait till we’re properly contented to safeguard against negatively colored reactions. Well, I’ve gone through this with There’s No Home, and somehow the album rises above whatever kind of sludge my brain happens to be stuck in. And its not because the album is transcending of mood, it’s just that it’s so perfectly alive. Even when the songs are not engaging you on an emotional level, you feel perfectly at home in them.
Hunter’s previous record (Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom), was a diverse album due to it being made up of years worth of scattered recordings. Some of the songs were revelatory (Golden Apples of the Sun featured "Farm, Ca," "The Angle" and "Heatseaker’s Safety Den") and some just fair, but it wasn’t hard to see the innate promise. That sad, dusty voice had thrills and chills in store whenever you needed ’em. But this album, while sharing Blank Unstaring’s diversity, is more effortlessly charming with its pure simplicity than I ever could’ve hoped. There’s never the sense that Hunter is reaching in her performances. And the melodic progressions, though perhaps fairly well-mined, feel perfectly timeless. Not so much in the typical rock journalist sense of the word. It’s timeless in a way that stops time (along with your inner critic) dead.
There are no bad songs on here, and nothing but surprises. Plain old pop jangle is done with such loose and spirited aplomb and a sort of cruddy-thuddy playing style, glowing tunes that ought to be generic. Blissfully soft-sad harmonies drop straight into your heartslot gold dusted tokens. Sing-a-long song and it isn’t annoying! Due to the relative sunniness of its preceding tracks, I would never have foreseen something like "Pinnacle" — a dark, swimmy crawler that makes its two-and-a-half minutes seem like a pretty little eternity. The wonderfully Unwound-esque "Recess" has the most disorientingly abrupt breakdown I’ve ever heard in a song so lugubrious. And the blithe K.D. Lang sashaying of "Vultures" would just be another contextual oddity were it not for its perfect, idling restraint. It’s that perfect type of piqued use of space and inflection that artists like Feist and M. Ward have often shown, when matched with some equally keen level of song-craft, works wonders.
Forget best album of 2007 so far — this is one of the best post-2000 albums these ears have yet encountered. Jana Hunter, and this album in particular, should in no way be underestimated (keep an eye peeled for material from her new band, Jracula). There’s No Home has got something. And the less you let yourself balk at the immediacy of its surface charms, the more you will nestle to and imbibe its dire and fancy-free (im)perfection.
***
I'll be the first to admit it, Jana Hunter's debut album 'Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom' didn't really make much of an impression on me. It definitely showed promise, that's for sure, but as an album deserved of repeat plays it fell short - there were just too many ideas left hanging and a haphazard tracklisting which made it too difficult to really sink in. Her follow-up "There's No Home", however, is an album which threatens very little but excites, enthrals and seduces at each and every moment of its forty minute duration. Where the first record was an introverted, deeply personal 'best-of' collection, gathering together cuts from odds and ends, 'There's no Home' is the exact opposite, a fully realised 'proper album' recorded in a mere two weeks, and as complete and fully-realised as you could imagine. In fact, so accomplished is the material here that it feels like a long-lost treasure from the golden age of folk-rock. That's not to say it's dated, but it has the quality of a time when songwriting was at its best and the production so measured, revelling in its simplicity but never to the detriment of the tracks themselves. Hunter might not have the profile of her occasional touring partner Marissa Nadler or the equally Devendra Banhart-endorsed Josephine Foster, but what she has done with this album is achieve a milestone in the sprawling free-folk movement. In an almost mischievously unpretentious fashion we are introduced to a record which manages to roll up the influence of an entire scene and squeeze it into fifteen songs that can just be played over and over again. Take 'Babies' for example, the album's second track and first pure pop moment - Hunter's distinctive voice is framed wonderfully with delicately plucked guitar, simple percussion and subtle violin and is allowed the space it needs to truly impress. It's the sort of track that will have you wondering why you never noticed Hunter before. This sets the pace for much of the rest of the album, which is made up of short unfussy songs, songs never allowed to sink into the fluff of the genre (20 minute cod-improv freak-outs, children singing, animals rustling in the long grass etc) and songs that sound so efforltess it feels like you've always known them. I've been waiting for an album like this for far, far to long, I didn't know it and I never thought Jana Hunter would be the woman to capture my heart this year but she's come up with the goods and then some. Coming just in time for summer (we hope) 'There's no Home' should be the soundtrack to this year's loves, losses, hopes, dreams and lazy summer nights - I know it will be for me. An absolutely stunning record, you simply can't miss this one...

***
Texas-born Jana Hunter, the talented freak-folk guitarist and singer, was the first artist to release an album on Devendra Banhart and Vetiver frontman Andy Cabic's label Gnomonsong. In all she's put out two full-length albums, one EP, and a split with Banhart, alongside contributions to other bands, including Phosphorescent and CocoRosie. Her last release was in 2007, and fans wondered where Hunter had gone until she recently started turning up at venues with a new band. The new group, a foursome based in Baltimore, immerses her elastic alto tone in a colorful mix of electric guitar, bass, and drums, yielding unhinged, dreamy rock with just the right mix of flourish and understatement. This is very much Hunter's band; anyone familiar with her work will hear the parallels between the two acts. The biggest difference between Twin-Hand Movement and Hunter's solo albums is the instrumentation: This album is more about her guitar than her voice, which is absent from a few of the songs. Both projects let their guitars go off and wander, but the lilting country twang seems to have been left behind.
Instead, Lower Dens experiment with a broad range of tones, all in the service of atmosphere. They also frequently stick to lower registers and slower tempos, which at times comes off as too introspective, especially on the instrumental tracks. The same could be said of the xx's debut-- when Lower Dens are at their most spare ("Rosie" and "Plastic & Powder"), the two bands sound similar-- but in place of the xx's foggy sexual tension, Hunter and company share a wider array of emotion. When Hunter's voice appears-- often deep into tracks-- it can sound spent, alluring, hopeful, and exasperated, and the guitars are just as versatile: screeching, whining, twinkling-- they're the show-offs in the band. That said, there is a placid, warm quality to nearly every track, no matter what the guitars are up to. (For this, credit is due to producer Chris Coady, who also mixed Beach House's Teen Dream; Coady turns busy bunches of layers into an elegant bouquet.)
Hunter's deep, smooth voice-- comparable to PJ Harvey's, especially on grittier tracks like "Completely Golden"-- is woven in with the least trebly of the instruments, whispery yet tensile. When it's time for the guitars to show off with elaborate arpeggios, gurgling shreds, and distant, glittery calls-and-responses, she stands back from the mic entirely, or at least gives the instruments, including her own, a long intro. Even when her lyrics are a key component of a song, she can sound (like Beach House's Victoria Legrand) a little lost in the mix, as if the force of the instruments were threatening to blow her away. The rare tracks where she's loudest are just as strong as the others: there's the slight "Truss Me", whose title is a good indication of how slow and loose the song is, and "Two Cocks", a joyous, robust potential single.
Lower Dens appreciate the grimy atmospherics of new wave as much as the dizzy elements of shoegaze, which can make Twin-Hand Movement confusing on first listen. But when variety sounds this good, it's hard to fault a band for sharing so many ideas in one place. The album is primarily about atmosphere: about translating feeling into music, rather than the music serving as a companion to lyrics. When Hunter ruminates about "just a-standing in your pretty presence" on "I Get Nervous", the instruments, playing a long, cozy intro of noodling and heartbeat percussion, are that "pretty presence"-- or the closest thing to it.
By Liz Colville; July 22, 2010
***
I wasn’t aware of Jana Hunter or any of her musical output prior to forming Lower Dens, but this seems to be the obligatory catch-up. Texan born but now residing in Baltimore, first person to release an album on Devendra Banhart’s label, Gnomonsong, erstwhile purveyor of scrappy and sparse folk-tinged textures, largely off radar since 2007 and now going electric with the conventional two guitars, bass and drums line-up of Lower Dens. With both going through such a specific aesthetic switch and a move away from more acoustic-based arrangements, it’s a transition that brings to mind Casey Dienel and her recent release under the White Hinterland moniker (given a glowing review on this site by some try-hard word-bird. “Asomatous”…shakes head in disgust), both combining intermittent pop hooks with pervasive layers of sound, both shaping them around a breathy and languorous vocal centre-point, and both conspiring to make some of the best music of 2010. Like Dienel, Hunter seems to wear her influences on her sleeve, but the quality of their output is such that it never seems tired, overtly calculated, or anything less then completely captivating.
