Orphan Egg's self-titled LP feels like slipping into a well-worn leather jacket; it's that familiar comfort while cruising through urban chaos. The sound boomerangs between psych and garage rock, akin to discovering a dusty gem at a flea market that just clicks with your spirit. Every track tosses you into unexpected territories, leaving you pondering if it's a long-lost classic from the '70s or a fresh burst of today's intensity. It's a glorious mess, just the way rock and roll ought to be.
