On records like Modern Country and Goes West, guitarist William Tyler manages to evoke a feeling of American vastness, a wide-open land filled with possibility. Through the use of found recordings, rusty static, and ambient texture, his new album Time Indefinite conjures a different kind of expanse, a world of individuals connected by distant analog AM signals broadcasting from who knows where. (He’s said, “It’s music about losing your mind but not wanting to, about trying to come back.”) Last month, Tyler, who lives in Nashville, came east for a listening party at Public Records and to take advantage of the things New York does best: Sichuan, sushi, and bagels. “To be diplomatic, I would say the bagels in Nashville are ‘Nashville good,’” he concedes, “but we also have barbecue that’s probably better than any of the barbecue in New York, so it evens out.”