Writing the liner notes for this year’s re-release of Today, Stewart Lee describes Galaxie 500’s ‘velvety pop-drones’, ‘toilet cubicle mysticism’, ‘minimal melodies’, ‘psychedelic stretches’ and ‘sloppy punk mess’. Those same phrases suit Twin Hand Movement perfectly, and like Galaxie 500, Lower Dens are able to take the most standard combination of instruments and render them garden-fresh by allowing each ample opportunity to stretch out and manoeuvre alone into gaps and spaces whilst simultaneously combining to form an arresting whole. Like Galaxie 500, Lower Dens know when to hold back and when to push forward, how to manipulate the dynamics of a rhythm for maximum effect, when empty space is more powerful than noise, and when noise is perfectly placed to suffocate and exploit an open space.
‘Blue and Silver’ adopts a hazy tick-tock slow-build like a clock threatening to break free of its standard speed, terse and compact, open and searching, it’s a car trapped by the constrictive straights of the road yet surrounded by stretching landscapes that forever hint at escape. Finally the tension peaks and everything breaks down and explodes into release. ‘Tea Lights’ makes it feel like you’re hearing the combination of drums, guitar and bass for the first time, so delicate and instinctive is the interplay between the three as they come together to form a foggy partnership that’s constantly threatening to buckle under the weight of its own malaise, twinkling and flickering and falling away like the tiny flames of the title. Whereas ‘Two Cocks…’ is a pulsating stretch of Neu!-like propulsion that closes the album with a strong, confident finale and flourishes like an attempt to dust away any of the brittle uncertainties that have gone before it.
There are songs of individual brilliance here, but the tenebrous atmosphere created throughout is king. It could easily be described as funereal, but only because it has the ability to articulate the absurdity, excitement, beauty and pitch-black-hilarity that comes with the murk and despair. Hunter sings like a woman who’s at once completely lost and exhausted but also secretly in on the big joke and struggling to hold back a weak grin. With Twin Hand Movement she has created an album that soars without ever needing to deliver anything so obvious or clichéd as a punch line.
by Michael Wheeler
***
Baltimore’s Lower Dens are built around the songwriting and voice of frontwoman Jana Hunter, known to many for her early association with Devendra Banhart and her two solo LPs of gorgeous, shadowy avant-folk and country. Twin-Hand Movement, her new band’s debut LP, isn’t totally out of leftfield in light of her earlier work — many of their basic compositional and tonal concerns remain intact within the full-band framework — but it’s certainly a creature of another species. Most obviously, there are some new referents, in shades of post-punk and shoegaze. The Dens are decidedly electric, and there’s an attention to atmosphere and textural arrangement in their dual-guitar attack that emerges fully formed here.
But there’s something more intangible about Twin-Hand Movement that truly sets it apart from Hunter’s solo material: chemistry. A traditional four-piece (two guitars, bass, drums), the Dens are a formidable unit. The record feels compelled by an underlying momentum derived from the delicate balance of musical symmetries and tensions, the lifeblood of any good band. The group seems to lock in with ease, and all of the players confidently cover their bases without stepping on one another’s toes.
With Hunter and Will Adams sharing guitar duties, Twin-Hand Movement is packed with striking leads, clever interplay, and raw, fluid tones. Memorable six-string moments abound — the snarling call and response in the back half of “A Dog’s Dick;” the double lead give and take on “Holy Water;” the simple, low-burning lead that dissolves into a stew of gurgling distortion on “Completely Golden” — and the textural landscapes are deep and many-hued. It wouldn’t be off-base to characterize the LP as a ‘guitar record’ if the Dens’ rhythm section weren’t also noteworthy: Abram Sanders on the drums and Geoff Graham on the bass provide an understated, unshakable backbone. And while the parts are never flashy, the duo develops a neat, propulsive pocket that’s essential to the band’s sound.
Twin-Hand Movement is not the sort of album that bludgeons or barks or cries out for attention. There’s no gimmickry here, no put-ons, and not much in the way of sudden movements or curveballs. The album offers something much sturdier: 39 consistent minutes of clear-eyed, unassuming, poignant rock craftsmanship that’s easy to return to over and over again.
***
Swathed in an undersea murkiness, Lower Dens' debut album, Twin-Hand Movement, explores the more ethereal side of freak folk. There’s a kind of understated beauty at work here. Rather than sweeping, melodic grandeur, subtlety is the watchword. Lower Dens have an approach to melody that skews toward Krautrock, utilizing patient repetition to draw the listener slowly into their haunting den of harmony. “I Get Nervous” and “Plastic and Powder” show off the band's talent for careful layering, delicately adding guitars to create a reverby nest of sound for the vocals to rest in. The pacing of the album is also interesting. Twin-Hand Movement plays out like the soundtrack to an all-night hangout, beginning at sundown with the dusky “Blue and Silver,” moving through the night with a languid middle section, and then ending with the upbeat “Hospice Gates” and “Two Cocks Waving Wildly at Each Other Across a Vast Open Space, a Dark Icy Tundra,” concluding the album with the hopeful promise of a new dawn. All in all, Twin-Hand Movement is everything you’d expect from an album from one of the new creative centers for indie music at the moment (Baltimore), featuring singer/songwriter Jana Hunter and put out by the king of freak folk, Devendra Banhart, giving Lower Dens an almost unfair advantage in the pedigree department. What really matters, though, is that Twin-Hand Movement is an album that’s textural, moody, surprising, and, most importantly, really good.
by Gregory Heaney
***
Lower Dens is a new band, but feels like a second act. The music is reserved, but finds ways to be cutting, even as it holds back and spends most of its time in nocturnal sparseness. Twin-Hand Movement plays like the work of a group that has pulled bold moves already, made some good records, and is interested in investigating its internal rapport. Confined to basic instruments, each musician leaves space for the others. The holes in the music make little shifts in volume and twang unmissable, the way an invisible scar on your hand feels like a gash to your fingertips.
I’m not sure what the rest of the Dens were doing before this, but they are a second act of sorts for Jana Hunter, who’s worked as a folk weirdster in the circles around Devendra Banhart for a while, mostly solo, mostly slacker than this. So when it comes to loudness and density of sound, this is a ratcheting up. If the others initially assembled as a backing band for Hunter, it became a full-fledged collaboration quickly, re-aligning her style, making it rigid. You can find an early version of Hunter doing the song “Completely Golden” fingerpicking on an electric. For the full band take, the same chords are shaped from rumbles and fuzz, with strict drumming that removes all traces of country bobble from the demo.
There’s no law saying songwriters who’ve established a solo voice can’t retreat into a band, but it’s rare for them to drop their peculiarities in the service of the whole. Some of the song titles show traces of the let’s-try-to-be-annonying cutesies of Banhart and CoCoRosie (“Two Cocks Waving Wildly At Each Other Across a Vast Open Space, A Dark Icy Tundra”). That playing around doesn’t filter into the final songs, where the words are barely in the foreground. When words do come into focus, they’re direct and Hunter delivers them sincerely.
That lack of brattiness keeps them from being mistaken for garage punk, but they share some strengths with garage contemporaries. Pretense is in check. Poesy like “Baby I get nervous / just being in your service” has the punch of Eddie Current Suppression Ring — it’s delivered without irony, yet self-aware enough to appreciate the obviousness. Like Thee Oh Sees, fragmentary songs feel complete, tossing out the superfluous verses and bridges of songwriting rules, but still stealing some power from old tricks. The tom-and-tamborine beat of “Be My Baby” might be the most hackneyed rhythm you could stick on an album in 2010, and it’s here on “A Dog’s Dick,” just as it is on so many records of the last few years. They harmonize as if they’re going for the big buildup, but one verse in, the vocals vanish, and it becomes a long fadeout of twin guitars entwining around a stair-climbing scale. “Truss Me” could be a rough take of “As Tears Go By,” as the Stones slowly cycle through the changes while Marianne Faithful tries out different words. More often, they’re skeletal, led by the bass in a dour downbeat rock.
The Dens have a knack for not over-stirring the batter, implying bigger and longer songs, but cutting them short. They burn just long enough for the next change to plunge deep. They don’t misstep.
By Ben Donnelly
***
The Twin Hand Movement is just the record I needed in my bleary, under-slept state this morning. Each of these eleven tracks glides with a dreamy, seamless momentum, with 4/4 beats in mindless but functional loop, and ghostly guitars wafting in delicate billows of melody. It’s a pop record at its core – melodically quite instinctive and straightforward – with a light veil of fuzz, chorus and reverb draped modestly over the top.
