Tracy Bryant “A Place For Nothing And Everything In Its Place” LP (Color Vinyl / LTD. 350)

Tracy Bryant’s 2nd LP “A Place For Nothing And Everything In Its Place” on Clear Black Splatter Color Vinyl. Released by Burger Records, limited to 350 copies and long sold out. Factory sealed, ships media mail in LP mailer. 12” inserts include lyrics & photos.

Track listing:
A1 The Grave
A2 Velvet Kids
A3 Forever Certain
A4 I Don't Love You Anymore
A5 A Crowded Room
B1 White Meat
B2 X-Ray
B3 Right Here Waiting
B4 Unlonely

L.A. Record review of the album:

With his new record, A Place For Nothing And Everything In Its Place, singer-songwriter Tracy Bryant has officially joined the ranks of likeminded nü-pop auteurs Mikal Cronin and Devon Williams. Bryant’s self-titled 2014 solo debut felt almost stubbornly lo-fi; its gorgeous pop morsels were submerged in a haze of hiss and miscellaneous tape-wear, like AM Gold transmitted from the lost city of Atlantis. Bryant’s 2016 follow-up, Subterranean—which included more realized renditions of songs off the first record—saw the ex-Corners singer reluctantly pushing his melodies closer to the spotlight. A Place For Nothing … melds the wistful immediacy of Bryant’s first record with the less asphyxiated—though still slightly off-kilter—production on his second. This is clearly a self-conscious evolution, as evidenced by the fake-out intro to album opener “The Grave”: the audible “click” of a play button on a tape recorder, followed by thirty seconds of fuzzy warble. The button clicks again, and the song erupts into a wash of jangling guitars, with Bryant’s high-register voice front and center. 4-track fundamentalists might balk at this direction merely on principle, but it provides Bryant’s indelible vocal melodies with the breathing room they have long demanded. “Forever Certain”—which revolves around a deceptively simple chord progression—is Bryant’s most explicitly catchy song to date, while the ornate, Ray Davies-filtered-through-Flying Nun romp “Unlonely” sees a burgeoning pop maestro flexing his artistic muscles. Hi(ish)-fi guitar pop seldom sounds this good.
—Morgan Troper