Seattle’s Acapulco Lips return with Now, a full-length burst of fuzz, flair, and sun-scorched swagger, out July 14 digitally and July 18 on vinyl via Killroom Records. Their signature cocktail of psych, surf, and garage rock gets a sparkling refresh on this latest release, with thicker grooves, sharper hooks, and even more attitude. For over a decade, the band has been a staple of the Pacific Northwest underground, blending ’60s girl group charm with blown-out guitar licks and reverb-drenched abandon. Now doesn’t mellow with age. It snarls with intent, while reaching into deeper emotional terrain than ever before.
From the woozy swirl of “Fuzzy Sunshine” to the frantic pulse of “The Flim-Flam,” the album crackles with restless energy and reckless cool. Maria-Elena Herrell’s vocals remain the radiant centerpiece, equal parts haunting and honeyed, while her basslines hold down the chaos with a melodic strut. Guitarist Christopher Garland lets loose in all directions, adding a tanpura drone here, a wild tremolo run there. Jordan T Adams joins on drums and percussion, bringing punch and personality, while Stefan Rubicz’s keys offer occasional glimmers of retro shimmer.
But beneath all the shimmer and fuzz lies a quiet meditation on time — how we lose it, spend it, waste it, and sometimes try to outrun it. “I’d say pretty much every single song on Now goes back to the theme of time,” says Herrell. “There’s an urgency that comes with understanding you can’t get it back, and you don’t know how much you’ll get.” That urgency pulses through tracks like “Everyday,” a frustrated observation of history repeating itself, and “Slowly Disappearing,” a slow-burning elegy for fading places and people. Written in part after seeing photos of the now-abandoned hospital where she was born, the song captures a feeling of slow erosion — of personal and collective memory — with a gentleness that suggests deeper loss. “It can feel like you are disappearing along with them,” she says.
Produced by Killroom co-founders Ben Jenkins and Troy Nelson, Now was recorded at their Georgetown studio, then mastered by Pacific Northwest punk legend Kurt Bloch. That analog warmth oozes from every corner of the album, especially on standouts like “Welcome to the Other Side,” a psychedelic handshake into the band’s glittering world, or “Pas d’échappatoire,” a swaggering, surreal detour into French-laced cool. The band’s devotion to the garage-psych lineage is palpable, but never derivative. This is music made for today, by lifers who know their history and know how to rip it up.
If Acapulco Lips’ past work flirted with nostalgia, Now is where they claim the present tense. It’s a record of movement, of circles, of patterns that return whether we want them to or not. These songs don’t just echo the sounds of another era — they dig into what it means to be here now, feeling joy, uncertainty, grief, and hope all at once. For fans of Shannon and the Clams, Thee Oh Sees, Jefferson Airplane, or anyone who thinks rock should be a little messy, a little dreamy, and always loud, Now is exactly the right time.