“Pleasant” was the word that first popped into my head as the soft tones of opener “Blue & Silver” initially floated into view, and for the most part, Lower Dens never stray too far from this characteristic. A lot of the time it works a treat – I have to admit to getting rather caught up in the pretty and brittle progressions of “I Get Nervous” and “Truss Me”. But occasionally The Twin Hand Movement feels as though it could benefit from being dragged down from its gentle, airy bliss and pointed in more emotionally dynamic directions – for the six minutes that the album dips into the gloomy atmosphere of “Plastic & Powder”, it’s an instantly captivating switch, and the album could have done with plenty more moments like the ghoulish sway of two chords present here.
But none of this detracts from the fact that vocalist Jana Hunter puts in an excellent performance throughout. Her tone is soft and angelic, with ever so slight breathy and weathered overtones, and the touches of chorus and echo are comparatively sparse when put alongside other artists occupying the “drone-pop” territory. Her melodies are well worked too, and the moments at which she chooses to soar above the music or bury herself within it are nicely judged.
“Tea Lights” is probably the stand-out, taking on a jammed-out propulsion and working addictive looped guitar leads over the last two minutes. Like most tracks on the record, the music feels contented and relaxed, floating and bopping gently in a pleasant daydream state, and whilst this doesn’t always offer the most bold and diverse results, The Twin Hand Movement succeeds in being the cosy and welcoming album it seems to have set out to be.
by Jack Chuter
***
I remember the first time I really began to take notice of Jana Hunter's music, after coming across a low quality mp3 of her track Restless while online at my parent's place during summer between semesters. It's the type of moment of clarity that many music fans have, when you tap into something that will stay with you for years to come - finding an artist that reaches out to you on a level that's more personable and endearing than the vast majority of others. In the 6-years I've been listening to her music, Hunter has never failed to strike me to the core. There are influential musicians that exist on a personal level for various reasons for everyone who even considers themselves aficionados of music. Myself, I have a small cluster that sit ranked above the rest - Phil Elverum, Julie Doiron, Heather Lewis, Stefan Neville, Jamie Stewart, Kate Bush (not kidding), and Jana Hunter. For me, her music is personal.
For a fairly diminutive figure, Jana Hunter's had a pretty extensive presence in recent years - along with her split release with Devendra Banhart (on sweet yellow vinyl!), she's also made guest appearances working as a member of or alongside such luminaries as Jracula, Matteah Baim, Metallic Falcons, Coco Rosie, Phosphorescent and Vetiver. It all adds up to a significant pedigree, and a relevant one at that. Her solo albums, Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom (the first ever release on Devendra Banhart's Gnomonsong label in 2005) was a creeping, quietly solemn affair that stole hearts of those who happened to hear it, before her stronger, bolder There's No Home (Gnomonsong, 2007) brought her to the attention of more and more music lovers. But following the Carrion EP (Gnomonsong / Woodsist, 2007), made up largely of out-tracks from There's No Home, she kind of disappeared somewhat, away from the limelight.
But while I am obviously heaping praise on Jana Hunter's music, I have to confess to jarring feelings of trepidation when I heard that her latest record would be with a full band which she picked together after setting up shop in Baltimore (which, to be fair, most of us only really know about because of the Wire and the notorious Baltimore Club scene). But it's an area that's fostered many an intriguing musical project over the last few years - Beach House, the Wham City crew / Dan Deacon, Ponytail to name just a few. The new group of Hunter plus three works to immerse her particularly flavour of understated songwriting into the haze of dreamy rock or shoe-gaze methods that perhaps its always been intended for.
Twin Hand Movement still holds much of the slow-burning charm of Hunter's solo work - there is the forever building tensions, the cosy immediate guitar work, the wandering vocals. Rosie is a track that I'm going come out and proclaim as my song of 2010. It is a contemplative gesture of guitar work, before an utterly blissful break into pop-driven shimmer squalor, with Hunter's vocals endearingly fighting above the din of drum staccato and sweeping guitars. Beautiful. There are so many other stand out tracks on this album though - including Tea Lights and Hospice Gates, the two songs that have received the most support from the blogosphere. Lead single I Get Nervous is also stellar, working love into strings as she sings to an unknown recipient of adoration that she's weakest while 'just a-standing in your pretty presence' in a way that's fragile and humble and utterly Jana Hunter.
Now about to kick off a European tour with close to 30 shows lined up across many countries, we can only hope that one day soon Jana Hunter et al will make their way down to New Zealand. It's a shoe-gazy, wandering glitterball style of music that has always been able to blow me away - and while I'm sure that it certainly won't be everyone's cup of tea, there's likely more than a few people out there who don't know about Jana Hunter's work that will be lit up as I've been. Twin Hand Movement's by far the best recent record I've come across that could carry me over the threshold of a lazy summer. It's definitely worth the gamble, and well worth the listen. Trust me!
By Paul Gallagher
***
On Friday, July 1, 2011, I braved one of the biggest tourist traps in New York City, the South Street Seaport, for the free Dirty Beaches and Lower Dens show as part of the River to River Festival.
Yes, you read correctly – it was free. The reason New York puts on so many awesome free concerts in the summer is it’s the best way way to thank the citizens who actually endure the summer weather conditions. I always joke that in July and August, New York City should be known as New York Swampy. Anyway, I’ve already caught free Andrew Bird and Medeski Martin & Wood shows this year, and it’s just the beginning of July. I know it’s the start of winter Down Under, so I am asking you Australian readers to look back into your recent memories and remember the best parts of your summers when listening to Lower Dens.
When my friend asked me to go to the show, I must admit that I was more excited to see Dirty Beaches than I was to see Lower Dens. I am more familiar with the former because I was seeing a guy who was really into the Montreal music scene and he got me into Dirty Beaches at some point this winter. But, we got there a little late and ended up only catching the tail end of the set, specifically Dirty Beaches’ best-known single “Lord Knows Best” off the March 2011 album Badlands. I was there for the long haul, though, and when Lower Dens took the stage I was blown away.
(Side note: the way the Seaport handles its sound was amazing – the location isn’t quite ideal, as it is an outdoor venue that small, on a river, next to a highway, in New York’s Financial District. However, every nuanced guitar riff and hummed vocal was perfectly projected throughout the whole space.)
Lower Dens is the 2010 brainchild of Texas “freak folk” musician Jana Hunter. The band is based in Baltimore and shares the same disposition towards experimental music reminiscent of neighbors Animal Collective. Lower Dens’ main claim to fame was being the first band to release an album on indie-folk god Devendra Banhart’s record label Gnomonsong. 2010’s Twin-Hand Movement was met with mild success by all the typical indie mags and the band has been enjoying relative success ever since.
I’ve been listening to Twin-Hand Movement since the second I got back to Brooklyn. Not only did the band play a great show, but the gritty, 60′s shoegaze dream pop is absolutely perfect for this time of year. Opening track “Blue & Silver” immediately draws you in with its intoxicating dreamy vocals on top of searing guitar riffs and explosive drum bits. The band shows the listener its softer side with the second song, “Tea Lights”. Here, Hunter’s mellow and almost haunting vocals paired atop the simple percussion and eerie guitarwork evokes Victoria Legrande. But where Beach House keeps it kind of consistently mellow throughout, Lower Dens gets darker. Twin-Hand Motion is clearly influenced by acts as diverse as Sonic Youth to My Bloody Valentine to Beach House. “Holy Water” has the kind of instrumental intensity and soundtrack quality that recalls Sonic Youth’s Simon Werner a Disparu. Following track “I Get Nervous” builds upon the previous song’s rhythm, but adds a beautiful layer of shoegaze distortion, pop melody and “freak folk” moodiness. That unexpected cohesiveness is what makes Lower Dens’ sound so unique in the sea of music we’ve seen rise to popularity over the past year.
“Truss Me” marks one of the most interesting departures from the rest of the album because the track has kind of girly 60’s pop sound that might make Best Coast jealous. The dream pop is emotionally intensified with matching instrumental scaling on “Hospice Gates” in a way I’ve only ever heard Beach House achieve so well. The final track on the album is “Two Cocks”, which acts as a perfect platform for Hunter’s unique voice. This song was probably the best known by the crowd. It has all the things I enjoy about the album, but its vocal clarity and simple instrumental arrangement miss so much of what Twin-Hand Movement has to offer.
By Christine Campbell
***
An artist like Jana Hunter can be at an immense disadvantage. Upon Devendra Banhart “discovering” her in 2005, the Baltimore-by-way-of-Houston musician was lumped into the ultra-hyped freak-folk movement. She released two albums of spare, offbeat folk tunes, and then the freak-folk bubble burst. Acoustic folk musicians all too often paint themselves into corners, releasing album after album of the same gently strummed background music. But Hunter is well aware of this. With the absence of any associated scene, she’s traded in her acoustic for an electric guitar, leading a full band called Lower Dens in an exploration of ragged psychedelic rock.
