American Wrestlers (Noah)

American Wrestlers are the kind of band (or one-man set-up) that had me asking John Laird “Is this too emo?” The outfit, a one-man bedroom project from Scotsman Gary McLure, blends McLure’s aching vocals with a wash of a fuzz, pianos, strings, and a general crescendoing sound in a way that played by the wrong person could be self-important, whiny dreck. McLure, luckily for all of us, is not that person. Instead, American Wrestlers’ music treads the line between overly-sweet emo crap, and a sonic profile that while opening up space for the listener to pine and wonder and over-emote, pulls back before going too far. This is music that you might play post-breakup, when you can’t see because you’re crying and the thought of stepping out of the darkness of your room is just too much, but it’s also bigger, more inclusive, a melange of instruments (new and old) that open the door to whatever mood might be leaning on your chest.