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Austin power trio Troller fuse fuzz bass, heavy analog electronics, and cinematic sound design into a simmering eight-song exorcism on their full-length Relapse debut Drain. Led by bassist and singer Amber Star-Goers, the line-up includes synthesist and rhythm programmer Adam Jones (of S U R V I V E), and guitarist and engineer Justin Star-Goers channeling their heaviest and most haunted currents into damaged anthems of wounded grandeur. Conspiring world events were ultimately a blessing as the pandemic forced the group to hunker down and fine-tune their practice space into a full recording studio. The result is multi-dimensional amplifier worship tinged with the stains of witch house, gothic pop and industrial shoegaze. Drain is both the sound of end times, and new beginnings.

Itโ€™s indeed an album of firsts: the first Troller LP entirely self-produced and mixed in-house; the first to feature guitar; and the first to fuse writing and recording into a seamless exploratory process. Despite the musicโ€™s electronic underpinning, it heaves with the texture and turmoil of live performance, honed across the bandโ€™s many years on stage. โ€œOut Backโ€ and โ€œRat Nestโ€ drift shadowy and liminal, like underworld torch songs, while โ€œLust In Usโ€ and the title track tilt and teeter in downward purgatories of smeared synth, screwed drum machinery, and fractured guitar. Amber Star-Goers wields her voice like a sacred weapon, alternately cursed, ethereal, erotic, and demonic. Instrumentally, Jones cites an array of techniques to achieve their ceremonial sound โ€“ from chromatic scales to shifting keys to the sculpted low end of rap production โ€“ but itโ€™s the integration of so many disparate composites that elevates the group to a tier unto themselves.

Dirge-pop gem โ€œLictorโ€ encapsulates Trollerโ€™s exorcistic alchemy in five intoxicating minutes. Cracked synthetic bells usher in a low-lidded march of mantric bass, windswept guitar, and apocalyptic melody, both doomed and defiant. Slowly Star-Goersโ€™ soothsayer poetry comes into focus, hanging in the blood-streaked light: โ€œAnother faded point of view / becoming oneโ€™s true shadow / and behind every morning dew / succumbing to the darkness.โ€

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