Projects like these are a great way for an artist to regroup and refresh, and there’s little doubt Hunter could have felt saddled by that earlier genre tag. Here she doesn’t so much let loose as expand on her folk tendencies. Like much of Hunter’s stripped-down discography, Lower Dens’ songs are patient, slowly morphing with the aid of careful guitar squall. Most of the record can trace its roots to the kinds of droning interstitials she included on 2007’s There’s No Home, but here they’re fleshed out with a solid backing band. First single “I Get Nervous” starts tenuously before giving way to a firm backbeat and Hunter’s raspy voice, displaying a cinematic sense of unease that repeatedly pops up. The record is bookended by “Blue & Silver” and “Two Cocks,” two songs that get by with a Krautrock-like intensity. There’s little in the way of comfort, as Hunter’s voice and guitar, both bathed in reverb, trade in claustrophobia rather than expansiveness.
While Hunter’s wall-of-sound guitars are certainly hard to miss, what gives the album edge is the muscular rhythm section. The unfortunately named “A Dog’s Dick” uses a guitar melody that’s so simple it allows for a snaking bass line and minimal drums to carry the song forward to the cathartic conclusion. “Holy Water” immediately follows, offering a nice instrumental cleanser of distorted bass and a propulsive rhythm for the careening guitars. Elsewhere Lower Dens rely too much on the mood-over-melody technique. “Plastic & Powder” wears out its welcome long before it reaches its final six and a half minutes, despite another memorable drumbeat. Likewise, “Tea Lights” kills all the momentum of the album opener. A dark bass line is the only real highlight, as Hunter’s tired melody replays endlessly.
But these missteps are few and far between and obvious aberrations compared with the sublime brilliance of “Hospice Gates,” a late-record standout and Hunter’s best song in her still-young career. “Gates” rides yet another stellar rhythm to great effect, using the dark groove to dissipate the sleepiness of the album’s later minutes. Guitar feedback is corralled to offer color to Hunter’s weary bellow, but she strays from the comfort of her lower register into some truly stunning high notes that perfectly match the song’s rising tension. The song is perfectly timed and executed, and it gives hope for even better things to come.
Hunter is wholly comfortable as the frontwoman for a rock band, but you’d never guess that given her past. She’s been pigeonholed as a strictly folk talent; thankfully she’s decided to defy this categorization. Twin-Hand Movement is the sound of an artist breaking free, putting her formerly good skills to great use.
by Art Levy
***
Given the glut of bands who employ noise as an instrument in and of itself, it’s crucial that its role be played with purpose. Baltimore quartet Lower Dens isn’t quite up to this task on its debut full-length: Twin-Hand Movement. The album is a tale of two cities and one band ultimately caught wavering in between.
Displaying ample traces of fuzz-pop and krautrock, freak-folk chanteuse Jana Hunter’s new project has its toes dipped in terrific pools of inspiration. “Blue And Silver” and “A Dog’s Dick” wear their sprightly clangor proudly, not hiding within it, but attempting to show it up via big, radiant harmonies. Meanwhile, strong throwback vibes emerge on the delicately eddying “I Get Nervous” and fluttery motorik-riddled closer “Two Cocks Waving Wildly At Each Other Across A Vast Open Space, A Dark Icy Tundra.” A two-minute ditty, “Holy Water” is especially winsome in its Neu! reverence; twinkly, straight-shooting, and tons of fun.
Troubles arise when Lower Dens appear undecided on which avenue to favor and turn the engine off. “Tea Lights” is a tidier pensive number, not equipped with a hook or voice compelling enough to warrant the plod. “Completely Golden” blots out the sun and buries already-mannered melodies beneath crunchy slop. The band doesn’t make judicious use of fuzz when it’s abundant and isn’t all that strong at cultivating the slow and sinuous either, perhaps best reflected on the endlessly bromidic “Plastic And Powder”, which is dismal at first and positively painful as it limps toward the end of its six-and-a-half minutes. On “Rosie,” they eventually nestle back into that familiar kraut-pop, but only after half of its runtime is devoted to abject meandering.This lull in the action comes to define Twin-Hand Movement – an album sparked by bright ideas and fizzling out to dim direction.
***
Swarming guitar fuzz, bass waves, insistent drum throbs and janahunters redolent, charred voice are the core components of baltimoreslower dens. hunter, sometimes known for intimate, ghostheavyweird-fi, now writes and plays with a group that might get filed under new wave, or drone pop, or post-punk. with due deference toher solo work, were very glad.the bands debut full-length record, twin-hand movement, is elevenperfect songs long. from opener 'blue and silver' (anxiety mounts at a quick clip until the final climactic release) to 'plastic and powder'(a churning, narcotic slow-burner) to 'hospice gates' (penultimatealbum cut, proud weirdo anthem, possible creative zenith), not one is a space-waster. they're rife with the survivalist paranoia one expects from residents of a post-urban port hole (and this particular songwriter), crafted methodically and beautifully, and carry the listener enthusiastically out into the rolling breaks of industrial filth-water.

There are bands who arrive fully formed and there are those who take a little while to find their footing. Sometimes all it takes is one song. In the case of Baltimore's Lower Dens, who are fronted by onetime folk eccentric Jana Hunter, that track was "Brains". Released in advance of this record, the single added krautrock and electronic touches to the group's signature guitar swirl and suggested a new dimension and a new confidence. Everything hit with more impact: the drumming was crisper, Hunter's singing was richer and more evocative, and there was an extra layer of prettiness, but also menace. The message seemed to be, "Here's a band you can't ignore anymore."
Nootropics strengthens that argument, building on the promise of "Brains" and vastly widening the band's sonic palette. Richly detailed, dark, and ethereal, the album is a feast for sound-first listeners drawn to expressive shifts in color and tone. To suggest that it's a creative step forward for Lower Dens is not to knock their 2010 debut, Twin-Hand Movement, which was a fine album but pretty specific in its appeal. (A moody nighttime listen, ideal for a 2 a.m. drive home by yourself or a late-night glass of whisky.) Nootropics is at once more inclusive and varied, though. And the band achieves this by pulling a clever trick: taking some of the most well-loved elements of the rock canon and making them their own.
"I listened to Radioactivity by Kraftwerk pretty much constantly while writing this record, and... we listened to a lot of Eno and Fripp and the Iggy Pop record that David Bowie produced," Hunter said in an interview. And you can certainly hear those influences at play. Robotic synths, ambient drift, stark percussion-- many of the touchstones of 1977 art rock are on display in tracks like "Lamb" and "Candy". It doesn't feel like by-the-numbers mixtape-ism, though, partly because Hunter's singing is too dynamic to allow for that. Her androgynous voice can be airy and lilting or times throaty and masculine, and it lends an eerie otherness to the songs. Even when backed by a simple motorik bassline, Hunter sounds beamed-in from somewhere else.
This is one of those albums that creates its own little sound world, and a lot of its appeal has to do with qualities like texture and atmosphere. These are terms so overused in music writing that they've nearly lost their meaning, but here they're important. Take for example the very tactile percussion of "Alphabet Song". Snares and cymbals click-click-click like someone with long, fake fingernails tapping on a car window. Or go back to "Brains", which does an excellent job of building tension and transferring energy with those outward-spinning guitars. For a while they kind of chime in place, but then right before the chorus hits, they step down an octave and there's an exhale. The mood changes and takes you along with it.
With so much attention on the sonics it can be easy to ignore the words, and actually I'd say the lyrical content is the record's least interesting aspect. In that same interview from above, Hunter discussed the subject matter, going into some heady stuff about Dada and transhumanism and "denying our animal selves." I'm not sure what she meant, and I'm not sure that it matters. This isn't an album about a specific narrative, it's about sounds and colors and the way a synth tone or cryptic string of words hits you and makes you feel something. When the guitars are chugging and the drums are crackling and Hunter sings, "When I finally let my guard down, I was in the middle of the sea and drowning," I don't know what she means exactly, but it gives me goosebumps. Every time.
By Joe Colly
***
Whirring forward—at times slick with the velvety magnetism of psychedelic riffs, other times peppered with the oddly attractive hiccups of a vintage movie reel—Nootropics, the latest record from Baltimore quintet Lower Dens, connects layered loops and trippy chants with catchy rock ’n’ roll arrangements, delivering a pure punch of sonic bliss.
Jana Hunter, the freak folk-inclined singer/songwriter who serves as the outfit’s frontwoman, has ditched the majority of the foggy reverb and bulky guitar riffs from the band’s 2010 release, Twin Hand Movement, in favor of a droning progression that mirrors a single, repetitious track. Playing into Hunter’s uncanny ability to craft an emotion-dense landscape, a majority of the record’s offerings inspire a deeply rooted reaction within the listener—stirring up feelings of joy and despair—while tickling the nostalgic corners of the brain.
