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...

Phidippus’ "Prazosin," the album, is a strange little thing. Not like finding a sock in the dryer that never had a match, but more like finding a tiny, perfectly formed city inside an acorn. It's all electronic pulses and hums, built by Eric Salazar, with what feels like very specific, and also wonderfully messy, intention. Jeff Riteman and Alice Indiana pop in as guests,...