Armour / Connor Cash Colbert / Sister Swimmer

What Rob Moura hopes you hear when you press play on his music is a familiar language rendered alien. True to his Seattle-based surroundings, the songs he performs as Armour are verdant and waterlogged, and they move with dark clouds permanently affixed above them. With his featherweight vocals and labyrinthine guitar structures, Moura’s music may at first recall the classic folk of Nick Drake. His songs dip just as deep into melancholy waters, and they look around as much as they do inward. But Moura’s characters are victims of the present era, and so they strive to disengage from the uncomfortable, inconvenient facets of their humanity: the thrum of heartache, the sting of heartbreak, the dull pang of regret, the weight of familial trauma, and the chains of faith.

Connor Cash Colbert is a songwriter and poet living on the unceded, traditional lands of the Duwamish people past and present in Seattle. He’s a member of the alt-folk band False Hemlock, an editorial assistant at Poetry Northwest, and Hannah’s dad.

In emerging artist, Sister Swimmer’s new EP, “The Horizon Line Swallowed Us Whole”, the boundary between dream and memory fizzles and sputters, dissolves into a hum of static. In the inevitable natural disaster of experience—did you forget your body, again? Do we trust the vessel that carries us forward? Is it really love or did you just want to feel safe? Project creator Britt Amborn’s voice wavers and waxes poetic within these questions, using music as a salve to turn emotional injury into relational fortitude, as a tool to move forward from her own obsessions with worry and place and longing and what stories the body claims for keeps. Sister Swimmer’s sonic landscape blends elements of indie rock and dream pop, venturing into darkly-lit territories of folktronica and shoegaze.

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