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To set up an interview with Rrest, or get your hands on press passes, advance music, hi-res photos, album art or videos, contact stevelabate@babyrobotmedia.com.

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Awash in warm fuzz, its crackling lo-fi static raining down like volcano ash, the self-titled debut from Atlanta’s Rrest is a contemplative affair—a fluid collection of post-2 a.m. summer night-driving anthems and searching, smoke-wispy ballads that will launch you into a rich interior world where the movie of the self flickers numbly, endlessly across the backs of the eyelids.

Rrest  is an endearingly sedate, tumbledown collection of what frontman/songwriter Wes Ables and multi-instrumentalist Andrew Teems call “weird, druggy, depresso pop songs.” Weary and mysterious in equal measure, full of blessed broken guitars and a vibey carousel of gutter-cheap electronics, the duo’s new full-length debut is a feast of dreamy dope-smug shoegaze ballads and droning, acoustic-anchored gloom pop.

“We were just free with this record—we acted on spontaneous emotion,” Ables says. “It’s more of a feeling than anything intelligible or thought-out. We were trying to capture the urgency and newness of these songs, recording them as fast as we could, no matter how shitty the equipment.”

The band, admittedly, was not going for perfection (as evidenced by all the gorgeously imperfect moments on the new album). That said, recording at home allowed them ample time to chase their strange muses and whatever esoteric sounds they could dream up. And if their sonic experiments didn’t yield the results they were looking for, there was no reason to rush or force anything—they’d just take off down a new path to see what eureka moments they might shake loose from the electro-folk ether.

The resulting set of wistful, mostly melancholic pop gems does feature a few roll-down-the-widows summer jams, but not in the typical sense. “To be honest,” Ables of says the occasionally candy-coated record, “a lot of it—even the more upbeat stuff—is pretty bleak, lyrically.”

The muted, monochromatic Rrest  deals with both trials and triumphs, though it skews heavily toward the former. “Life is a constant battle,” Ables says. “These songs are about failure mostly. With relationships. But I didn’t get too intimate with the details.”

The subject matter is of a piece with the Rrest  singer’s detached vocal delivery. “I can’t help it,” Ables says, flashing a grin. “I’m constantly, heartbrokenly depressed—which is great for writing songs.”

“With this record,” Teems says, “as much as we tried to fight it, we just couldn’t stop making these weird, dark pop songs. So we finally embraced it. It’s what we do best.”

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Over the past decade, Gringo Star have made a name for themselves as one of Atlanta’s most valuable rock & roll exports, carrying the torch for hazy, psychedelic garage rock in a city primarily valued for its contributions to hip-hop. Gringo Star have outlasted wave after wave of buzz bands and indie blog darlings, carving their own career path through constant reinvention and an unparalleled work ethic, amassing a loyal and enthusiastic international fanbase along the way. Their mind-bending take on doo-wop inspired R&B and British Invasion rock & roll has garnered praise from the likes of Pitchfork, Consequence of Sound, Paste Magazine, KEXP & more, and landed them on bills alongside everyone from Cat Power and Feist to The Black Angels and Weezer, not to mention tours with Wavves, And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead, and their Atlanta-based contemporaries Black Lips.

Having reached their ten year anniversary, Gringo Star decided it was time to commemorate their career thus far by doing something they’d never done before: it was time to release their first live album. “A lot of my favorite records are old live albums and we’ve always wanted to have a live representation of what we do,” says vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Nick Furgiuele.

Coming this summer via Baby Robot Records, Gringo Star’s Controlled Burn is a 14-track live album recorded at The Earl, one of Atlanta’s premier rock & roll clubs, in September of 2018. The career-spanning setlist serves as a 10 year retrospective, compiling popular singles and deep cuts from all of their albums into one frenzied, sweaty celebration of Gringo Star’s music, performed before a rabid hometown audience.

From the opening of “Mr. Mystery,” off of 2018’s Back to the City, there’s a palpable electricity that permeates all of Controlled Burn. The band’s comfort on stage, honed over the course of thousands of shows, shines throughout the record as they allow the energy of the performance to flow unobstructed, speeding up and slowing down as the moment commands, but never falling out of sync with one another. This confidence is bolstered by the contributions from guitarist/backing vocalist Joshua Longino, violinist David Claassen, keyboardist/guitarist/percussionist Spencer Pope, and drummer Mario Colangelo who makes his recording debut with Gringo Star after touring with the band since 2017.

