Abronia

Northwest perennial faves Abronia return to the fold at Feeding Tube for their most ambitious entry into the psych-folk canon yet. The album opens with the slow glow and hot wire finish of “New Imposition,” a song that sets the pace for the album. It’s a statement of purpose — ravaged, ritualistic, and dealing with the shadows of addiction. As the record unfolds it becomes a sort of psychedelic Western; an epic caught between the food desert flatlands of Capital’s last stand and the rain-drenched forests that call from the city limits. The urge to run screaming into said wilderness beats through the drums, growls in the static of the amps. It glows at the edges with an intrinsic hunger. Meanwhile, a renewed love of pedal steel blows a gale of dry wind though the album, and riding those winds are the powerful, prophetic vocals of Keelin Mayer.

As much as the instrumentation has expanded the band’s direction, Mayer’s voice remains a steadfast anchor for Abronia. It’s a group effort, but at its heart, Shapes Unravel is her record. The gales may tear at the seams of the record, but Keelin remains an equal force; wounded, weathered, but never diminished. The band pushes her to new heights, winding through furrowed wastelands, divining water in wooded groves, flying on flutes, sax, steel, and the constant dogging of drums. The band follows in the forms of Heron Oblivion, Espers, and Fairport before them, finding the fusion fields between folk and rock. They’ve long been a force on the West Coast, but this record proves to be their most potent yet, with hopes that it shines a much needed spotlight on their works.

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