The five grievous angels who comprise Motel Motel steal the candlelight, bali hai wine, shotguns and steam trains from forlorn honky-tonkers like Gram Parsons and ... (more) Townes Van Zandt and escape without being smothered by the alt-country label. Unlike their more direly nostalgic peers, New York-based Motel Motel imbue the gothic storytelling of their forebears with a nubile energy that suggests they're living just as hard but having more fun. Eric Engel's ecstatic tremolo invites semi-relevant comparisons to The Cave Singers and Timo Sullivan's raucous stage presence places them solidly in the aesthetic pantheon of contemporaries like Dr. Dog and Drug Rug. Literate, classic, occasionally baroque; Motel Motel isn't riding a wave or clinging stalwartly to a movement so much as they're hunkering down for a long run at rock relevance.
Tricky fucker, that Dax Riggs. First he comes out of hibernation in late 2005, releases the first new Deadboy and the Elephantmen album in three years with a female drummer in tow, tours the shit out of it, disappears again, then nixes the Deadboy name to release this follow-up to We Are Night Sky under his own (ghoulish) moniker. Working with Matt Sweeney (Chavez, Zwan, Early Man, El-P) has definitely helped focus Riggs’ soundâ€â€where Night Sky bristled and buzzed with manic energy uncontained, We Sing of Only Blood or Love is certainly sleeker-sounding. As ever, though, it’s Riggs’ unmistakable world-weary wail packed with old blues imagery (rivers, death, slowly rolling heartache), tweaked by his own special surrealism (exploding moons, demons tied to chairs) that make these bubbling swamp serenades sound so odd and enjoyable. - Daniel Lukes, Decibel Magazine