LALANDE

Dollshot are a group who feel most at home in a state of perpetual dislocation. The husband-and- wife duo of vocalist Rosie and saxophonist Noah K are forever hovering between oppositional worlds—physically, musically, and spiritually. She’s from a small town in Virginia, he’s from L.A. With Lalande, Dollshot peel out for parts unknown, with that enigmatic album title—sourced from Brazilian author Clarice Lispector’s 1943 novel, Near to the Wild Heart—serving as the cryptic signpost for the unpredictable journey ahead. As it plays out, Lalande starts to resemble a house of mirrors perched on a fault line. Each song plots out a byzantine maze where familiar sounds—from 19th-century German lieds to ’70s prog and fusion to ’90s post-rock and IDM—are twisted and mutated, and the foundation is constantly shifting underneath. Along the way a certain essential truth emerges—one that speaks to the arduous creation of an album that was written in Topanga Canyon but recorded in Brooklyn over the course of three years, and which adapts age-old folkloric traditions for the atomized modern mind while updating the music of the ancients into fearless, futurist avant-rock. “The only way to get it done, is it to get it started,” Rosie repeats, before adding: “the only way to get it started is to put the fucker in motion.” The same goes for you. There is no easy safe passage through Lalande—you just have to work up the nerve to step inside and get lost in the labyrinth.