You ever fall in love with a band so fast it feels like whiplash? Like the song isn’t even done and you’re already rewinding it, chasing the high like a freak? That’s what Full Isaac did to me.

The Wicked Farleys always felt like a band playing in the room next door—close enough to feel the heat through the drywall, but never quite in reach. You could hear the thrum, the warbled vocals bleeding through insulation, the crunch of a Telecaster caught in the act of saying something honest.

Let me be clear: I didn’t discover SloBlo. I dug it up—like a half-buried, busted cassette in the back of some decaying storage unit. Because that’s what this album feels like. A thing the industry forgot to burn. An artifact that somehow slipped through the cracks of the grunge gold rush and managed to survive in the static.

They sound like tension. Like the edge of violence. Like something’s about to snap and you’re not sure if it’s the guitar cable or your neck. It’s not music you vibe to. It’s music you survive. Tight, violent, calculated chaos. You don’t hear it—you get hit by it.

Autolux never chased the spotlight. They carved their own space in the dark—drum-heavy, dream-warped, and impossible to pin down. Shoegaze for people who never stood still.