Mild Mild Country is the new instrumental solo project of Jake Ward who is one half of Eureka California, this album was recorded in his home studio during lockdown and is an imaginary film or video game soundtrack or 21st century prog freak out.
This four song album opens with Fake Core that's as indebted to Brad Paisley as it is Loretta Lynn or Marsha Brady or George Jones for that matter, as in it has no influence by any country act, as this isn't Country but it is kind of Mild space rock with prog guitar edges with the odd bass interjections to stir things up a bit as it goes searching for something over its eleven minute plus length, it goes through a good few twists of sound as the landscape shifts.
Snake War has what sounds like a sampled and treated rattlesnake noise that's had lots of weird and odd synth stuff built around it to make you feel like your being flung around on the fastest waltzer imaginable, as you hear and see shards of noise collapsing around you, as the birds start to tweet in defiance as this ride is an ever changing landscape of over 13 minutes, as that bassline starts to coil it's way around your brain. Harold Faltermeyer's ghost takes a kicking as the guitars soar over the keyboards just before they go a bit Twin Peaks meets Miami Vice on us. It then starts to slither across your speakers slowly fracturing into pieces.
Cake Sword is for those times when you've baked a walnut and apple cake and it's gone rather hard and you just need to slice it and only a sword will do the job properly, as the guitars come at you in waves interspersed with cartoon chase synths and spare drumming and an odd as can be interlude or two as things build to a head, as you decide that cake needs to be iced before slicing, before going a whole lot Tradgard Algarnas before it departs.
The album closes with the 17 minute epic Quake Shore that opens with some acoustic guitars shimmying against the funky breaks and shuffling percussion and stabs of electric guitar to elevate and enervate, before it breaks out into a weird almost robotic voice section, with weird noises coming and going as you try to eat your Quaker oats in time to this, as your core shakes along at the dark dancefloor bestial occurrences, until it slowly fades away to a drifting section, that strips everything away and slowly rebuilds the tune and lets the strings come in and once again your dreaming of Marsha Brady and Loretta Lynn but don't know why.
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