It's like discovering a rogue disco ball hidden in a forgotten record store, except instead of dusty surfaces, it’s polished chrome reflecting pure, unadulterated energy. We know absolutely nothing about Frank, and honestly? I think I prefer it that way. This track drops, a single, not some bloated album-behemoth, and suddenly the walls are sweating. Fun, like a sticky summer afternoon where you forget...

Listening to John Keenan’s “Wreckage of the Past” feels like being handed the audio diary of a ghost who is not yet dead. This is an 18-song excavation of a psyche at war, made all the more intense by the knowledge that Keenan is the sole architect—producer, writer, mixer, and tormented protagonist. The whole project has the hermetically sealed, slightly feverish quality of a...