Newer tracks like 2018’s “La La La” are performed with as much passion as crowd favorites like “Make You Mine” off 2011’s Count Yer Lucky Stars, and are received with equal fervor by their fans. The diversity of the band’s sound is calculated and stands as one of the main reasons Gringo Star continues to shine. Guitarist/vocalist Peter Furgiuele says, “Throughout all of our albums, we’ve always been on a steady progression. We’ve been writing in basically the same way since we started, but with each record we’ve refined the process and have always pushed to try something new on each record. We just don’t want to ever repeat ourselves.”

Though 2008’s All Y’all serves as the start of Gringo Star’s storied career, the band’s core songwriting duo, the Furgiuele brothers, have been playing together since they were kids, born into a family with strong ties to Georgia music history. “Our grandad started out in radio in the ’40s and ’50s in Columbus, Ga.,” Nick explains. “He was a huge promoter of R&B back when it was still super segregated, and he was playing black music and putting on shows with Little Stevie Wonder, James Brown, Sam Cooke & the Soul Stirrers, a lot of Gospel shows. So we grew up hearing all these stories, listening to all this music. Our grandfather was inducted into the Georgia Music Hall of Fame posthumously. And my grandma—all her photo albums are like Jackie Wilson shirtless backstage, hanging out.”

With their family’s R&B connections and their young obsession with early rock & roll, it wasn’t long before the two brothers started making music themselves. When Nick was 15 and Peter just 11, they picked up bass and drums, respectively, formed a rhythm section and joined their first garage band. “We played together in the house and messed around on a little two-track,” Nick says. “We’ve been writing songs together since before Peter was a teenager. We even played his 8th-grade dance.”

Eventually, the brothers formed Gringo Star and began the career that has come to define their last decade. All Y’all and Count Yer Lucky Stars forced the world to pay attention. 2013’s Floating Out To See found the band experimenting with producing their own records and layering more keys and strings into their compositions. 2016’s The Sides and In Between contained some of the finest songwriting of the Furgiuele’s career, and 2018’s Back to the City reinvigorated their sound with a new intensity, equally dark and shimmering.

Despite multiple personnel changes, Nick and Peter have remained steadfast in their partnership, continuing to stand by one another through thick and thin in their artistic endeavours. There’s no telling what comes next for Gringo Star, but there’s no doubt that the Furgiuele brothers will continue to write and record on their own terms. “We’ve had a lot of opportunities over the past ten years. If we had an idea about something we wanted to, we did it,” says Nick. “I can’t think of a single thing I’d change.

“Draws on their scruffy garage rock beginnings and their proven ability to emotionally eclipse whatever genres they’ve been tagged with over the past decade. The surfy, swiftly-plucked guitar solos speak to the romance of a band who believes in providing late-night euphoria for the lonely, the exultant, the wistful and the drunk. Long live Gringo Star and long live The Earl.” – Paste Magazine

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Whether battling valiantly from behind the enemy lines of his dive-bar-underground past or blowing the doors off sold-out theaters as he’s done with Drive-By Truckers for the last decade, Mike Cooley has proved his mettle time and time again. He’s rock & roll incarnate—Mick and Keith rolled into one impossibly cool, soul-howling, guitar rattlin’ ball of genuine unapologetic grit and swagger. At least that’s how it seems gazing up from the crowd at a packed DBT show.

So how did this modern-day rock hero feel about temporarily ditching his band and rolling back the volume for the unaccompanied acoustic performances that would become his debut solo record, The Fool on Every Corner?

“When you don’t do it normally, it’s terrifying,” Cooley admits. “I try to relax, but I’ll probably never be able to sit down in a chair on stage as easily as I sit down on a toilet behind a closed door. That’s the goal—somewhere in between,” he deadpans. “I set the bar high.”

Despite his bad nerves and tongue-in-cheek penchant for self-deprecation, Cooley shines on this bare-bones live set, tossing aside his guitar pick and playing almost everything with his fingers. “Strip it, strip it, strip it down,” he says, alluding to the mantra that guided these performances. “What’s left is the song and nothing else.”

And what a set of songs Fool is, comprised mainly of re-imagined DBT classics like “Shut Up and Get on the Plane,” “Marry Me” and “Where the Devil Don’t Stay,” as well as understated renditions of deep-cut Cooley ballads such as “Pulaski,” “Eyes Like Glue” and the weary yet ominous “Loaded Gun in the Closet.” This intimate new record offers fans a peek behind the curtain at what these songs might have sounded like in their most nascent state. All of them save for opener “3 Dimes Down,” Cooley says, were originally written on acoustic. “The words just come out easier when you play an acoustic guitar,” he explains.

