Even though most bands sing and all bands have songs, the “singer-songwriter” vibe still makes us barf. Hard. Which is what’s so rare/special about these two United Kingdom acousticks. Both fingerpick into pensive drift zones and solitary mumble rumination, but neither steps near the shit-poet pulpit of fake public heartbreak. The End Springs spins six-string patterns like spider webs, all quiet bossa-nova wanderings and neo-Fahey dusty landscapes, spruced with poignant sunrise/sunset delay and subtle sampled naturalism. Total tranquility base. The Wolf Tracks hunts a more feral, wall-of-the-wild vein. Clawed guitar leads and chord organ drones collide with forest-wind flutes and hairy wolfpack percussion clatter while vague voices mutter in the pines. Campfire songs for after the fire goes out. Hand-stenciled tape cases twine-tied with a talisman of palm tree-shrapnel. Limited to 100.