After an EP that caught hold of me pretty quickly, LA’s Dividers come in real strong with a debut LP, Crime of Passion, this week. Synced-up in the v-hold slip that crackles between the current wave of country thrown cosmic and a ‘90s brand of indie that preferred tape hiss to audiophile antics, this isn’t one to tread lightly. The record’s beating heart hums like Uncle Tupelo signed to Bong Load or Beachwood Sparks joining up with Tom Troccoli’s Dog for an SST double-gut punch that spent too long out of its sleeve, pickin’ up dust on the dorm floor. Caught in a film of psychedelic soak, the band leans in longingly, aiming to emulate the kind of record that didn’t prioritize precision and brevity over an engrossing experience. Fraught with amp-fried intros and collage-pocked closers, the record’s just as at home squirrelin’ with the tape-deck dropouts on Dino’s Bug or any Sebadoh stretcher as they are bumping buttons on the bar jukebox next to Mekons.

Though, if there’s really to be a jumping off point for where the origins of Dividers lie its probably in an adolescence spent with Wowee Zowee locked on the headphones hiding from responsibilities. If Pavement ever skirted close to country it was between the first breath and last collapse of their ’95 classic and Dividers hold their loose-wound twang and ability to crumple and spring back as a sketched out template on Crime of Passion. While that’s a whole lotta context to contextualize, ultimately the band is able to ingest their influences and come out sounding more distinct than quite a few of their contemporaries who’ve been hitting the twang this year. Between the fuzz-barnacled yowl and the seamless sweep between songs here, not a whole lot of bands are hitting the right mix of nostalgia and forward momentum quite like Dividers.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

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