Lindsey Mackie's vocals possess a quality rarely heard in contemporary music—a richness that recalls Kate Bush's theatrical intelligence without ever descending into mimicry. Her voice carries stories that unsettle rather than comfort, narratives that burrow beneath the skin and refuse easy extraction. Dave's production work frames these performances with remarkable restraint, allowing space for the subversive undercurrents that define their approach. The comparison to Radiohead feels earned not through sonic similarity but through shared instincts: both acts understand that beauty and disquiet need not be mutually exclusive.

'Big Ship' announces their intentions immediately. Originally captured on a Fostex 8-track in 1992 and subsequently reworked, it retains the raw urgency of its origins while benefiting from decades of accumulated wisdom. The track's evolution mirrors the band's own trajectory—born from limitation, refined through persistence. That Right Recordings saw fit to release it as a single speaks to its immediate potency, though one wonders what might have been had industry momentum not been derailed by tragedy and circumstance.

'Great Wide Open' strips everything back to essentials, and the Space Oddity comparison isn't mere hyperbole. There's genuine cosmic loneliness here, the kind of existential remove that Bowie perfected but few have successfully channeled since. The homemade video, with its primitive effects and earnest ambition, somehow enhances rather than diminishes the track's impact. It serves as reminder that authenticity can't be manufactured, only captured.

Then comes 'Warrior Queen,' which thoroughly demolishes any notion that Suris operate within predictable parameters. Beginning with delicate piano before erupting into a cacophonous battle between guitar, synth, and vocal, it exemplifies their willingness to follow songs wherever they need to go. This isn't prog rock indulgence for its own sake—every shift feels necessary, every build earned. The rules it breaks are the ones deserving demolition.

The production across *Rare Brew* reveals the benefits of their self-sufficient approach. Working without label interference or producer mediation, the Mackies have crafted arrangements that serve the songs rather than current trends. The remastering for 2025 brings clarity without sacrificing character, walking that difficult line between preservation and enhancement. These tracks breathe with organic life, the sound of two people finishing each other's musical sentences across decades of collaboration.

The real triumph of *Rare Brew* lies in its refusal to compromise. The Mackies raised children, lost crucial industry support, and continued making uncompromising music while countless contemporaries either vanished or adapted themselves into irrelevance. This collection documents artists who've chosen integrity over expedience, craft over commerce. Whether that makes for consistently brilliant listening is almost beside the point—though it frequently does. *Rare Brew* exists as testament that genuine artistic vision can survive industry indifference, personal tragedy, and the simple passage of time. That alone makes it worth your attention.