After the release of the career-spanning box set Capsule Losing Contact, which rounded up their surprisingly influential and popular ’90s recordings, the San Jose trio Duster could have faded back into the slowcore abyss, satisfied in knowing that their indelible sound had stood the test of time and had spread across a wider audience than ever before. They had other plans, though, and as the set was being readied, they were back in bandmember Clay Parton‘s garage working on new music. As they used to do, the group recorded live to tape while taking their sweet time to carefully build tracks out of space, fuzz, and restraint. The result is an album that stands on equal footing with their seminal recordings, while adding even more gloomy melody and downcast dynamics. The band resisted any urges to clean up their sound, and instead Duster is their grittiest, most defiantly lo-fi recording. Conjuring magic out of the scraping noise, staticky silence, buried vocals, and muffled drums, they tell stories of isolation, melancholy, and bummer times without resorting to raising their voices or jacking up the tempos.
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