David Druckers latest album Tangleweird is yet another delve into the neo psych folk style, with his own twist put upon it. Tangleweird represents an evolution in David’s unique guitar noise style, working toward a more overall pop feel, but still hugging the roots of lo fi experimental. Tracks like Costumes and the title track Tangleweird part out broken beats to which distorted and strummed guitar bleed over in true bedroom punk style, while other scores, such as Front Desk Frank devolve into half remembered lysergic slurring, reminiscent of those nights you can’t remember. On the whole, Tangleweird can be a challenge to grasp. Drucker’s iconoclastic compositional nature insures that even the most salty audiophile will be taken for a ride every so often. But if you manage to hang on throughout the trip, you’ll find that Tangleweird has all the qualities you seek in a song – they have just been rearranged on you, like a ballet starting with the final scene and the orchestra on stage with the performers in the pit.
A brief play by play of each track on the album is as follows; Costumes kicks things off to the tune of as if Low let SUNN O))) do guitar work while Whitehouse live remixed everything. Front Desk Frank could very well be a punch drunk midnight movie party that was live transmitted from UBV 76. The title track Tangleweird scrawls out various guitar riffs in random succession, crescendoing in a miasma of dying turntable feedback. Asian Pornography takes on a dreamy stance- reminding one of the slow drive scenes in Taxi Driver, slowly petering out into a soft jammy riff as if the nurse, having loaded you with nitrous, gets up and leaves, gently shuts the door of the operating room behind her. Bernie Lomax continues the trip down the rabbit hole, with devolved guitars and whispering spirits clutching you in a bedside manner. Trucker With A D is the climax of Tangleweird, announcing itself with a long droned chord like that of a Gaelic Army on the march. Slowly the strums churn and David takes his own march through the bedroom door of reverbed vocals and monk like chanting. Horrifically, the dream comes crashing to a halt with an abrupt sonic explosion, reaching a Krakatoa esque peak and sinking beneath the waves, blessing out in a lugubrious slumber.
-Cookies ‘N Creme Records review, 2012