American Music Club

Now here's a strange group!

Despite the colorless name, American Music Club was anything but. Contemplative college rock that scans as the work of lots of familiar names—the enunciated stab of Michael Stipe, the stoned moroseness of J Mascis, the tightbeam aggression of Bob Mould, the patient storytelling of Will Oldham—but that settles into something that I can't quite finger.



One moment, they're channeling Prefab Sprout into Wilco's brand of Americana, the next they're troubadouring in a black box theater à la Elliot Smith and Red House Painters.

As obnoxious as it is to describe them through a series of RIYL comments, it's tricky to succinctly explain what they're like without turning to comparisons. Give them a listen for yourself and draw your own conclusions.