J. Roddy Walston is a force of nature. If his hits like "Heavy Bells" are a war cry, then the deep cuts like "Boys Can Never Tell" are a tactical cosmic retreat. For some, his music is a form of religion, psychedelic in its intensity, transformative in its grip on the body, shaking loose something primal that’s been buried too long. It’s not about thinking, it’s about moving, feeling, surrendering. His influences are a riot of contradictions: Kurt Cobain’s fury, Nilsson’s fractured sweetness, Zeppelin’s power, and somewhere in there a perverted nod to William Onyeabor’s lonely calculator funk. Critics try to box him in, but Walston can’t be contained—he does chaos, and his live shows do damage, but fortunately his songs can pay the tab. Catch him and his band before he burns it all down again.
