motel void

Wayne Bamba is a songwriter rooted in the forgotten corners of the American Midwest and West, drawing on the gothic traditions, mythology, and strange folklore of rural America. His music exists somewhere between shoegaze, alternative country, ambient folk, and spoken-word storytelling, a combination he describes as “surrealist American sadcore.” After introducing this world on his 2023 mixtape Porsche Carriage and expanding it on his debut EP Rocky Mountain Horror Story: Part I, Bamba now returns with the second and final installment of the project.

The five-track EP opens with Breeders, immediately drawing you into its eerie atmosphere. I particularly enjoy the way the mood hangs over the entire track, carried by Bamba’s distinctive vocal presence. There is something slightly twisted about its Western aesthetic – almost like a warped, sinister version of an Orville Peck song – and Bamba once again excels at inhabiting this strange space between beauty and unease.

Rust Bucket (It’s Time) takes a bit more minimalist approach. For its first two minutes, it creates a sparse, unsettling atmosphere that reminded me of the dreamlike darkness of Angel Heart. Towards the end, the repeated “it’s your time” motif slowly emerges, surrounded by various noises and subtle vocal layers. The result is surprisingly hypnotic and atmospheric, as if the song were gradually pulling you somewhere you probably shouldn’t go.

The third track, Sad Cowboy, as its title suggests, moves into a more acoustic, distinctly Western territory. What I particularly like here is the way Bamba handles his voice. It sits very much at the front of the mix and initially feels almost soothing, even tender, but there is something unsettling underneath it – as though someone were trying to trick you, or gently lure you into a trance. Listening to this eerie EP, that feeling becomes increasingly convincing.

Your Face is a Horror Movie has a fantastic opening, built around lo-fi ambient textures and beautifully recorded instruments. Bamba then moves into spoken word, which only intensifies the atmosphere. This is probably the most overtly horror-oriented moment on the EP, especially when the industrial beat occasionally crashes into the track. By the end, Bamba’s voice feels incredibly close, almost as if he were standing right there in the room with you, and the intimate mix makes the experience all the more unsettling.

The EP closes with Precious, built around a beautifully lo-fi acoustic guitar. The entire song feels almost meditative, moving along a simple, steady riff while subtle backing vocals gradually accumulate and draw you deeper into the song. As it progresses, the track becomes immersive without ever needing to dramatically change direction. Towards the end, an electric guitar slowly emerges, adding another layer of unease and giving the whole thing a distinctly Lynchian quality. It is a fitting conclusion to an EP that seems less interested in conventional songwriting structures than in creating a world – one that is eerie, seductive, and wonderfully strange.

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