Atlanta art punks Warehouse established their sophomore release super low as one of the most intriguing records of the year through the string of dense yet startlingly lithe singles that preceded its release.
Each transmission from their Georgian base hinted at the expanding nature of the band’s scope: nuances appeared in vocalist Elaine Edenfield’s guttural howl, an even fleeter-of-finger elasticity could be found in the bass work of Josh Hughes, while meticulously intertwined, Sterolab-esque guitar work of Ben Jackson and Alex Bailey reached an even more arresting plain of inventiveness.
The aforementioned, brazenly individual vocal approach of Edenfield almost serves as an example of Warehouse’s singular potency in microcosm. Her gravelly barks act as an emblem of the kind of brutality we expect from post-punk, but as she careens between cement mixer mode and a more vulnerable warble, she draws into stark relief the frailty, loss and soul-searching in the lyrics that could – in less capable hands – veer towards the distancingly oblique.
This is music unfettered by the expectations or the tastes of the day, a remarkably melodic gut-punch that could only be born at a certain remove from established industry hubs of either coast. Bracing and stridently unique; super low’s peculiarity and artfulness demands one’s attention throughout.
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