Adopting a mysterious, otherworldly appeal, Nootropics opens with the meandering “Alphabet Song,” where hypnotic waves of keys frame Hunter’s off-kilter vocals, before giving way to a group-led, eerie chant. Appealing to an opposite realm of trippy tenacity, the instrumental “Stem” is a euphoric collection of surf-reminiscent guitar lines and chiming keys—evoking a jubilant connection to the track’s childlike sense of celebration.
“Candy” changes the pace as a darker offering, with Hunter demanding, “Back it up, nobody wants you ‘round here. What are you waiting for?” In stark contrast to previous tracks, a dangerous and aggressive arrangement of instrumentals forcefully backs disturbed vocals before coming to an uncomfortable, screeching halt.
While many releases allow the listener to blanket the specific collection with his or her mood—associating the LP with individual motivations—Nootropics demands specific emotions, forcing perhaps unwanted reactions out of the cracks, while inspiring a wealth of spine-tingling elation.
By Carey Hodges
***
From her earliest freak-folk beginnings, Jana Hunter has mastered the beautiful bummer jam. With the rest of Lower Dens behind her, 2010's Twin Hand Movement was a near-perfect sleeper. Tracks like "Tea Lights" and "Hospice Gates" drew you in, heavy with lo-fi dread and malformed longing. On Nootropics, her vision's gone beastmode. On "In the End is the Beginning is the End," the 12-minute closer, she sings, "I feel different now than I did before/My hands are strong/My teeth are sharp." Production is crisp, reverb is scraped away, and suddenly, things get epic. On "Propagation," the guitar's voice duets with Hunter's low vox, choral echoes ebb from a distant nowhere, and the song swells steadily, determined to pull you under. The dreamwave immersion and haunting power of Hunter's vocals invite comparisons to fellow Baltimore mood-wizards Beach House, but whereas Teen Dream aimed for beauty even at its darkest, Lower Dens keeps things weird. Influenced by darkwave electronica and Wham City's creepoid punk scene, the driving energy comes from a rhythm section that propels songs like "Brains" and "Stem" forward with anxious urgency and even makes "Lion in Winter Pt. 2" danceable. Get your Siouxsie Sioux moves ready.
By NINA MASHUROVA
***
After a decade of stumbling from project to project, honing her craft, and building a loyal following, Jana Hunter seems to have finally found the band she was looking for. She has discussed her admiration for the most recent members of Lower Dens (guitarist William Adams, bassist Geoffrey Graham, drummer Nate Nelson, and keyboardist Carter Tanton) saying that “this particular ensemble is my favorite group I’ve ever played with.” Given that Hunter has played with Devandra Barnhart, Phosphorescent, Peter & the Wolf, Matty & Mossy, Deer Tick, Marissa Nadler, and many others, it’s a meaningful comment. And after listening to Nootropics, Lower Dens’ sophomore album, it is clear where that sentiment comes from. The band is harmoniously dialed in, operating in unison not just on one frequency but within a whole spectrum. Following Hunter’s lead, each member develops his part in his own style but all ultimately work toward a fundamental sound, which can best be described as hypnotic, driving, and otherworldly. It’s a beautiful synergy. Lower Dens’ first album, Twin Hand Movement, was a fantastic collection of songs that established the bands ability to plunge from carefully crafted rock melodies into psychedelic moments of dark beauty; somehow, Nootropics is able to dive even deeper.
For this album, the analog synth is more heavily employed. Twin Hand Movement was drenched in swirling guitar work and some might find the new record decidedly less raucous. Piercing guitar licks are still a part of the album, to be sure, but it is fair to say that Nootropics gives up some reckless abandon in favor of crafting a more focused mood. The synth work goes a long way toward creating that mood. Dark and searching, Hunter has mentioned that this album is meant to explore, amongst other things, the evolving relationship between humans and technology. “Brains” is about society’s fixation on artificial intelligence. “Alphabet Song” is about “denying our animal selves while adopting these social tools that encourage progress.” The heavily synthetic production is thus not only sonically but thematically fundamental to the album. It takes a few listens, but soon one isn’t immediately hearing this album vis-a-vis Twin Hand Movement. Nootropics starts to occupy its own space and from there it expands indefinitely.
“Alphabet Song” opens with a unique, cyclical drum beat. Nate Nelson, who is a new addition to the group, does not bury his individual style. Rather, he was likely brought into the band because of it. His rhythms are patient and unobtrusive and they seem indivisible from the song. After a few bars the drums are joined by a spaced out synth arpeggio, the lead guitar melody, and, finally, a gripping bass line. It’s a simple arrangement but it is effortlessly haunting, and it lulls the listener into the appropriate headspace. This act, forcing the listener to put him or herself in a mental state wherein the album will be appropriately absorbed, reminds me of a novel that teaches its reader how it should be read. Lower Dens are able to do this repeatedly throughout the album. Instrumental soundscapes, such as “Stem” and “Lion in Winter, Pt.1”, nearly anesthetize the listener (which perhaps explains album title’s reference to mind altering drugs). The latter, in particular, sets the mind adrift. Perhaps that is where one is meant to be in order to grapple with the ominous questions raised by “Propogation” and “Nova Anthem.” Is there any logic to the way we live our lives? Is there reason to have hope? Something in Hunter’s voice seems to say yes.
The album has its standouts (“Brains”, “Propogation”, and “Nova Anthem”) but it also has no tracks that would be better left out. The first half of “Lamb” is lovely and steeped in shadow but it morphs into something far more epic as, 2 minutes in, the drums break down and Hunter’s voice soars. The next track, “Candy”, sounds more like Twin Hand material. Yet it is also distinctly of this album in that all of the details are constructed to create space as opposed to fill it. For instance, Adams’ minimalist guitar work is precise and eery. The notes are sparse not for a lack of creativity but rather out of a desire for refinement. Similarly, the 12-minute saga “In the End is the Beginning” is patient, expansive, and stunning. As a painting the song would become an image of a barren, freezing tundra that is lifeless save for one man huddled around a fire. Like all of this band’s work, it rewards those who take the time to listen carefully. Hunter recently confirmed that the band was listening to a fair amount of Krautrock during the recording (as well as Eno, but that goes without saying). One can hear how Kraftwerk’s detached, synth-laden style creeped into the band’s work but, thankfully, it was only a catalyst. The heart of Nootropics – the way that each sound and feeling waves its way into the next, the way the production is simultaneously expansive and intimate, the rough beauty of Hunter’s voice, the many questions relating to how “Brains” can be so fucking good – is entirely a Lower Dens creation.
Some may fault this album for being overly atmospheric. Those same people might argue that an album can only truly be great if a certain time or place isn’t needed to appreciate it. I wholeheartedly disagree. The most affecting albums aren’t the “right for any occasion” types but, rather, the ones that turn a cold walk home into a solitary and meaningful experience; or the ones that make a sunny day seem even more serene. Hunter has said that, with Nootropics, you have to be focused on listening, “which is a lot to ask of people. But thats the way I like it.” For those that have followed her work, being asked to dutifully analyze a new Lower Dens album is not as much an imposition as it is a glee-inducing gift. I can only hope that more artists adopt Hunter’s stubbornness and start giving us albums that are better when one is actually paying attention.
***
An icy, near-derelict soundscape of skeletal indie-rock and Krautrock.
Lower Dens’ first album, 2010’s Twin-Hand Movement, was such a spectral introduction to the band that it bothered fewer ears over here than a warm breeze in July. But the Baltimore band’s minimal, wraith-like mix of wintry indie-rock, dream-away sounds, gently propulsive rhythms and wispy, androgynous vocals compelled anyone who did feel its subtle charms to do two things: listen repeatedly and obsessively.
At the helm is Jana Hunter, who stalked acid-folk territory alone before ghosting into less mossy terrain, and her distant murmuring and spooked atmospherics, while hypnotic, are too ghostly and odd to reveal much beyond the cosmic heart at Lower Dens’ centre. It was Twin-Hand Movement’s indecipherable mystery and the flickering phosphorescent glow emanating from deep that made it so alluring. This follow-up is no different.
That Hunter writes with grand themes in mind that you’ll just have to take her word for. The debut was, we’re told, about community and belonging. Nootropics, meanwhile, is named after a mind-enhancing drug – like the one Bradley Cooper takes in Limitless – and explores the terrible bargains humanity is making for an easier life.
