There is something distinctly architectural about the way Suris constructed “Rare Brew,” the latest collection from the husband-and-wife duo Lindsey and David Mackie. While this release bills itself as a curated retrospective remastered for 2025, calling it a “greatest hits” feels like a disservice it is more like wandering through a house where every room operates under a different law of physics.
You start on the roof, gazing upward. “Astrosurf” doesn’t simply play; it dilates. Lindsey Mackie’s vocals here are breathable oxygen, climbing delay-heavy guitar ladders that remind me of that peculiar sensation you get when you stare at a suspension bridge for too long a majestic sort of dizziness. It captures the terror of finding a new human connection so massive it rearranges your internal gravity. But then, Suris pulls the rug out.
We tumble from the cosmic expanse of space right into the rain-slicked pavement of “Great Wide Open.” The electronic soul here is damp and gray, smelling faintly of ozone and old coats. It’s a track that demands you sit by a window and watch the condensation drip.
Just as you settle into the melancholic folk-tinged comfort of “Riverman,” the collection takes a sharp left turn into the frenetic. Tracks like “Absolute Zero” and “All Over Again” abandon the safety of art rock for the strobe-lit urgency of Jungle and Drum and Bass. It’s a jarring shift, yet it works. It reminds me of the chaotic mental arithmetic one does while trying to navigate a subway system at rush hour the need to reclaim autonomy, as “Absolute Zero” suggests, is rarely a quiet affair. It is fast, cold, and strictly rhythmical.
David Mackie’s production shines in these heavier, darker moments. On “Hellion,” the soundscape turns submerged and thick, like moving through molasses or deep ocean currents. It invokes a primal, aquatic regression that made me think of the evolutionary diagrams I stared at in fifth grade, wondering at what point we decided to crawl out of the mud.
“Big Ship” and “Warrior Queen” showcase the duo’s knack for the grandiose, channeling that Kate Bush theatrics where emotion is too big for a normal voice. The former, dealing with the fierce love for a wild daughter, crashes with the energy of a storm held in a teacup.
This isn’t background music. It is a strange, shifting beast that refuses to sit still. “Rare Brew” asks you to accept that a driving house beat on “Last Fish in the Sea” can coexist with the regal orchestral sweeps of “Scaur Bank.” It suggests that a single human life is both a neon-lit rave and a quiet, rainy afternoon.
Do we ever really finish a conversation with our past selves, or do we just remaster the tape?
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