There is a quiet seething barely contained on the newest from Jaye Jayle that creates a sense of brooding tension that never lets up. What Jaye Jayle do so well is to play in that place where the storm is always about to crash down, where the moment is always imminent. There is a visceral sort of country or folk twang here informed by the indie ambient musings of Jaye Jayle helmsman Evan Patterson that evokes a kind of Leonard Cohen or Nick Cave feel, that quiet and icy cool where you can practically taste the tobacco hanging in the air, the smoke a screen between audience and listener. This is cinematic stuff perfect for the sort of modern western that someone like Nicolas Winding Refn might direct, and it’s pitch perfect.
Jaye Jayle: House Cricks and Other Excuses to Get Out