Lyke Rayne

A change in direction for Sean Conrad (Channelers, Skymimds) finds him emerging from the crystalline caves of ambient and synth work for a psych-pop record that burrows into the baroque. The Inner Islands labelhead is often short on words, but here he lays out a full record of heart-heavy psych-pop that’s carving its way through the somber side of the genre; weaving from Gandalf and J.K. and Co to the edges of FJ McMahon. Ultimately, the record falls most in line with contemporaries that choose to haunt the bedroom over the boards of studio (think Way Dynamic, Daphne’s Demise, early Gold Dust). Assuming the name Lyke Rayne, Conrad moves undercover into new territories. There’s often been an aqueous feeling to his more ambient works, but here there’s a sense that the clouds never part, that dampness and gloom are at every corner.

The Time Will Sort Ye Out constructs a labyrinth of laments, leading the listener through on winds of psychedelic strum. Somber melodies cured with just a touch of sweetness pervade the record, and a whisper of flute crops up among the saturated synth work. There’s been a flurry of psych-pop over the past few years, but even with their own melancholy hearts, they often divine at least a little sun. Lyke Rayne seems to suffer no desire for daylight, wandering in its woe, savoring its own sadness. Sometimes it’s nice to feel seen in our sorrow, and in that respect The Time Will Sort Ye Out isn’t going to ask the listener to smile at any point in its 10 track tenure. The album sits on the chest, breathing slow, velvet sighs along with the listener. A record that gives permission to languish, it stands solid alongside a legacy of one-off wonders of the psych-pop pantheon, though I, for one, wouldn’t be opposed to Conrad keeping the Rayne coming.

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