Echoes of Espionage isn’t an album so much as a smoke-stained dossier slid across a café table at 3 a.m.
A crate-digger’s compilation of lost cues, misfiled reel-to-reel fantasies, and bachelor-pad paranoia pressed into wax. This is library music with fingerprints: fuzz-guitar spy riffs that slink like a cheap trench coat, vibraphones winking in code, drums ticking like a bomb you’re pretty sure you didn’t plant, and organs that sound like they’re trying to seduce you into betraying someone you haven’t met yet. It’s the kind of deep-cut haul that labels in the Twisted Nerve orbit live for…bright, strange, and too stylish to be innocent. Every track feels like a cold open to a movie that never got made: Euro-sleaze jazz, mod-pop misdirection, cinematic stings that land like a knowing smirk. The vibe? Exactly the music Tarantino wished he’d had in his back pocket when he was stitching together Pulp Fiction…not the obvious needle-drops, but the secret stuff: the cues that make a room tilt, a glance turn dangerous, a cigarette burn feel like a plot point.
Put it on and suddenly your living room is a surveillance van, your martini is evidence, and you’re absolutely certain the bassline is following you.