The Fool on Every Corner was recorded by longtime DBT producer David Barbe during a three-show run last March, beginning with a two-night stand at no-frills Atlanta rock club The Earl and closing at swank Athens, Ga., venue The Melting Point. “The second show at The Earl was a chaotic night,” Cooley recalls. “We didn’t have the audience seated, for one thing. Of course, you can pack a lot more people in there if you have ’em standing, but for acoustic shows, I prefer to sit ’em down and calm ’em down if I can.”

This proved an impossibility in the boisterous barroom.

“I was thinking, ‘We’re not gonna get anything outta tonight. The crowd is just too loud.’” As it turns out, almost everything that ended up on Fool came from that rowdy night. “It’s that way every time I’ve ever recorded live,” Cooley says, shaking his head. “The night you think bombed or wasn’t as good, inevitably, will be the one that comes across best on the recording.”

Peppered throughout this gem of a record are Cooley’s charmingly candid asides, a few revealing admissions about the writing process, the songs and the characters who populate them, the odd banjo joke, a disarmingly sweet cover of Charlie Rich’s “Behind Closed Doors” and the never-before-released original, “Drinking Coke and Eating Ice.” The latter—an almost-whispered tragicomic reflection—was included, Cooley says, because he wanted to offer something new for fans. Plus, it was something he’d been wanting to get off his chest. Carved from a hodgepodge of ideas he’d been scribbling down over a two-year period, the DBT guitarist sees the song as a metaphor for the last 25 years of American culture and where it’s gone. “The girl in the beginning is America,” he says. “She doesn’t look as good as she used to. She’s let herself go. For all the wrong reasons.”

Like the weathered protagonist in “Drinking Coke,” the 46-year-old Cooley has also seen his share of hard-traveled miles, though the outcome for him has been decidedly more positive. After spending much of his young life scrapping in the rock & roll trenches, he’s become one of the best songwriters of his generation, having amassed a catalog of songs that can go toe-to-toe with any of his contemporaries. Along the way, he and Drive-By Truckers have become an acclaimed, enduring lynchpin of American rock & roll. And now, with The Fool on Every Corner, Cooley begins the latest chapter in his impressive career, uncompromising as always, and more thankful than ever.

“I’m lucky as hell,” he says. “No doubt about it. I’m not rich, I’m probably not gonna be, and I’m totally cool with that. But I’m making my living, and I do what I want—I do it my way. I’ve got an awesome family, a bunch of great friends, loyal fans. And I think about that every day. It just would be immoral for me not to.”

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Greg Porn is a revolutionary.

Porn’s new mixtape, Amerikin Junkie (out March 5), follows his critically acclaimed series of collaborations with hip-hop legends The Roots. This impressive body of work spans the group’s last four records, from 2006’s Game Theory to last year’s powerful concept album Undun. The Philadelphia-born emcee spins dark poetry in endless webs, ensnaring listeners in complex metaphors and running threads while his rhymes creep in for a kill you can’t help but look forward to.

Amerikin Junkie is not a typical debut for a hip-hop artist, but Greg Porn is not a typical hip-hop artist. Amerikin Junkie is a statement; a genre-bending creation that explores what it is to be hip-hop, to be American—to be Greg Porn.

“At a certain point, I realized I couldn’t please everybody,” Porn says. “When that happened, I started not giving a fuck anymore. I believe in karma, so I try to put out good vibes, and I get good back. But when it starts to feel like I’m only getting bad coming back at me, it throws me off. I had to insulate myself—I had to get into what I really like. I can’t please everybody, so I decided that whatever leaves fall off this particular tree when the season changes about me, that’s what I have to deal with. And I was cool with that.

“Once I was in this new headspace, friends, family and whoever else—if you couldn’t accept me for who I was, then we keep it moving. I started looking back at myself, not in comparison to everybody else, butinto what I was doing. And from there I was able to find this new sense of realism, a new sense of what it is to be an artist, a writer, a human being.”

Porn points to groundbreaking TV series like Curb Your Enthusiasm, Girls and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia as unexpected sources of inspiration. “It’s a different sense of comedy,” he says. “The days of sitcoms and laugh tracks are over with. And that realization put pressure on me—I had to find my artistic craft in that. What I’m saying has to be timeless or work in some progressive fashion. And with Amerikin Junkie, we got there.”

