Kyle Brew

It’s another weekday. You’ve just knocked off work, and the sun is just dipping in a slow dance with the dusk. You’re looking for a bit of a yarn, a bit of spontaneity, and a catchy melody is drifting in from somewhere nearby, so you follow your ears down the street, where you’ll probably find an open garage with Kyle Brew below the bonnet of his ‘76 Datsun, tapping on the starter with a ball pein hammer. If he’s not there, check underneath and see if he’s still cursing at a crack in the oil pan. It’s this relentless dedication, this daily renewal, that lends such a laid-back, neighborly warmth to the re-release of Life and Living, Brew’s first full-length album. There’s the energy and edge of a self-styled DIY ethos, but at the same time there’s also an undeniable craftsmanship, a fully formed sound, that follows years of tightening nuts and bolts behind the curtain. The songs off Life and Living aren’t made for roads with stop lights. They move with purpose, but are never exclusionary; instead they leave the door open for anyone who wants to come inside. They don’t dig their hooks into you, they endear themselves to you. They’re not necessarily asking you to listen so much as they’re asking if you need a lift or wanna grab a beer or maybe need some help moving your furniture this weekend.