How Hunter reconciles this with licensing a song to Exxon isn’t clear lyrically. Her voice is too far away in the mix – a mood-maker rather than a point-maker. Maybe, though, it encouraged the self-flagellation that bruises much of Nootropics. Lower Dens have a sound that places them in the same dreamy but bleak hinterland inhabited by ghoul-chasers Deerhunter and Timber Timbre – only Hunter swaps Badalamenti’s twang and dreadheart blues for an icy, near-derelict soundscape of skeletal indie-rock and, this time out, the Autobahn chug of Krautrock.
The hallucinatory effect prevails. The instrumental Lion in Winter, Pt. 1 is a disquieting passage of frosty drones; the groovesome Lion in Winter Pt. 2 is a lo-fi Kraftwerk wreathed in star-bright guitars and minor keys; In the End is the Beginning isn’t so much a curtain-closer as a grimly foreboding fade-out. Adding electronics to an already complex equation might suggest angular songs but these are sleek soothing balms sombrely and meticulously crafted to usher the listener in.
And this come-hither intimacy perhaps tells us that the band’s painful line-up changes inspired the record more than grand ideas of transhumanism. The everyday is just fine when it sounds this strange.
by Chris Parkin
***
I was once startled by the idea that a close friend of mine and I were running on the very potentiality of ideas. I pictured two brains orbiting one another, the bodies that housed them just forsaken completely. I realized being present and not making demands beholden to either the past or the future was contentment. Contentment doesn’t bear scrutiny, and it’s a kind of relief. To me, whatever their specific influences may have been, the end result of Lower Dens’ second album is happily inscrutable: “brains without names” spinning ethereal and unperturbed, turning emotions around in the hand like Mrs. Miller’s glass egg.
Of course, Mrs. Miller was stoned on opium. And I realize these seem the musings of a dopehead — but it’s not so. They’re the thoughts of a person both alienated and nurtured by intense reflection and daydreaming. In this regard, I think there is much appeal to both Lower Dens albums, Twin Hand Movement and new album Nootropics, a reaching sort of mindset with a happy helping of sensory charms. Jana Hunter has always had a knack for warmly melancholic hooks, and this talent continues to flourish here. Only now she is really pushing her vocal range, and while you can sense the wall (particularly on the torch-like “Nova Anthem”), she always gracefully glances past.
Giving her band’s sound a fresh and thrilling depth are the stirring backing vocals by bassist Geoffrey Graham, especially on singles (and — I hate to be obvious, but — hands-down standouts) “Propagation” and “Brains.” If it weren’t for the signature quality of Hunter’s voice, this would sound like a whole new band. The one exception might be the pointed gloom rock of “Candy,” save the comparatively stately, pared-down arrangements. This is a decidedly more infinite-sounding band, closer to escaping that 90s post-rock thing that still has legs but is perhaps a little dusty nonetheless.
Don’t get me wrong, they could’ve made something along the lines of Twin Hand Movement and still been golden. The solidness of that record should not be diminished. But this new suite is perhaps something more rewarding as a sweeping tome to clear-eyed stimulation than a nicely refined genre exercise. Should their next release be yet another redefining, one can easily bet it will be worth listening to.
In the meantime, as Nootropics is a relentless grower, this latest entry should continue to find and enrich the lives of many unsuspecting listeners. It is a delicate alchemy of tight metronomic grooves and carefully parsed instrumental interplay, to the point where nothing steals the show. And there’s a sweet sort of reassurance to the record (despite the fearful and claustrophobic nature of the awe-inspiring closer) that seems to be the main emotional takeaway. Should we find ourselves zonked by reality and life-living-us sensations, perhaps we can simply sing a note of gratitude and resume our hammering away rather than diving into that rabbit hole. Our brains and bodies can work together or apart, without and within vexation.
***
I’ve had the digital promo of Nootropics, the sophomore album from Baltimore dream-rock band Lower Dens, for a couple of months now. And according to my iTunes, I’ve listened to its 10 songs an average of 106 times. I’ve mentioned this a few times on Stereogum already, but it almost immediately became my daughter’s favorite album of all time. My kid just turned three, but putting her to bed is this massive ordeal; I need to hold her and bounce her and pace back and forth across her bedroom for something like an hour, until she drifts off. By the end of it, my back is screaming at me. And her attachment to this album has become intense and kind of weird; she cries hard if I try to put on anything else. But here’s a measure of how good this album is: I haven’t gotten entirely sick of it yet.
That’s mostly because I can see where my kid is coming from. Nootropics is a world-class sleeping aid, and I don’t mean that as a slight. When the band released their debut Twin-Hand Movement a couple of years ago, hazy drift was a big part of it. They were mostly a guitar band then, and their sound worked by lazily and comfortably wrapping all their different guitar lines around each other, forming these intuitive tapestries of sound. They reminded me a bit of Luna then; they had that same easy, instinctual interplay, like they’d been born playing guitar with one another. They hadn’t, of course. Bandleader Jana Hunter is a former freak-folk artist, and the band had tons of interpersonal problems and lineup shifts after the album came out. But that calm, familiar sense of drift is still all over Nootropics; it’s just been pushed in some different directions.
Among other things, Nootropics is the band’s krautrock move, the one where they discover the repetitive possibilities of weirdly-timed motorik drum-tics and stretched-out-beyond-the-sunset guitar tones. And Hunter’s voice — a controlled, crystalline alto — fits those sounds perfectly. But unlike a lot of other bands who play around with krautrock, Lower Dens haven’t let their experiments affect their songwriting. I don’t know what Hunter is singing about most of the time, but she has a great ear for chiming Sigur Rós-style melodic flights, and so her choruses have an emotional pull to them. And when the band is working at peak capacity, there’s also a rare immediacy to them. “Lion In Winter Pt. 2,” my favorite song on the album, drifts out of the formless ambient guitar-fog of “Pt. 1″ and into a pulsing low-toned synthesizer. That keyboard sounds a few times, then falls into a pattern that sounds something like mid-’80s New Order being heard from the apartment next door. The rest of the band falls in behind that riff right away. It’s a beautiful moment, and it’s a catchy one too.
Lower Dens don’t strike me as the sort of band who will be happy to learn about their album’s putting-kids-to-bed uses. In interviews, Hunter has been talking a lot about singing from the point of view of a robot and stuff like that. But in experimenting and pushing themselves, Lower Dens have come up with a sound that works as a potent calming agent — the sort of thing that bleeds beautifully into the background, whatever you may be doing. Like fellow Baltimore dreamers Beach House — whose Victoria Legrand has some serious vocal similarities with Hunter — they make music that hits some primal relaxation button in your brain. And that’s a button you probably need someone to hit every once in a while.
by Tom Breihan
***
Nootropics are drugs that enhance cognitive functions such as concentration, memory, and attention span. According to Lower Dens, their album title refers to the band’s “interest in transhumanism–the use of technology to extend human capabilities.” Sure, drugs have been inexorably tied to the inspiration, enjoyment, or the end of music for decades, but smart pills? That’s a new one. In any case, for Baltimore’s Lower Dens, it fits.
Kraftwerk pushed music technology to drive the point home of every album’s theme, such as the monotonous feeling to the experience of driving on the Autobahn’s namesake, or that of man as a machine of production, stipped of any personality or humanity on Man-Machine. Similarly, Lower Dens are using their expanded grandness in scope to create a specific atmosphere for Nootropics. Take “Lamb” and “Proagation”, for example. Here Lower Dens utilize motorik beats, droning guitar noise, and the barely-there whispers of Jana Hunter to build a mood of fearful claustrophobia. Lead single “Brains” is surprisingly uptempo, but its motorik beat just raises the urgency to overwhelming levels. That panicked feeling when uncertainty takes control and time distorts? It’s captured in musical form in the beast that is “Brains”.
These Krautrock stylings are fully unleashed on 12 minute closer “In the End Is the Beginning”, and the panicked sensation of Nootropics gives way to catharsis as the surrealism intensifies to the point at which change is inevitable. If neighbors and former tour mates Beach House are dream pop, then with Nootropics, Lower Dens are nightmare pop.
Despite the inescapable eeriness and portentous nature of the album, Nootropics is not a completely bleak affair. “Candy” is as sweet as its name infers, while “Nova Anthem” illustrates how adept Lower Dens are at building towards something beautiful in their concentrated, but intense manner. As desirable and necessary as betterment is, the quest for perfection can be dehumanizing when gone too far. The terror lies in realizing one’s own detachment from humanity, and Nootropics sounds like a warning to never lose focus on the latter half of transhumanism.