In line with his shifting perspective, Porn decided to leave behind the safe and familiar confines of Roots producer Larry Gold’s studio, where he’d always recorded in the past. It was an essential move on his journey to discover the cutting-edge sounds he was seeking. Not that the old studio wasn’t state-of-the-art, it’s just that you can’t create a set of songs like Amerikin Junkie with a safety net.

“As a solo artist,” Porn says, “it never came together as a whole idea until I started working at Mike Jerz Studio with Mike and Ali Bey [of BeatKhemist]. They were able to bring my ideas to life.”

With these two gifted producers (and Porn’s cousin Damion Ward) taking turns at the helm, Amerikin Junkie is a seedy, street-wise affair—eclectic, shot through with world-class hooks yet slathered in the hyperreal grime Porn has come to crave. “It’s reality music,” he says of his inventive yet unpretentious album. “Up in your face, lyrical—super lyrical—but easy to digest.”

Greg Porn is a paradox; his rhymes are built like a mad professor’s chalkboard scrawls—intricate, full of symbolism and nuance—but when the lights go on, everything is in its right place. Each verse of Amerikin Junkie is a cinematic rendering, a glimpse into Porn’s clandestine and often shocking world. Every track is a hedonistic platter of angst, offered up in the lifer emcee’s instantly identifiable tone and cadence, his delivery alternately nihilistic and affecting as he recounts pulpy Bukowski-esque tales of excess and debauchery, fingering the jagged grain of addiction—not necessarily to transcend it, but to embrace it as an essential part of the human experience.

Sex, drugs, love, pain, money, power, success, comfort—“Everybody’s addicted to something,” Porn says, meditating on the impulses behind Amerikin Junkie. “It’s human nature. That’s how capitalism works, it’s the underlying current that fuels life. You have to eat, you know? That’s just animal nature. Your body needs it. But life has become so much about convenience and customer service; making people feel more comfortable and user-friendly, and with these things it’s about feeding people’s need to be coddled, their need to be pleased or pleasured or entertained. And some people get entertainment out of different things in life. Some people are chasing money, and some people are spending money. That’s what I see. Addiction is what makes the world go-round.”

From its screaming-demon loops channeling Wu-Tang’s rawest bars (“Dot”) to its fresh-faced guest spots (Freeway, Nikki Jean, Suzanne Christina, Patti Crash) Junkie is raw, real, cool. Its creator Greg Porn is no flash-in-the-club, he’s an artist—one with something fresh to say and a brain-bending way of unspooling it from his tongue. As a member of The Legendary Roots Crew and a longtime cohort of emcees Black Thought, Dice Raw, Truck North and STS in The Money Making Jam Boys, he’s got cred worldwide. He’s unashamed, unafraid. A master of his own reality, ready to spit lucid truth as fast as he experiences it. Greg Porn is a man who has realized his own place in hip-hop. He’s been on the inside too long, he knows what he must do next and he doesn’t care what bridges burn. And that makes him, quite possibly, the most dangerous man in the industry.

“The music is starting to really crack,” Porn says. “This is just the beginning…”

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Moody, hushed, pensive, Centro-Matic and South San Gabriel frontman Will Johnson’s new album Scorpion stings softly—the raw, off-the-cuff music an unexpected cradle for his expressive whisper. Listening to this record is an experience akin to the healing solitude of a pre-dawn stroll through a mostly silent forest, arriving at the top of a mountain peak just in time for the sun’s first rays to break over the horizon. Understated polyrhythms emerge and vanish as mysteriously as they appear. At turns, the wistful music becomes momentarily discordant, anxiety building toward sigh, release, resignation—the redemption of letting go.

On Scorpion, Johnson registers the subtle vibrations of family, love, isolation, spirituality and wonder with the seismograph eyes of a keen, immeasurably sensitive artist perched inconspicuously on the periphery of a rich, tumultuous world that’s at once sad, beautiful and vibrant—alive with the serene poetry of his lyrics, and the thick-swathed oil colors of his sonic paintbrush.

Scorpion is Johnson’s first solo album in eight years, an arresting polaroid of five consecutive days spent recording on the wooded outskirts of Denton, Texas, at the studio of longtime bandmate, producer and engineer Matt Pence. It was a midwinter session, the vibe reflected in the rippling pool of the title song’s lyrics: “War is woven in our touch, there’s promise in our sleep / The warmth is strangled by the clutch of winter’s long release.”

