Deep Country

Back in the 1990s, when CDs reigned supreme, listeners loved the format for its light weight and easy portability. For musicians, though, the real gift was the ability to stretch out. No longer bound by the physical limitations of vinyl sides or the fuzzy audio of cassette tapes, they had space to include bonus songs without compromise. As a result, albums grew longer. That sense of expansion returned in the mid-2010s with the rise of streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music. Since streaming numbers started counting toward Billboard chart performance, artists began releasing albums with tracklists that seemed to unfurl endlessly, boosting their chances of landing a hit.

When lengthy albums stopped feeling like artistic statements and began looking more like calculated industry strategies, I started losing trust in the intentions behind most records that went over the hour mark. If you’re going to make a long album, it should be for a reason—to build a world or immerse listeners in a full journey, both of which are easier imagined than achieved. Bruiser and Bicycle understood this assignment with Deep Country. Their previous record, 2023’s Holy Red Wagon, just barely crossed the hour mark, but their third LP strolls comfortably toward the 75-minute line. The Albany band dives into a treasure chest of acoustic instruments and vocal textures, embracing a kind of soft, celebratory wander that makes time feel pleasantly slippery.

Bandleaders and multi-instrumentalists Keegan Graziane and Nicholas Whittemore, bassist Zahra Houacine, and drummer Joe Taurone ease away from the frenetic prog-pop energy of Holy Red Wagon into the relaxed, exploratory folk of Deep Country. At first, the record seems calm, led by a single guitar gently picking through “Dance and Devotion.” But if you approach the music not like someone impatiently stuck behind a slow walker but like a traveler taking in the scenery, the layers begin to reveal themselves. The fleeting chime of a glockenspiel and hushed lyrics on “Silence, Silence,” Taurone’s bucket-like percussion on “21st Century Humor,” and the mingling of trembling synths and acoustic guitar on “O’ There’s a Sign” all peek through like subtle landmarks on a meandering path. Because the group favors movement over explosive hooks, the moments when big sounds finally arrive feel even more rewarding.

Even in this laid-back state, Bruiser and Bicycle keep pushing their sound forward. Deep Country feels like the Beach Boys’ experimental period played in slow motion, slacker rock improvising in an art studio, and Elephant 6-style jam sessions all rolled together. “Syd Barrett’s Disaster Picnic” blends those influences into a blissful swirl, followed by the hazy “Slow Motion Beauty.” Every layer, from stacked guitar parts to group harmonies captured in real time, gives the album the feeling of something both carefully made and loose at the edges.

Though Graziane and Whittemore share lead vocal duties, all four members contribute to the harmonies, creating an atmosphere that is playful and unpolished in the best way. Shouted “woo!”s brighten the title track, while cheerful “bah-bah-bahs” float through “Part of the Show,” giving everything an intimate and spontaneous quality. “Waterfight” captures their sense of fun most clearly, with vocal phrasing full of small, clever turns. Their love for Animal Collective still lingers, from the childlike exclamations to the scrappy costumes, but this time they’ve softened freak-folk’s sharper edges, letting the songs loosen and stretch like clay in warm hands.

Whether Deep Country’s generous runtime feels like a flaw or a joy depends on how much you enjoy getting lost in its folk-infused weirdness. “Get to the point,” Whittemore chants again and again in “Million, Million,” as if knowingly winking at the listener. If patience isn’t your strong suit, it might test you, but if you let yourself settle into their pace, it’s easy to drift with them. On “Sinister Sleep Shuffle,” guitar melodies wind gently around a nimble bassline and subtle jazz-influenced percussion, turning time into something elastic. It might take a minute to match their tempo, but once you do, the record opens up like a slow, scenic drive, with striking views waiting around each bend.