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These days, it seems like an overwhelming number of indie acts gravitate toward the fuzzy warmth of lo-fi production and vocals that rise and dissipate like smoke. When an artist is as proficient at perfecting this sound as Tamaryn, however, it’s something to pay attention to.
Tamaryn is from New Zealand, and if the Lord of the Rings films are any indication of that country’s majestic natural beauty, it’s easy to see why her music is so striking.
Songs like “Mild Confusion” begin with a distant guitar jangle and build up with steady distortions and an unsure drum beat, like the soundtrack to climbing a mountain. Tamaryn’s heavy, breathy voice swoons over cymbal swirls and crumbling-rock guitar riffs as the sound gradually builds upon itself.
Other songs, like the sultry “Love Fade,” swell on a continuous melody of guitars that sound miles away. Tamaryn breathes her words like deep sighs, never hitting an upper register or straining for those high notes. Her collaborator, Rex John Shelverton, paints the spinning sunset portraits behind her with a mist of fuzzy and windy instrumentation.
Sure, the noisy “Sandstone” sounds like it could be the victory song of the Tuskan Raiders on Tatooine until about a minute and a half in. That’s when Tamaryn slides into view with her whispery echoes piled atop the rumbles of a rusty, fuzzy riff. And once she does, you’re not likely to want her to stop.
Listen to "Love Fade":