Shamelessly pilfering rock & roll’s diverse history, Sylvan Paul’s music is like a broken time machine (whose operator may or may not have taken a tab or two). Past and present collide to form a wavering image of the future, where electronic production seamlessly fuses with gooey guitars, loose percussion, and dusty drums, played just well enough… but not particularly well. It’s a sound that’ll make your grandma remember that time in the sunflower field in ‘67 (ask her about it), and your grandpa remember that time he had to beat up a punk down on Bowery (don’t ask him about it). Punctuated by a renegade-tinged baritone, Sylvan croons about anything and everything. Self-discovery, love, the state of society, and sometimes just downright nonsense that’ll make even the most snobbish hipster crack a smile. His numbers are fierce and calming, psychedelic and immediate, and if you’re not careful, pretty damn groovy.