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Father Murphy are from Italy. What makes it even cooler is that this record, and this band, are SO hard to describe.
It’s a bit like folk, a little bit like post punk math rock, a little avant noise, but stripped way down into something skeletal, they definitely sound a little bit like one of the new breed of freak folk
psych folk cd-r outfits, but at the same time, they
sound like NOTHING you’ve ever heard. Detuned guitar plod, spaced out rhythmic thump, lots of deep shimmery ambience and FX drenched drifts, wavery falsetto crooning, warbly organs, and the occasional bursts of feral yowling, wow.

Unhinged, fractured, freaky, passionate, super intense and awesome. In discussing Father Murphy, other reviewers have mentioned Robert
Wyatt, This Heat, Samla Mamas Manna, we also hear plenty of Marc Ribot in the guitars, all angular and off kilter, there’s also some mysterious female vocals that surface here and there, field recordings, crickets, birds, all beneath weepy
mournful Morricone-ish twang, a sound both woozy and ominous, dreamy and dense, a glorious deathlike dirge, part  Dirty Three, part fluttery forest folk, a little wheezy organ dirge pop, some
slooooooowed down Blonde Redhead, like we said this is super hard to describe. But what we do know is we love it. And you will do, if your tastes run toward the dark, the dolorous, the mysterious, the haunting, the dirgey and the deathlike.

Father Murphy is the sound of the Catholic sense of Guilt.
A downward spiral aiming at the bottom of the hollow, and then digging even deeper.
Father Murphy over the years became one of the most mysterious and enigmatic musical entities coming out of Italy, part of that community that Simon Reynolds and Julian Cope started to call the new “Italian Occult Psychedelia”.

LP : $12.00 + Shipping costs
CD : Sold Out
iTunes : $9.99

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