The debut album by CHRIS ROSE is deceptively simple and way more lysergic than Kevin Ayers, utilizing the sort of neo-noir narratives that you expect to hear from Neil Michael Hagerty, James Jackson Toth, Kurt Vile and other keen observers. Voice, guitar, some noisy shit, whatever. His playing is sick -- fluid, unforced, warm, soothed and soothing. It’s a bath you don’t want to exit.
