Drose say they are from Ohio, but seriously, where the hell did this actually beam in from? Kicking off not with a bang but a literal whimper, 'A Voice' sets the general tone of queasy unease, with hissed, treated vocals atop chuntering, primitivist guitars and whirring drones. So far, so weirrrrd. Most unpredictably of all, things switch into more of a 'band' effort, minimalist drums providing a backbone for sludgy un-riffs that threaten to cave in on themselves before circling motifs combine with space-as-an-instrument to scratch away at your skull with their insistent repetition. If push came to shove, I'd say there were hints of Oxbow in the tension between rock and noise, but Drose are a simpler proposition, which is no bad thing. Dustin Rose's voice, far from being the expected cookie monster growl or banshee screech, is a plaintive, almost fey wail that sometimes croons, sometimes yelps, but always conveys raw emotion. It's hard to think of comparisons to give you some idea of what this sounds like, and that is something to be damn well cherished nowadays.