Andrew Goldman stockpiles sounds on his lawn. One must walk purposefully to avoid the rusted out frames on blocks, carburetors and random engine parts strewn about. These discarded remnants from past eras are not only serviceable but necessary for Goldman to keep things running.

They might be unsightly to those that want something easy, something new, but Goldman proudly assembles melody by hand. He doesn’t casually pick them from shelves, hoping to match his style.

He massages parts until they fit, hoping to hear the coughing and wheezing and see the puff of dark, black smoke when the engine turns over.

Am I Right Or Am I Right gets horsepower from components left behind when newer options became available, a delicate touch and elbow grease. Indie rock, essentially has become a parody of itself; songs written for product placement as some sort of cool currency instead of an expression of individualism. These songs won’t find an easy home. Horns are twisted and scratched, instead of booming or infectious. The pace is hurried and at times frantic. The percussion driving, and the guitars spastic.

To crib Waits’, people see Goldman under the hood, covered in grease and wonder “what’s he building in there?” The answer is not a simple one. There are moments that swing. Moments that shuffle. Moments that rage. Moments of funk. Endless moments of heart. There are moments for everyone, which sadly sometimes results in moments for no one.

Credit must be given for the simple fact that nothing Goldman presents is the safe choice. On the infectious opener, “Baby I’m Trying”, Goldman shows is he wanted, he could power through big riffs and bigger choruses but that’s not him. He’s a builder, a maker of things.

Goldman has the charisma of a street corner preacher. He’s a funk evangelist and an explorer of leftover rails from a more coke dominated era. Am I Right or Am I Right doesn’t sound like anything else out there right now, and that’s the biggest gift Goldman can give and the best compliment I can offer.