Dusty Transmissions by Conroy Wolf

The reclusive Central Illinois folk singer follows up on 2020's success Bad Man with another round of tunes, Dusty Transmissions. Still wryly poetic. Still grounded in the rust and timber of familiar tools. But more expansive in arrangement and adjunct genres. "Artisinal folk music," Conroy claims with a half-grin, "for extraterrestrials."

The result of three months of nightly tinkering and stolen lunch-hours, Dusty Transmissions sounds like someone trying to stay grounded on a world cluttered with noise. "We took our time looking for just the right pebbles to polish. I think we got a pretty good shine going... The oft romanticized 'little mistakes' in recordings? We tried to let as few as possible make it onto the record. But this here is a bedroom-bozo studio. We get a lot of artifacts on the compressor mics." Maybe the cat meows and the neighbor's wind chimes really wow some eagle-eared audiophiles. The chimes even inspired some of the lyrics. "You've got to let these things happen, you know?"

These things, deliberate or otherwise, were committed to tape at the Carrot Cottage, recording studio and headquarters for Hand Sandwich Records, owned and operated by Tom Duggan since 2012. The unassuming house is nestled in a quiet-loud-quiet corner of Urbana, Illinois, a reliable crash pad for the diverse roster of Hand Sandwich artists who go delving for treasure while no one's listening. With the help of Duggan, Conroy assembled a rotating crew of pickers and passersby over the course of spring 2025 to flesh out his crude sketches, bit by bit. "It's like building a house: Start with a foundation. Finish by decorating each room. Then demolish it and build a shack out of the scraps."

Crafting the lyrics was a more challenging and introspective endeavor. "It's like squeezing new shapes into bargain-bin puzzles with missing pieces, knowing that beyond all the domestic comforts that shelter us from the modern ruins -- physical, societal, etc. -- it's finding the confidence to speak clearly about what's happening around you. Or try to, anyway. All that comes out are riddles that fold in on themselves. It's frustrating, but liberating too. All the while, you're wondering if all this grasping for universal truths you hope still exist is getting you closer to them, or further away."

What Conroy ends up singing rarely makes sense on the torn scraps of notebook paper strewn about the studio. But if an audience feels something -- a twinge of sorrow, a prick of confusion, or a brush of humor -- he might've been on the right track. "Tropes and trites, bumper-sticker banalities... those do come out too, absolutely. But they're liable for serious review." Comic, caustic, cosmic truths. "Whichever one speaks the loudest while we're chasing it."

Did Conroy Wolf get to where he was headed with Dusty Transmissions? "I had some ideas, but the end result is not what I imagined at first. This got a little eclectic. More darkly lonesome. But that's making records for ya. I just don't want to alienate the aliens who might be listening from outer space."

So, perhaps he did not. Sometimes a lone signal beamed out among the garbled din is the best anyone can do. So, put out your antenna. Sail the twilight static. You'll receive the signal soon.

Dusty Transmissions drops Summer 2025.

A blend of bruised Americana, ghost-town folk, and surreal indie rock. Homespun tunes, intimate yet otherworldly.