{"product_id":"prairiewolf_deep-time_2025_dif","title":"Deep Time","description":"Prairiewolf makes easy listening music for a fractured age. They do it almost in spite of themselves. Nobody could seriously question the musical good faith of the members of this Colorado-based trio. Guitarist Stefan Beck has already amassed a formidable discography of jewel-toned guitar zones under his Golden Brown moniker. Keyboardist-guitarist Jeremy Erwin and bassist Tyler Wilcox have both built their reputations as chroniclers of the wide world of outside-music. Erwin runs the essential Heat Warps blog, a performance-by-performance archive of Miles Davis’ labyrinthine electric period. And Wilcox has covered the ragged edges of psychedelia and experimental rock in Aquarium Drunkard and other publications, not to mention his own virtual basement for heads, the great bootleg blog Doom and Gloom from the Tomb. These guys do it honestly. And yet, given their backgrounds, Prairiewolf’s self-titled debut last spring was remarkably free of face-melters, brown acid blow-outs and ascendant spiritual jazz odysseys. Instead, they put out a record of gorgeous, elegant, understated cosmic groovers that sounded like resort hotel background music on Jupiter. It was unlikely psychedelia, embroidered with sonic threads from the mid-20th century hi-fi era: vintage synths, spaghetti western smears, luxuriant tropical details, the slight schmaltz of space-age pop. Imagine something like a Harmonia residency in the airport lounge. And yet, somehow, it all worked wonderfully. Prairiewolf became last summer’s restorative standard. After a year of woodshedding in Colorado’s Front Range area, the Prairiewolf boys lit up their trusty Korg SR-120 drum machine for another outstanding collection of suborbital exotica. The aptly titled Deep Time operates on its own timeline, unfolding at its own slow pace. All its incongruous stylistic and epochal references—the New Age pulses, the Hawaiian steel, the shaggy hippie rambles, the lysergic guitar spirals, and the orchestral synth flourishes—float on top of the album’s singular temporality. Deep Time makes its own time. From the moment Beck origami-folds his slide guitar into a sound like gulls calling on the tranquil album opener, “Peach Blossom Paradise,” there’s a sense of breaking from everyday life. The shimmering “Lighthouse” has a similar sun-kissed nonchalance, like an afternoon spent drinking at a beachside bar. The fact that they named their luxuriant, kaleidoscopic downtempo track “The Meander” says it all. The varied, propulsive “Saying Yes to Everything” feels like a nod in the direction of Rose City Band’s wookie krautrock brand. And the noir motorik of “Demon Cicadas in the Night” goes just as hard. Beck and Erwin’s intertwining guitar jam on the uncanny album cut “The Cold Curve” blossoms into something like early computer music. A distinguished bass line from Wilcox on another album highlight, “Revisionist Mystery,” makes way for a looping space-jazz turn from guest clarinetist Matt Loewen of Rayonism. The title of the post-rock cowboy track “Another Tomorrow” might be a reference to the alternate future so many critics heard in Prairiewolf’s debut album music. Or it might just refer to the persistence of time, no matter how deep. Either way, I’m grateful for the way Prairiewolf makes each of their tracks a little oasis or sanctuary, each subsisting on its own small crystalline logic for a few minutes. It’s not simple to filter out the pervasive anger and anxiety of everyday life these days. But Prairiewolf is here, making it feel easy. -- Brent S. Sirota. --.","brand":"Prairiewolf","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":55307022893400,"sku":null,"price":20250117.0,"currency_code":"EUR","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0898\/4943\/0360\/files\/5060853704130_9c02d8b2-737b-4e15-ad94-1d531fc93190.jpg?v=1760313700","url":"https:\/\/vinyles.com\/en\/products\/prairiewolf_deep-time_2025_dif","provider":"Vinyles.com","version":"1.0","type":"link"}