Brian Jin

Brian Jin’s latest is a wild, lovingly mismatched collection of odds & sods — the musical equivalent of a drawer full of treasures you forgot you owned, but now can’t stop playing.

From the raucous, Sun Records-meets-Little Richard rockabilly strut of “The Lost & Found” (where Bubba, Mongoose, Baby, and Mama’s hounds all end up in the same gloriously confused place), to the lush, sleepless, London-haunted orchestral drift of “Venus” (an outtake from A HUSH FALLING OVER THE WEST, that still won’t let you close your eyes), this album refuses to sit still.

There’s fuzzy slide guitar exorcism (“Drowning the Slidebeast”), a snarling Brit-rock “Candyman (Not Candygram)”, featuring Karnevor on vocals, the 25-year bridesmaid finally getting her moment in “I’m Not Asking”, sneaky Latin-tinged bedroom mischief in “Kitty Kat”, and the lone-wolf howl of Nick’s “The Lone Wolf” (Robert Johnson + Tom Waits + Judas Priest, but backwards).

Add in a Steely Dan-inspired jazz instrumental (“Strange Eyebrows”), synth comedy-sketch space vibes (“Space Station 11”), and the title track’s hypnotic, ringing-out mandolin/harmonica confession, and you’ve got an album that’s equal parts nostalgic, subversive, tender, and just plain strange.

Recorded in living rooms, real studios, and who-knows-where-else across Missouri and beyond.
Dig through the lost & found.
Some secret words are worth hearing.