Lotus is more George Duke than J. Dilla here, invoking the spirit of psychedelic jazz for an ambitious exploration of death, and whatever may happen after.
Sean Rowe is able to spend weeks in the woods, foraging a living for himself.
Band mates swarmed the bar like bloated flies trying to score booger sugar from anyone with ears. It seemed as vital to get through the night as air.
The bottlerockets return to their punk rock throne with a Fat sophomore album that rings clean and tight, just as we have come to expect.
I know that with kids, you're supposed to show pride in everything they do. Teenage Bottlerocket is not my child, but they are near and dear to my heart.