Jaguar 777 craft a dangerously alluring neo-noir dreamstate on hypnagogic debut LP
Lo-fi gothic duo Jaguar 777 craft a dangerously alluring rock ’n’ roll dreamstate on their cinematic self-titled debut LP; fifteen tales of velvet and vice that coalesce into a hypnogogic neo-noir phantasm balanced precipitously at the liminal intersection of love, lust, and eternal damnation.
Jaguar 777 is a cinematic album, beckoning through an opioid haze exuding from beyond the illicit threshold of a rundown grindhouse on the edge of town; saturated with languid sensuality and punctuated by needle-sharp moments of existential terror that strike with feline ferocity before fading once again beyond the fringes of a chemically induced catatonia. Romance and carnality collide headlong in a slow-motion eruption of analog organ and shuffling rhythms that move with the ominous cadence of wavering spectres lurking from behind heavy folds of umbral tapestry and illuminated by the chilling gauziness of silver moonlight streaming through the rafters of a collapsed ceiling onto the stage like otherworldly spotlights from beyond.
Drawing notable inspiration from the sparse beats and menacing rhythms of Suicide viewed through the flickering lens of cinema noir and B-movie camp, Jaguar 777 elevate traditional midcentury rock n roll with a more sinister and deeply amorous approach. Sidestepping the macho aggression of Misfits, the inherent silliness of rockabilly goths a-la Messer Chups, or the Satanic doo-wop of Twin Temple in favor of a more authentic alignment with the surreal beauty of David Lynch and a provocative Russ Meyer-esque perspective, Jaguar 777 have managed to occupy a unique category of the classic murder ballad few others have previously dared.
Opening with a spoken word intro that sets the mood for the album in dramatic fashion, Kacie Marie and Emmett O’Connor begin a delicate dance that crackles with tangible magnetism barely restrained against smoldering passions, threatening to engulf their enraptured souls in a damning conflagration of unquenchable lust and eternal ruin. Originally released in 2024, the striking slow-burner “Danger At My Heels” lays out the band’s thesis with aplomb, simmering with the sequined slink of an after-hours burlesque in a members-only underground speakeasy, teasing and threatening in equal measure behind undulating tendrils of fragrant smoke and glistening skin.
Even more so than the brooding moodiness of the album’s heady soundscapes, Jaguar 777’s sound is defined by Kacie Marie and O’Connor’s crooning duality, a pair of voices rising above the instrumental miasma entwined in the intimacy of an embrace that transcends the physical to conjure an atmosphere of slow fatalism at the altar of abject devotion. “Leave You Blue” embodies the sensation of a deep intoxication that lingers after midnight, pulling below the surface towards a dreamless sleep, as “Gates” welcomes doomed lovers to burn together as willing sacrifices to the flames. “Mirage” shimmers from the other side of the looking glass, and “Velvet On The Razor’s Edge” skitters on a spidery beat so dry and mechanical it would make Vega and Rev blush while diving deep within the abyss of a self-induced psychological crash out.
Jaguar 777 injects a celluloid levity to the album at key moments, lending a stylish element of wing-tipped edginess and gleefully composed reefer madness while balancing on a razor’s edge of confessional authenticity. “Upstairs In My Mind” twists with the howling mania of solitary paranoia, and “Death Ride” claws at the pavement like caged beast primed to pounce on unsuspecting prey. “Midwest Promo Man” creeps on a vintage rock n roll framework that smells of stale cigarettes and split whiskey lingering in an silent motel room after the hedonistic occupants have retreated into the daylight, and the mostly instrumental “The Flying Cowboy Rides Again” transmutes bold Giallo terror into a small-screen serial, the forgotten theme for a masked cathode ray vigilante from a bygone age. “Collinwood Yard” leans hard into gothic horror, replete with chiming bells and ominous wails that spiral towards an inevitable oblivion.
Settling into the album’s final moments, “Arrest Me” surrenders with tender vulnerability in the aftermath of tumultuous terrors. Vivid nightmares recede into the blissful sanctuary of a companion’s arms and promise of a love realized wholly and completely in its commitment and resilience before dovetailing, just as neatly, into the Badalamenti-ian soundscape of “End Credits,” a fitting conclusion to this silver-screen phantasmagoria of tragic romance.
Jaguar 777 is available now via Eleventh Hour Recording Company. Get the vinyl on Bandcamp on stream the album on Spotify. Follow Jaguar 777 on Instagram.
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