Blues From WHAT: A Psychedelic Odyssey by Jenks Miller & Rose Cross, NC
Let’s get one thing straight—this ain’t your grandma’s folk album. Blues From WHAT is the kind of record that sneaks up on you like a shadow at sunset. Released in 2016 via Three Lobed Recordings, it’s an experimental fever dream wrapped in Neo-Psychedelia and tied with a bow made of fuzz pedals. Jenks Miller—the mastermind behind this sonic trip—wears all the hats here: songwriter, lyricist, performer. And damn, does he wear ‘em well.
The genres listed for this thing are as wild as its sound—folk, rock, pop/rock, world music? Sure, why not. But calling it “experimental” feels like the most honest label. It's like someone took a kaleidoscope to traditional song structures and said, "Yeah, let’s roll with that."
Now, onto the tracks. Two songs stuck out to me like neon graffiti on a brick wall: "Yellowtail (Blues From WHAT)" and "Scrying In Water." Let’s break ‘em down real quick.
First off, "Yellowtail" hits you like a rogue wave. The track loops around itself like a snake eating its own tail, but instead of feeling repetitive, it’s hypnotic. There’s something raw about the way the guitar drones pulse against Miller’s vocals—it’s almost like he’s whispering secrets directly into your ear. You don’t just hear this song; you feel it creeping under your skin. By the third time it shows up on the album (yeah, they play with repetition), it starts to feel less like a track and more like an old friend who keeps showing up uninvited—but hey, you’re kinda glad they did.
Then there’s "Scrying In Water," which sounds exactly how staring into a crystal ball probably feels—mysterious, disorienting, and maybe a little magical. The instrumentation swirls around like smoke, pulling you deeper into some psychedelic abyss. It’s not so much a song as it is an experience, man. I found myself zoning out halfway through, only to snap back and realize I’d been holding my breath. That’s the kind of vibe we’re working with here.
What makes Blues From WHAT stand out isn’t just its genre-bending chaos or Miller’s knack for crafting haunting melodies—it’s the way it refuses to be pinned down. One minute you’re bobbing your head to a catchy riff, and the next you’re lost in a haze of reverb and existential musings. It’s messy, sure, but intentionally so. Like life itself, it doesn’t always make sense, but that’s part of the charm.
If I had to sum it up, I’d say this album is what happens when you toss a bunch of musical styles into a blender and hit puree. Is it perfect? Nah. Does it need to be? Not really. Because sometimes imperfection is where the magic lives.
Oh, and here’s a kicker—listening to this record made me crave sushi for some reason. Go figure.
