Jack Name's John Webster Johns has been moving on the periphery of weird pop for years, serving as keyboardist with White Fence and contributing production touches to Ariel Pink and Cass McCombs, but with the advent of last year's Light Show he began creeping further into public consciousness as a name in his own right. That record's follow-up Weird Moons pushes him further into the splattered red lights, solidifying his hold on a slippery brand of cocaine foam, heatsick street pop. Boiled in synth punk but clutching its paws into the vats that wrought outcasts from Can to Chrome, his sophomore album is awash in spoiled neon splendor transcribed from ink black puff paint hieroglyphs that spill tales of debauched nights best left to fester in the repressed corners of memory. The album has a pulse that itches at the listener, keeping sleep a long forgotten memory and soundtracking a descent into nights that squirm with compulsion. Its good to have a queasy start to 2015 and Jack Name's setting that tone well.
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