Coyote tramps all over indie’s moonlit desert, carrying with them only Nuggets organ licks and a charged sloppiness that’s damn-near frightening. On their four-song debut EP, the Philadelphia threesome boasts giant cinematic garage sounds not far from Doors country, only they’re not a pretentious, overrated train wreck. The death-march theatrics of “Moon City” wouldn’t have sounded out of place in The Elephant Man, but it instead lands somewhere among the depraved drunkards on Sunset Strip some forty years ago. Singing is replaced by shouted warnings that either wallow in the gloomy background or escalate into shrieking that logically accompanies their horror-film piano and guitar counterparts. Big ups to West Philly, yo.