The buzziest indie album of the year wasn’t made in NY or LA, and it can’t be found on Spotify, Apple Music, or even (probably not for a while) your local library. Cindy Lee built aura around the stunning 120-minute epic Diamond Jubilee by choosing to forego traditional models in favour of letting fans download a .zip file from a Geocities website that would make a hell of a lot more sense to us if this was 1999.

The music is similarly fossilized, matching its lo-fi delivery method with vocals inspired by the starlets of the ‘50s, samples that echo like transmissions from a distant time, and ‘70s guitars filtered into smoky, grungy, cavernous landscapes. “I Have My Doubts” is a great example. Skeeter Davis-esque verses are delivered between meandering guitar solos, suggesting a breakdown that words can’t contain. Diamond Jubilee creates an apparition of something familiar, but one that listeners can’t grasp, shapeshifting and wholly original.

Cindy Lee’s skill as a six-string technician is also commendable, with the ability to bend the will of the guitar into a croon, a scream, a whine, or a cry. A hastily embarked and then cancelled tour only added to the growing lore behind Diamond Jubilee. The music is fabulous, yes, but in the streaming era, maybe the story is all we have. Lee tells it well.