NEVER MIND THE BALROG, HERE’S POISON RUÏN

On a dreary November evening, Poison Ruïn’s Mac Kennedy, Will McAndrew, and Allen Chapman (sans member Nao Demand, sick with COVID) are sitting comfortably in the ass grooves of musty, sinking chairs, listening to trains pass by in their West Philadelphia jam space. I make my way through the clutter on the floor just before McAndrew rudely thrusts in my direction a Smirnoff Ice, disguised in a crumpled paper bag. (Surely you are familiar with the term “being Iced”?) They all crack a beer while I awkwardly fiddle with the field recorder. Labeled by Chapman as “jeans and T-shirt guys,” the three bandmates are a bit goofy. Their collective aesthetic screams “friendly, stoop-smoking neighbor,” or “off-duty mailman.”