Mike Kolb's debut LP as, what else, Kolb, is actually, meaningfully, and intentionally, unassuming. Tyrannical Vibes was recorded and performed mostly on his own, in an apartment that could make a shoebox look roomy; the funky, post-baroque, minor, mouse-hole glamor of the release hardly needs any spit and polish to shine, but does require a moment of your time to settle in. Kolb's style on this release is simple, sturdy, and unobstructed by unnecessary flourish, telling stories of isolation and overwhelming feelings that are scarcely contained within the average two-minute run time. This constant strain is emblematic of the title, which warns you of the tendency of these tender vignettes to boil over the brim of their carefully constructed confines; a fact that rarely obscures, and generally only reinforces the uncluttered framework of these songs. The raw expression and electric bones of a song like "Ectoplasm" oozes with a sad stirring of recognition that bubbles with the explosive energy of an accusation under lightning-hot guitar licks, before resolving as a series of relieved exhales of identification and clarity, the kind of solace that can only come from being seen as you truly are. Just as emotive, but less turbulent, is the opener, a coasting kite of popcraft called "Cruising," which shows a powerful sense of loneliness through Mike's wandering, high-register croon, while conveying some measure of redemption through the persistent tug of the guitar line, an interventionist bit of instrumentation that is always trying to pull him into the orbit and range of friend and collaborator Ani Ivry-Block's encouraging inverse vocals, a loadstar of hope at the center of a crossroad he can't help but intersect. Even in Tyrannical Vibes boldly bereft moments, there is a wonderful spark of humanity that shines like a jewel catching the light from under a dust-mopped dresser, such as with the attentive and bustling groove of "I Guess I'm Lucky," an ode to a table for one, which with its honeyed, counter-currents, appears to work backward from New Pornographers to the Brill Building standards of a simpler era, or on "Internal Affairs" which is fabricated in the opposite direction, with a mechanical trickle of rhythmic, kosmische assemblage, progressively finding a path to rebirth, cohering from a point of avent-abstraction and into a realm of intuition and tactile impression, fleshed out by the warming presence of Ani's pleading mellifluence, transforming the songs austerity into a pleasantly persistent embrace. Tyrannical Vibes is barebones enough that it doesn't bother to lay out a welcome mat for you; it also doesn't bother putting a door on its hinges. The album is essentially and an open invitation for anyone to leave the tyranny of their apprehension at the threshold, step in, and soak in the wellspring of vibes.
