John Andrews & The Yawns

The Yawns don't exist, at least not out of Andrews' mind, but what they lack in physical form Andrews more than makes up for them in musical presence here, tracking out a pretty full and toothsome album for a one man band. The sound on Bit By The Fang is warm, yet a bit musty, like firing up the radiators for the fist time in the season. Everything feels toasty but there's just a bit of catch in your throat from the Summer's build up. Pull the album tight against the wind and its a pretty welcome friend rattling by like home movies of summer vacations faded to a Kodak burnt umber. Most notable sources will bring up the connection between John Andrews and his stints in Woods and Quilt, two fairly relevant touchstones to be sure, though on this debut solo LP, Andrews takes those familiar psych-country templates and works his own sun blistered mark into them. He's not so much defined by his resume as stepping off into a territory that makes him a contemporary and peer of those bands. Repeated listens only endear the album further, allowing the blurry jangle of Andrews' sighed sojurns to inhabit your consciousness and take root, soothing like a good sipping rye and spreading the burn out from heart to hull. Not a bad way to start off, that's for damn sure.

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