Intense and awash in ominous angst, the Ringards’ “Steppenwolf” steps in with sketchy sanity and chaotic taste.
Like Sisters of Mercy meeting mind-altered Radiohead rhythm… All to listeners’ collective befuddlement.
Kick up dust.
But, don’t stop moving. Turn to face your sunken tracks.
You won’t turn back. To hell or bust…
“What did he write?”
The steppenwolf approaches, and you’d best get a’moving.
Grizzly guitar tones taint the air an inauspicious glowing green as gaseous effects suffocate the senses. Lyrics work flame through fog, harmonic, like lamp-lit ignis fatuus.
“Steppenwolf” plays dim and dusty; a downtempo cowboy tune for an apocalyptic open desert. Bass as bandido, gruff guitar as weary traveler and rhythm, shaky, as sheriff, crooked to the core… As a song, “Steppenwolf” awaits in its own world of sound.
Nothing but gnarl, nuance and noire, to tune… “Steppenwolf” demands your attention over its 2 and a half minute play time, showering you with werewolf howls and haunted harmony. It’s disarming fun you’d be remiss to miss. Please play this.