Imagine a big, steaming plate of scrambled eggs, fluffy, syrup-drenched pancakes, and a heap of bacon: juicy, dangerous, satisfying, excessive. The adjectives that an artery-clogging greasy-diner breakfast evokes are not unlike the words you might use to describe what Washington, D.C.'s Dead Meadow strives for. On its debut for indie juggernaut Matador Records, the trio attempts a re-creation of big, slow, '70s riff-rock, the kind of music scruffy kids in corduroys listen to while staring at black-light posters and... More >>>