New album from Slaughter Beach, Dog has an ode to the bygone Boot & Saddle

Slaughter Beach, Dog

At the Moonbase

(Lame-O ***)

The last song on the fourth album by Slaughter Beach, Dog is called “Notes From A Brief Engagement (At The Boot & Saddle).”

Yes, the song is in part an ode to the South Philly club that became the most prominent Philadelphia venue lost amid COVID-19 shutdowns when it closed permanently in November.

But the poignant spoken-word-with-beats piece by Jake Ewald evokes more than just the Broad Street rock room the songwriter played so often in Lame-O Records showcases.

The song also captures the nervous energy at a hometown gig as it circles back on itself. “It’s hard to sing when I’m holding my breath,” Ewald talk-sings on the track. “I look at the drums, I look at the crowd, adjust my frames and they slide back down. It’s hard to sing when I’m holding my breath.”

It conjures the vibe of being out among friends, too — a simple pleasure long taken for granted and now so distant.

At the Moonbase is the best Slaughter Beach, Dog album yet, with closely observed songs of quarantine couplings like “My Girl” and “Are You There.” There’s also a nod to another Philly dive bar, in “Song For Oscar’s.”

Ewald plays most of the instruments himself, but the arrangements are more filled out and self confident, with saxophone player Will Schade classing up the proceedings and providing wistful grace notes that make the songs stick.

— Dan DeLuca

Slaughter Beach, Dog will celebrate this release of At the Moonbase with livestream performances at 9 p.m. Feb. 13 and 14, details at noonchorus.com/slaughter-beach-dog.

Gillian Welch

Boots No. 2: The Lost Songs

(Acony *** 1/2)

When Gillian Welch debuted with the aptly titled Revival, her sepia-toned narratives drawing deeply from bluegrass and Appalachian folk exerted a hypnotic pull. She and partner David Rawlings eventually expanded their musical palette, but they remain at their best when they’re performing by themselves and making the old sound astoundingly fresh.

That’s what you get on The Lost Songs, a three-CD feast of 48 previously unreleased recordings, all but one of them by Welch or Welch-Rawlings, and all performed by just the two of them.

They touch on folk, country, bluegrass, gospel, and blues, with Rawlings’ guitar, dobro, and other instruments punctuating Welch’s acoustic strum and enhancing the emotional punch of the songs, whether they’re happy, or, as is the case most often, sad.

“More hard times than I can endure,” Welch confesses on “Johnny Dear,” the forlorn ballad that opens the set.

While the characters can be ancient archetypes — ramblers, convicts, cowboys, dreamers, jilted lovers — the duo invest them with universal resonance. “It seems a lot of people are getting bad news,” Welch sings on the relatively jaunty “How’s About You.” “Well I used to have a dollar / I’m gonna have a dime someday.”

Resilience and optimism also course under these plainspoken but incisive songs, as in “One Little Song,” the finale: “There’s gotta be a song left to sing / ‘Cause everybody cant’ve thought of everything / One little song that ain’t been sung.”

— Nick Cristiano

The Notwist

Vertigo Days

(Morr Music ***)

The Notwist perfected the blend of indie-rock guitars and glitchy electronics on their influential Neon Golden, which occupies a similar place in the German band’s discography that Kid A does in Radiohead’s. They continue to explore the possibilities of synthesis on Vertigo Days, their eighth studio album (several soundtracks and other experiments notwithstanding).

It’s the most collaborative album yet from the band fronted by brothers Markus and Micha Acher, with a globe-hopping array of guest vocalists (Japan’s Saya, Argentina’s Juana Molina, Chicago’s Ben Lamar Gay) plus American jazz clarinetist Angel Bat Dawida. Still, Markus Acher’s resigned, understated vocals anchor most tracks.

As on 2016′s superb live set Superheroes, Ghostvillains & Stuff, songs flow into one another. The two-part “Into Love / Stars,” which moves from placid introspection to propulsive cacophony, is one example. But all the tracks could have a slash mark between them.

It’s immersive stuff, and stronger as a whole than in its individual parts. Some tracks work best as bridges or abstractions before the next one snaps into focus with a lovely melody (“Sans Soleil”) or a sharp, motoric beat (“Exit Strategy to Myself.”) It’s a shape-shifting album, with an underlying tone of foreboding anxiety.

— Steve Klinge