When I pressed play on Albumen, I wasn’t surprised that it arrived via Seattle’s Eiderdown Records. The label has carved out a niche for releasing the kind of bizarro psychedelia that would never, under any circumstance, find its way onto commercial radio, unless maybe the DJ had a nervous breakdown and took the station hostage.
That’s why we love them.
Eiderdown’s catalog is the sonic equivalent of Hunter S. Thompson’s inner monologue: brash, slightly psychotic, and frequently nonsensical.
So, let’s talk about Albumen with some background first …
Albumen began as a throwaway idea on Mike Watt’s Watt From Pedro podcast: “Let’s trade some tracks.” Months later, experimental trumpeter Greg Kelley sent Watt a batch of solo pieces, and the Minutemen bassist responded in kind. Kelley looped in Hound Dog Taylor’s Hand bandmate John Seman, who expanded the barebones duets with the full Hound Dogs lineup: Jeffrey Taylor on guitar, Mark Ostrowski on drums, and violist Noel Kennon. What started as an exchange of files mutated into a fully formed ensemble record.
To call Albumen “more than the sum of its parts” undersells it, considering its DNA is already loaded with members of Minutemen, Climax Golden Twins, nmperign, and Hound Dog Taylor’s Hand. But the music does push outward from those pedigrees into a hazy zone of psychedelic improvisations that are by turns ominous and propulsive.
The record opens on a mellow note with “Paradise of the Sea” and “Rose of Shannon.” Noel Kennon’s viola lends both tracks a spectral beauty while Mark Ostroski’s drumming immediately stands out, hinting at free-jazz lineage. “Rose of Shannon” takes the more experimental path, with each instrument tugging in its own direction, yet somehow converging into a whole that feels cohesive yet unpredictable, like a delicate structure swaying but never toppling.
Things take a stranger turn with “No Wine Before Its Time.” The bass pushes to the forefront, guitar feedback howls louder, and glitchy textures, whether electronic or string-born, tilt the ground beneath our feet.
Then comes “Ritual Gesticulations,” the record’s nearly sixteen-minute vortex. Calling it a centerpiece feels misleading, since from the outset it’s clear that any sense of balance is rapidly collapsing. Kelley’s trumpet plays in manic bursts, engulfed by a lunatic swirl of sound that channels the disorientation of a panic attack. The track traps the listener inside its padded cell, straitjacketed by repetition and chaos. You can scream if you’d like, but the speakers keep blaring, and no one is coming to open the door.
By the time the closer “Be That As It May” arrives, it feels like coming up for air after the chaos: pulse slowing, the anxiety lifting. It’s the most conventional rocker on the record, and for that reason, it might be the most satisfying. The rhythm section locks into a driving groove while Taylor’s guitar slashes away in its characteristically skewed fashion.
Despite the lingering drone and experimental edge, there’s a looseness here that edges toward stoner rock territory. It’s the one track that practically begs to be blasted on a long highway drive.
Albumen is not for the faint of heart. In fact, it may not be safe for human consumption at all. This is the kind of record that makes suburban soccer moms clutch their pearls and televangelists sweat through polyester suits.
It’s NSFW, NSFL, and probably NSF-the-planet. Listening to it feels like opening Pandora’s box and watching the evils of the world come slithering out through a feedback pedal.
If America’s moral guardians ever caught wind of this, it would be condemned on the Senate floor, burned in church parking lots, and cited as the primary reason for the collapse of Western civilization.
Which is precisely why you should listen to it.
Albumen is due for release via Eiderdown Records on October 3rd.
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