Simon Dawes

Simon Dawes sounds like the exact moment a group of obsessive music scholars decided to stop reading liner notes and start making noise. It is a collision of mid-2000s indie restlessness and a deep, fundamental understanding of 1970s rock architecture. The guitars are the stars here, weaving together with a precision that feels both practiced and dangerously spontaneous, anchored by a rhythm section that punches through the mix with analog warmth.

What makes them distinctive is the sheer technical proficiency of the founding duo, Blake Mills and Taylor Goldsmith, before they diverged into their respective roles as a guitar virtuoso and a folk-rock storyteller. There is a jagged, almost post-punk edge to their sound that was largely smoothed over when they transitioned into the band Dawes. It is music that feels both incredibly young and strangely ancient, capturing the bravado of twenty-somethings who have spent their entire lives listening to The Kinks and Television.

Start with the album Carnivore. It is the definitive statement of their short-lived run, showcasing a band that was already too talented for their own good. Listen for the way the tracks shift from melodic hooks to extended, bluesy instrumental breaks that hint at the massive careers the members would eventually build.