By Frank Mojica
***
Lower Dens' 2010 debut LP Twin-Hand Movement was a largely overlooked moment of understated brilliance. Native Texan turned Baltimore transplant Jana Hunter had been quietly toiling in the throes of experimental indie rock for years before forming an official band around her uneasily atmospheric solo songs, and though there was no dramatic shift in style or tone, something crystallized under the Lower Dens namesake that hadn't been there before. Finding a foggy middle ground between Motorik-Krautrock rhythms and the most dimly lit corners of shoegaze, Twin-Hand Movement built an atmosphere that was instantly transfixing though deceptively simple. Following a series of singles and a few other scattered appearances, the band returns with sophomore effort Nootropics, expanding their sound only slightly with more electronic elements. While less guitar-centric, the same narcotic feel of the first album carries through here, a patient continuation of the languid summer night soundscape that Twin-Hand Movement set up so well. In some ways, Nootropics is a series of continuations. The two-part "Lion in Winter" begins with a bed of ominous synth tones before abruptly emerging into a new wave-leaning, subdued pop track driven by tinny electronic drums and bumbling synth bass. The minimal churn of "Brains" continues without a pause into the scratchy Neu-inspired addendum "Stem." Moments like these make the album feel like an ongoing extension of itself, circular themes of anxiety and displacement reappearing through the clouds of moody melodies. Hunter's ghostly vocals are sometimes reminiscent of Baltimore peer Victoria Legrand of Beach House, calling out softly from under layers of wistfully beautiful noise. The similarities are striking on "Propagation," a dirge filled with longing that duets Eno-esque fuzz guitars with a humid vocal line. The moment that brings everything into focus on the album is the last 45 seconds of "Lamb." This darkly brilliant composition goes from tersely building verses into a soaring arc and unexpectedly fading into disintegrating noise as it ends. Much like Belong's blurry melodies tangled in webs of noise or even the holy sonics of My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, it's in this brief moment of transcendence that Lower Dens achieve something so otherworldly it's impossible to ignore. Like its predecessor and the earliest Beach House records, Nootropics is so mired in restraint it will fail to grab many ears on the first go-round. However, once listeners get their heads around the sound, it's a definite on-repeat player. Free of flash, Nootropics is the sound of smoldering. It's the sound of what's left behind after the fireworks display, and the gentle dread of smoky ashes floating softly down from the sky onto an empty beach.
by Fred Thomas
***
On the face of it, Lower Dens are as cold as they come. The glacial aesthetic that underpinned the Baltimore quartet’s debut offering Twin-Hand Movement often seemed as dense and impenetrable as a polar ice-cap. But hidden below this frozen facade was a warm heart, teased out by Jana Hunter’s mesmerising purrs and gorgeous fluttering of guitars.
Album number two Nootropics continues to strike a balance between mystical detachment and shy romanticism, connecting band and listener through an opium-daze of languid melodies. Admittedly, it occasionally misses the mark, with numbers like 'Lamb' gently floating off into the ether as a background of understated and underwhelming psychedelia. But when it's on-point, this is an album of undiluted bliss that fingers its way inside your conscience through deftly crafted soundscapes.
‘Brains’s labyrinth-like rhythm is the immediate show stealer. Breezing along to tap-dancing percussion, it expands into a gorgeous swell of synthesizers that recalls the frantic folky-murmurs of Here We Go Magic, before delving seamlessly into the coruscating afterglow of ‘Stem’. Less immediate but no less engaging, the gloomy 'Candy' leans on taut guitar lines and Hunter’s breathy intonation of “I never could cut you down” to create an inverted and gorgeous sweep.
Frustratingly, Nootropics is let down by Lower Dens' penchant for pissing about. The scene-setting scar of twitching feedback evident on ‘Lion in Winter Pt.1’ does little to prepare you for the metronomic beat and electronic judders of 'Pt.2'. Likewise, the 12-minute-slog of ethereal undertones and breathless sighing found on tedious closer ‘The End is the Beginning’ is bereft of precision, preferring to loll along aimlessly, as if teasing listeners to reach for the off-switch prematurely.
But for all its challenges, for all its moments of indecision, this is an album busting with an array of sweet spots to hone in on. Coiled around swooning harmonies and a deep, bulbous bassline, the delicious ‘Propagation’ is the sort of melting, heart-string pulling swell Grizzly Bear would be proud of; while the stuttered percussion and cathedral-atmospherics of 'Nova Anthem' are synchronised into a gorgeous sweep by Hunter’s seductive tones.
Ultimately, Nootropics takes time to ingest and understand. It’s undoubtedly complex, awkward and occasionally without direction, but it also produces moments of astonishing splendour, each with the capacity to bring neck hairs bristling to attention. They may continue to exude a cool air of pretention, but musically Lower Dens are starting to warm up.
by Billy Hamilton

Various religions suggest that there's a "special" hell for certain sins (hurting children, being cruel to animals, using the word "blog" as a verb, etc). Who else needs a "special" hell?
Jana Hunter The senate members who opened Alaska up for drilling. The haters who amend state constitutions to ban gay marriage.
Due to poor financial planning, you've got to eat for an entire week on only US$10. What do you buy, food-wise?
Jana Hunter Cigarettes. Or ramen, like everybody else.
What's the worst injury you've ever suffered for your art (i.e. second degree burns from shorted-out mic, broken leg from failed stage dive)? Tell us about it.
Jana Hunter If horrible illnesses picked up and barely survived in a tour van don't count, then I have nothing to tell.
You've got unlimited funding and technical expertise to make an IMAX movie on the topic of your choice. What do you choose? Describe the obligatory vertigo-inducing camera shot that makes the entire audience clutch their stomachs.
Jana Hunter Inner Space should be an Imax movie.
In the UK, trying to kill the Queen is still technically a capital offence. If the Queen tried to commit suicide and failed, could she be sentenced to death? Explain.
Jana Hunter Yes. That would be hilarious.
You've decided to write a musical. What's it about and who's the star?
Jana Hunter I hate musicals. I'd write a musical about putting all producers and writers and stars of musicals to death. Sarah Silverman would star.
Everyone likes at least one cheesy/crappy song that totally kills their cred. What's yours?
Jana Hunter Does Anne Murray's "Danny's Song" count?
The standard touring vehicle is always a beat-up van. What has been the worst/weirdest method of conveyance you've had to use on a tour?
Jana Hunter The greyhound bus. The broken greyhound bus.
What was the best meal you were supplied by a tour venue? What was the worst?
Jana Hunter Vegan buffet at a community center in Germany, by far the best. I'd never put down a venue meal, given that they're rare to begin with.
Will it ever truly be possible to "rock the vote", or will apathy, indifference and laziness always triumph over activism?
Jana Hunter It'll absolutely be possible, but I don't think the enthusiasm will ever make its start within the music industry.
What is the coolest tattoo you've ever seen (and don't choose one of your own)?
Jana Hunter I always love dots, circles, lines. accentuating marks.
How long after an unopened gallon of milk's "use-by" date has passed would you be willing to use it?
Jana Hunter Oh, no. Gross. If it's even a few days before the date, I won't touch it.
Do you prefer the term "underwear" or "underpants"? What does that say about you?
Jana Hunter Aesthetically, "underpants". Practically, "underwear". Maybe it says I'm duplicitous.
You've been asked to submit an anecdote or "tip" to a book called Everything I Need to Know About Life I Learned On Tour With My Band. What do you tell them?
Jana Hunter One spazz per band is really enough.
What basic freedoms are you prepared to give up in exchange for your and your family's safety?
Jana Hunter Absolutely none, ever.
Due to a breakthrough in technology, it's possible to learn any skill, no matter how complex, pretty much instantly, by uploading the information directly into your brain (yes, like in The Matrix). Unfortunately, you can only do it once. What skill would you learn, and why?
Jana Hunter I have always wanted to learn to score entire pieces in my head and retain them until I have time to notate them. I don't know why, exactly.
Not to be morbid, but let's assume that (a) you've died, and (b) you filled out an organ donor card and potential recipients are lining up. Which part of your body do you think will be most sought-after? Are there any bits no-one will want?
Jana Hunter Nobody'd want my lungs, my eyes, my heart, my liver. I suppose certain parts of my skin might be okay for grafting.
George Zahora

Jana Hunter strolled on stage and thanked everyone for their tireless applause. She then proceeded to sing The Earth Has No Skin a cappella while the band finished setting up on stage. Pouring out favorites like Babies, Vultures, and Palms, Hunter was casually clad in brown shirts and white t-shirt with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and glasses supported by her upturned nose. Despite her small stature, Hunter commanded the stage (the entire venue, actually) with her unassuming but powerful presence. Her liquidly androgynous voice pulled you into her world, and had it not been for a few drunken floozies rattling their lips at five hundred miles an hour, (and annoying the hell out of the rest of us), the few dozen people who came to hear her sing would have gladly lost touch with reality (if only for a while) to be mesmerized by Hunter’s revealing songs.



