Kurt Vile & the Violators

To say that Widowspeak is a Northwest band is to tell a half-truth. After all they formed in a Brooklyn apartment thousands of miles to the east, and their guitarist has never even seen the Pacific Ocean. There are aspects of the band’s sound—abrasive guitar hooks, immediate drumming, and incessant codas—that speak to living in a big city. But there’s also a dreary sparseness, a David Lynch-esque darkness, culled from the other members’ native Washington.

Singer/songwriter Molly Hamilton grew up in an old house in Tacoma, drummer Michael Stasiak in nearby Lakewood. While grunge put Seattle on the map and Riot Grrl and the DIY aesthetic are synonymous with Olympia, Tacoma remains grittier, darker even. Infamous for the acrid smell of its paper mills, this blue-collar city somehow fosters a fertile music community—if few outsiders know about it. Michael and Molly first crossed paths in that tight-knit scene, both contributing to a local compilation label. The label lasted all of one summer before half its roster decamped for New York.

There, three summers later, Michael approached Molly about starting a new band. Molly’s crippling stage fright and inexperience with the electric guitar seemed good excuses to decline, but at Michael’s urging she bought a used Danelectro and put pen to paper. Soon after, Michael invited guitarist Robert Earl Thomas to a tentative first practice. Though Robert had to plug his guitar into the stereo, and Michael played only two drums, something was palpable in that first hour. They chose a name Molly had picked months before, and Widowspeak was born.

The band’s skeletal sound began to take shape, with Robert’s rust-belt guitar parts lending a restless, sinister edge to Molly’s subdued melodies and soft vocal style. Writing became a collaborative effort, and Widowspeak racked up an arsenal of songs. By fall the trio had recorded a six-track cassette using only a built-in laptop microphone and Garageband. The self-released October Tape, as it was called, fell into the hands of Brooklyn’s Captured Tracks. Weeks later, after only their sixth show, Widowspeak recorded the 7” single, “Harsh Realm,” in anticipation of a full LP.

That album, recorded at Rear House with Jarvis Taveniere of Woods, documents Widowspeak’s inaugural year. In a relaxed studio setting songs born from those first jittery practices could breathe. The trio expanded their modest instrumentation while retaining a sparse aesthetic. The resulting record offers an eerie ambience, at times channeling 1950’s jukebox pop, at others, 1960’s psychedelia. While garnering comparisons to slow-moving 1990’s acts such as Mazzy Star or Cat Power, Widowspeak have defined a sound that’s earnestly nostalgic, and increasingly confident. Even so, these are songs about heartache. They are songs about homesickness, about longing for pine forests, reckless youth, and dark nights in strange cities.

Formed in 2005 by vocalist/guitarist Hans Zimmerman with the rest of the lineup in place by ’07, The Young’s early singles for Chicago’s Criminal IQ and Austin’s Super Secret were followed by an appearance on Matador’s ‘Casual Victim Pile’ compilation LP/CD. Though that modest output was hardly without merit, the subsequent full-length album on NYC’s Mexican Summer, ‘Voyagers Of Legend’ was nothing less than the underground rock revelation of 2010. “There hasn’t been a full-length this spot-on with mood and 1%’er hooks in years,” declared our good friend Andrew Earles, while the folks at 29-95.com prefered to drop the “P” word, insisting ‘Voyagers’ was “an implacable psychedelic rock journey.. almost cruelly evocative.” Those fortunate enough to have seen their recent shows sharing bills with the likes of Sic Alps and Lower Dens, know all too well their recorded works to date are only skimming the surface of what these guys are capable of. And now that we’ve put horrible, unfair pressure on them to produce, we’ll simply announce The Young have signed to Matador and shall begin recording their second album later this summer.