I'm not going to pretend like I know anything about Neil Michael Hagerty and the Howling Hex. I'm 44 years old and merely weird, not cool. A week or so ago a tape arrived in the mail and I played it as I drove around this mid-sized southern city to which I've been exiled. I enjoyed the strange sounds and the oompah-oompah beat. It made me feel as though I was somewhere else and someone else. The tape is longer than most, 44 minutes. At times it sounds like a soundtrack for a film made from dark matter, the mysterious stuff that comprises 70 percent of our universe and is causing it to expand at an increasingly rapid pace. Some believe that this stuff holds the universe's fate, that all that is known and perceivable will spread and spread until it's all just cold nothingness. I'll be long dead by then. You will, too. When the rhythms return, it makes sense again to be driving a car around a city in the South. Sometimes it makes me wonder, when did the Shriners discover acid? Near the end of side two I can hear birdies singing, and low industrial sounds, and, in the distance, lovely synthesized angels. I did some internet searching and found that Neil Michael Haggerty has been around for a long time, and that if I were truly hip, I would know about him. I don't care. Next wake-and-bake road trip, this will blast from the deck.
OSR has the goods for eight measly bucks.