I caught up with Jana after the show and chatted about this, that, and the other while she was approached every few minutes by people complementing her performance and offering free hugs (and weed).
AnnA: Your last album was called There’s No Home. On your song Babies, the lyrics are: “For many reasons, I left my home. Most of those reasons, I still don’t know.” Did you really feel that way?
Jana: If there’s anything thematic about that record, it’s about the idea of family. Right before I wrote that record the patriarch of my family passed away and it kind of threw my idea of family into oblivion. I had identified my family as home and when the patriarch passed away that idea kind of dissipated, to put it mildly. I didn’t really feel fully developed as an adult, and the song Babies in particular is trying to balance the desire at that age in my life to start a family with the notion that starting a family and settling down is a trap that you fall into.
AnnA: At this point have you changed your idea of what it’s like to start a family?
Jana: I think I just feel more comfortable now, not relying on blood ties for a feeling of family. Allowing family and community to be wherever it is, to come from wherever it comes from.
AnnA: Where is the place where you feel the most comfortable or happiest?
Jana: A physical place?
AnnA: For example, when you’re doing something, like songwriting or drinking beer with friends, or…
Jana: I feel most at home working with my friends.
AnnA: On music?
Jana: On whatever we’re working on. Doing something actively with friends. Probably not drinking. Drinking doesn’t feel like home. (laughs)
AnnA: What are your worst fears?
Jana: A complete loss of connection to anything. Feeling completely out of place without any sort of tie to any person.
AnnA: Do you notice a pattern if you play a European show, or a Canadian show, or an American show with how the audience responds? Are some audiences more chitter-chatter and they’re just there to drink and are some more involved and just there to listen?
Jana: There are definitely places you can say will almost always be a certain way, but it’s very rarely consistent in a single country. One of the few things you can say is that Italian audiences are always gonna talk. They have a lot to say. (chuckles)
AnnA: What about Montreal? I’ve heard bands say that Montreal is usually a really good show.
Jana: Yeah, Montreal has almost always been a really fantastic show and experience all the way around.


Photos by: Erik Naumann

Unless you were born with one of those silver spoons, you likely work a day job, sneaking time for your own business when not taking care of someone else's. You're not alone. Every week, Brandon Stosuy finds out how our favorite indie artists make ends meet...
When I wrote a review of Golden Apples Of The Sun, the 2004 scene-sealing compilation ably curated by Devendra Banhart, Jana Hunter's mysterious, lonesome "Farm, Ca" legitimately haunted me -- after repeat listens, it was my favorite song of the bunch. The brief a.m. transmission also appeared on her 2005 debut full length, Blank Unstaring Heirs of Doom, an excellent (and still underrated) collagist collection of soulful, downcast material recorded over a decade or so. It was the first release on Banhart and Andy Cabic (a/k/a Vetiver)'s Gnomonsong label.
Continuing her quiet, steady release schedule, There's No Home, the fleshed-out follow-up to Black Unstaring Heirs Of Doom appeared without much to-do at the end of March. The album, recorded at one studio in Houston rather than over 10 years on various formats, is more cohesive than its predecessor without losing the sonic gradations and emotional variety of the earlier album -- look no further than the feedback, flamenco-style guitar, and soulful siren drone on "Movies" or the pair of gray instrumental fragments both named "(Guitar)."
Outside of the current solo work, movie buffs might also recognize Hunter from her older, Fleece-records crew Matty & Mossy, whose songs appeared in two Andrew Bujalski films, Funny Ha Ha and Mutual Appreciation. Or if crunk-folk's more your thing, perhaps her contributions to Castanets grabbed you, or her playful, deep-well, drum-machined other band Jracula, with members of the Octopus Project, Woozyhelmet, and Butterknife. In conjunction with There's No Home, she has a number of tour dates set. For now, though, please find her at Star Pizza in Houston. And, down below our discussion, find a link to "Babies," a sunny, multi-tracked folk-pop wanderer from the new record.
STEREOGUM: Has pizza worked its way into any of your songs?
JANA HUNTER: Some friends and I have tried for a while to get together a dance troupe, and its theme song was to go along the lines of: "Ride that pizza pony / Ride that pizza pony / Ride that pizza pony," etc.
STEREOGUM: How long have you worked at the pizza place?
JH: I got the job at Star Pizza in Houston just after my last West Coast tour, so sometime in December, before the holidays.
STEREOGUM: What was your job before that?
JH: Briefly, I helped diaper and break up fights between small children at a school in Austin. Prior to that, I pretended to know how to tend bar in Brooklyn; waited on moms, girls, and their dolls in NYC; and ran a copy machine in Houston. I tried to set up shop in Austin at one point "teaching" kids to write songs, but the only respondent I ever got to my Craigslist ad found my Myspace page and promptly backed out.
STEREOGUM: How'd you decide to work at Star?
JH: My friend Domokos (A Pink Cloud) and I drove around Houston with my fake resumes. The pizza place was the first we hit, 'cause I figured if I didn't find anything else, they probably wouldn't turn me down. They hired me on the spot, and since Dom and I felt more like drinking margaritas than continuing with the job search, I took it.
STEREOGUM: What are your duties?
JH: I answer the phones and do my best to entertain. I take orders, sanitize things, leave messages for the higher ups, etc.
STEREOGUM: Any interesting pizza tales?
JH: We do the crossword. We fuck with each other via Snapple facts. We call up co-workers who happen to be off when their most despised songs are on the system and put them on hold. There's a ridiculous amount of ass grabbing. One manager is a martial-arts/ultimate championship fanatic and enjoys nothing more than putting his employees in headlocks. So, no. Well, yes, but nothing that can be told.
STEREOGUM: What are some of these Snapple facts? How are they used to fuck with coworkers?
JH: No one really likes Snapple facts. One coworker in particular launches into a tirade at the mere mention of a giraffe's vocal chords. Maybe some people are interested in the content, but the context makes it annoying, especially in the middle of a busy shift. "Flamingos are pink because they eat shrimp," "the only food that does not spoil is honey," and "fish cough" are favorites. There are also mock-Snapple depressing facts on the Internet, along the lines of, "you are probably obese" and "your parents are disappointed in the person you turned out to be."
STEREOGUM: People often say you can't get good pizza (or bagels) outside of the Northeast. Agree/disagree?
JH: It's an altogether different world of pizza. As far as I know, you can't get Northeast pizza on the third coast. It is good though. It's best not to have expectations. Same with the bagels
STEREOGUM: Do you plan to quit the job now that the new album's out?
JH: I wouldn't if I weren't moving. They've been more considerate than I would've considered possible about giving me time off to tour. They're even proud, which is a little embarrassing. I think it's done more bad than good for my work rep.
STEREOGUM: Where are you moving? Any jobs lined up, or will you go the traveling resume route again?
JH: I'm moving to Baltimore. I've wanted to live there for a while now, and I just met somebody there, so the process of getting to town has sped up considerably. I'm sure I'll find something. If you're a business owner in Baltimore and need an honest someone with little to no actual skills...
STEREOGUM: Have you ever existed without a day job?
JH: Never when I've also had rent to pay. For a long while prior to this respite in Houston, I toured constantly, with the exception of a few months in Austin and the occasional couple of weeks here or there, and so didn't have an apartment or house. I can't tolerate that as well as I have, and I don't think this (touring, putting out records) will ever pay enough to make the bills, so I'll probably always have something, even if it is pizza slinging.
STEREOGUM: I saw you're touring with your brother on guitar. Have you done that before? What's it like?
JH: I love it. On our first time out doing my songs (we played in a band together a while back [Matty & Mossy]) we had a difficult time: He was nervous and I was critical. I felt shitty about it for a long time afterward. This last tour we had nothing but fun. We're very close and have a kind of Nell-ish communication with each other. I wish I could have him with all the time, but he has his own life and projects that he's heavily involved with. Maybe he'll let me tour with him at some point.
STEREOGUM: What's your favorite kind of pizza? I used to pick blueberries as a kid and eventually couldn't eat them anymore. Have you had that sort of reaction to pizza?
JH: For a while it was beef, feta, and fresh jalapenos. I quit beef recently and I'm working on getting rid of cheese. I had a cheese-less tuna, egg, and tomato pizza in Tolouse once that was pretty fine, but I don't think it'd sustain as a favorite. So I don't know where I'll turn next. After three or four months at this place, I still haven't grown sick of it. Work friends claim that you either tire of it very quickly, or never at all. I think I'm with the latter group.

May 16, 2007