Through 16 years of making music together in Centro-Matic and beyond, Johnson and Pence have developed the ability to complete each other’s musical sentences. “Matt and I lock in so well,” Johnson says. “His instincts and ideas really serve the songs, and his patience and positivity are unmatched.”

Also lending their skills to Scorpion are multi-instrumentalists Scott Danbom (Centro-Matic, South San Gabriel, Sarah Jaffe), Howard Draper (Tre Orsi, Shearwater, Okkervil River) and Magnolia Electric Company’s Mikey Kapinus.

Unlike Centro-Matic’s Candidate Waltz or Johnson’s last solo album Vultures Await (both of which were written well in advance and recorded using carefully conceived arrangements), Scorpion documents the genesis and germination of its songs. “A lot of them,” Johnson says, “were written in the studio, right then and there, in the moment. I enjoy the capturing those initial gut reactions in songwriting. It doesn’t always work, but when it does, there’s so much emotion—you capture the song in such a raw, unique form.” This bold, unrehearsed approach lends an urgency to the record. There’s a beauty, an unvarnished truth, to its rough edges.

On “Bloodkin Push” and “It Goes Away so Fast,” Johnson channels the spirit of Harvest-era Neil Young with his forlorn acoustic-guitar strumming and high, breathy harmonies. And the influence of Johnson’s late friend—revered singer/songwriter Vic Chesnutt—can be felt in the warbling minor-key melodies and unconventional phrasing of “Blackest Sparrow,” kin to Chesnutt tunes such as “Panic Pure” and “Sad Peter Pan.”

Of all the subject matter Johnson grapples with on Scorpion, family relationships and the idea of home—as a place of both struggle and refuge—are at the core. Before there was a record industry, before there were fashionable trends in music and pop culture, folk musicians wrote about family and community.

“Breathe a loud release, and sing a newer hymn for newer days, my homeward son,” Johnson murmurs on “Bloodkin Push.” “No lament my homeward son, often you have come to sit beside me in silent ways / Every now and then a twitch, a scrape, just to err in silence of newer place.”

As artists grow older and become parents, explains Johnson, who had his first child last year, they take finer notes on those things very close to home that are important to them. “You start to see the world in a different way,” he says, “And for me, it’s impossible for that not to seep into my writing. Even if it’s doesn’t dominate things, it’s going to color them.

“The family is valuable and enriching subject terrain,” he continues. “But a lot of artists are afraid to go down that road. Which is understandable. You don’t necessarily want to lay everything out on the table. That said, it’s pulling at you for a reason, and I think there’s a cleansing that can come through facing it and writing about it.”

While several record labels were interested in picking up Scorpion, Johnson ultimately decided to cut out the middle man (just as Centro-Matic did with Candidate Waltz) and self-release the album direct to fans. With this DIY approach, he says, “there’s an accountability factor—if something goes wrong, or there’s a snag, you can easily trace and correct it. I’m a hands-on individual. I think it’s important for me to learn how to do this on my own. And it allows me to keep the team small, which I like. It’s a more efficient way to operate.”

When Johnson isn’t touring or recording with his main projects Centro-Matic and South San Gabriel, making solo records or working on his visual art (his folk-style paintings have been displayed in galleries from Texas to New York), the prolific renaissance man keeps busy with a slew of notable side projects. He’s the touring drummer for indie supergroup Monsters of Folk, featuring M. Ward, My Morning Jacket’s Jim James and Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst. He’s got a debut full-length on the way from Overseas, his new collaboration with former Pedro the Lion frontman David Bazan and brothers Matt and Bubba Kadane of The New Year. And this past February saw the release of New Multitudes, a long-in-the-works Woody Guthrie Archives project featuring Johnson, Jim James, Anders Parker and Son Volt’s Jay Farrar.

In between all this action, Johnson is hitting the road this fall in support of Scorpion, playing a mix of traditional club shows, art-space gigs and intimate acoustic living-room sets, with a goal of breaking down the barrier between audience and performer. “I plan to keep it as paired down and artist-to-fan related as possible,” he says. “Shows are always more memorable when they happen on strange neutral turf.”

Johnson will be heading out first with his friend and New Multitudes collaborator Anders Parker (with whom he’s toured living rooms in the past), and then, in November, he heads to Europe for a powerhouse tour featuring three distinct singer/songwriters—himself, The Hold Steady’s Craig Finn and Drive-By Truckers frontman Patterson Hood. “The mutual fanship thing is pretty full throttle in that camp,” Johnson says. “With our history together, I think we’ll be able to make a pretty cool show out of it.”

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