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Sounding like a spritely Jullian Lennon, wearing man leggings and a loose fitting puffy shirt, Hospital take jazz hands into the 23rd century. Now, I'm not one to show off my interpretive dance prowess, OH WHO AM I KIDDING OF COURSE I AM, CHECK THIS PLIE INTO A DOUBLE HALF CARTWHEEL ROUND OFF BITCHES! Ok, fine, I'm one to show off my limberness and shit. But Hospital's new bag "Louder" is one of those tracks where you start calmly nodding your head like in A Night at the Roxbury, but then about 56 seconds in you've found yourself with your leg wrapped around a banister and a pair of leg warmers yanked all the way up to your fucking grundle. You're fabulous bro. Just look at you. If I was a betting man, and I'm fucking NOT, I'd wager this Hospital outfit is set to be THRUST onto...

My favorite thing about Zavala, besides the pretty twinkle shimmers the dude bathes me in, is his ability to make me smile while confused. I never know where dude is going, and I always assume he's lost, but then I open my eyes and "holy fuck, we're hear!". See that? That was a play on words bro. We're "HEAR"? CMON. CLAP. JUST CLAP AT THE WORDS ON THE PAGE BRO. GO.  Zavala's production has always been borderline cinematic chase scene, but as the dude ages it seems more like he's branching out into the apocalyptic ceremonial bonfire soundtrack like we all had hoped. "Turns Off" is completely unexpected, and as you wait for the beat to drop in some form or another, you notice all the swirling pretty birds and shit, but when it DOES drop, it drops in a way you never expected. But...

If you haven't been paying attention, I probably love Ryley Walker more than the birds that he allows to nest in his hair.  That dirty loveable hippie. Okay, so I don't know for a fact that he is dirty...or even a hippie, but I can't help thinking that he has a soul that is in tune with nature. The dude in interviews just seems like a free spirit...whatever that means....and it translates into his songs. Folky. Jazzy. Jammy. Patchouli.  OH MY GOD....he has me talking liking a hippy. I CAN'T HELP IT THOUGH. I'm going to go wash out my mouth with soap that looks like a block beeswax. 

Gregory Alan Isakov - Liars (Ft. Colorado Symphony Orchestra): This may be the most important song I'll urge you to listen to this week because I'll be reviewing this album closer to the release date. I have two rules though: 1. Find a moment when you are feeling reflective for your first listen 2. Listen to the whole thing because the build will bust your pants open.  Car Seat Headrest - Fill In The Blank: Yeah, I know everybody is all over this band's balls right now and especially their 'Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales' track, which is so tits, BUT if you still need a prod to check out their recently released album then allow me to introduce 'Fill In The Blank' to your holes. Talk about a perfect 'start and stop' first track. The National - Morning Dew: This Grateful Dead tribute album has...

I fucking love Kauf. I fucking love how his songs sound like he dropped a metal bowl of slinkys and marbles onto a hollow wooden floor and then recorded the flitters and skitters and then records whispery sexy vocals over them and all of a sudden I'm shimmying in a hunched over position and humping an ass made of my imagination. Yes. That sentence was supposed to feel like that bro. Kauf, once again, murders "A Ruin", and it's essentially four different tracks all smooshed together into one long missive about trying to hurry up to party with me. That's just what this dude writes about. He writes about having tacos out on some veranda overlooking some futuristic metropolis, yes, but he wants to share the salsa bar with me bros.  Everyone eat all of the shit, me and Kauf are...

Wait for it. Listen.  Shut the fuck up and listen you dick.  This is The Killers into a bunch of 30 Seconds to Mars crowd chants leading into some motherfucking Kings of Leon vocals and ALL I WANNA DO IS PLAY THESE AIR DRUMS LIKE IT'S MY ONLY FUCKING JOB! AAAAAAHHHHHHH! Whoever the fuck Gang of Youths are, they've shown the rest of my co-workers my sweat drenched armpits because I ain't putting these fucking hands down until I pass the fuck out. "Strange Diseases" is one fucking hell of an introduction to a sound that sounds like all of my favorite aspects of my favorite current bands.  Jesus balls on the back of a baby blue miata I don't want this song to fucking end. 

So Thom Byles is now Hanging Valleys. I don't fucking care. I'll call the dude Cupcake if he asked me to. Either way, DUDE DROPPED A NEW SINGLE AND I'M ALL THE FUCK OVER IT.  "Endless Wave" builds and breaks like an endless, um, wave. (DAMNIT!) That fucking galloping pick out, with the thumb thumping steady, and the reverb on the accompanying guitar make the entire song a lullaby that doesn't just put me at ease, it makes me want to walk into oncoming traffic and flip cars as they try and pass by.  When the electric guitar finally chimes in I'm already a puddle on the fucking floor, writhing in beautiful syncopation and patience.  I'll go head and say it, just so you can acknowledge it and move the fuck on, but Hanging Valleys sounds like Bon Iver without the nose in the air and...

Audego always makes me feel like I'm walking through a Bjork video, but I don't have jewels on my eyelids and shit. The sugar snap crackle of their beats is always beautifully adorned with perfect vocals and an atmosphere that's both soothing and sexually charged. Audego's eroticism is almost overlooked because of how fucking smooth their shit sounds when layered on top of itself, but holy fucking herky jerky pop lockin' deliciousness, they keep dropping sick singles. "Motions" is yet another example of their fluid motherfucking audible geometry. If I had to pick one of my favorite throats in music today, it'd go to Audego hands down. That whispered rasp that's spmehow the furthest thing from cliche is so fucking gorgeous I'd almost rather hang it on my wall than have it see me shower...

Trails and Ways are so fucking WEIRD. It's like it's an amazing scented afterbath lotion, but it's also got eyeballs and teeth. Just when you get comfortable and start feelins all up on yourselves, shit gets creepy. It's like sitting down to masturbate and getting about 15 minutes in before you realize there's a guitar player standing in front of you and he's MELTING YOUR FACE OFF, yet casually allowing you to continue your quest towards climax (quimax). "My Things" sounds like something I'd put on the hifi, walk away from, begin cleaning, and then realize I'm in the mood for self-lovin', so I'd take MANtters into my own hand and all of a sudden, THERE'S THAT DUDE PLAYING GUITAR RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE JERKCHAIR! WHAT THE FUCK TRAILS AND WAYS, HOW DID YOU DO THIS?