Trummors

Reader, we’ve learned over the past ten or so years that there are many, many perks that come along with living in New York City. Obviously there are detrimental or not-so-lovely things about this bustling city as well—for instance, grocery store aisles are not only bizarrely narrow but are also being stocked day and night, making it impossible to actually purchase foodstuffs; in high summer the city smells of putrid trash and dying dreams and radiates an impossible amount of heat and humidity; and, finally, it’s not exactly easy on the emotional psyche to be surrounded by concrete, speeding cars, and a great lack of nature constantly (I think the most we’ve seen of wildlife in recent times was when a pigeon carrying a rat landed on our studio windowsill…it was terrifying).

So another thing we’ve learned is that, to live healthily in this city, you need to leave it on a fairly regular basis. Step out of the non-stop flow that, while it fuels the very energy that makes this city what it is, proves exhausting at times.

But it’s not always easy to get out of the city, which is one of many reasons that we like the debut album from Trummors, Over and Around the Clove. It provides a kind of aural day trip off the cracked asphalt sidewalks of the city that plops you down in the middle of the upstate woods, walking stick in hand. Simple, seemingly familiar guitar lines, politely quiet rhythms, and voices that sound older than they should guide you through a virtual folksy spa, gently massaging away your emotional urban baggage. Ahhhhhhhhh. Or, as Alternative Press’ recent review puts it, “(a)n album made for listening while you stare from your back porch (or apartment window) as the sun sets, Over and Around the Clove is the latest proof that the well of traditional American music is truly bottomless.”