“trampstamp,” the new single from Nashville-based singer Angela Autumn , arrived with so little public acknowledgement from its creator, I worried at first that it might be one of those bastard AI impersonation tracks cropping up on artist pages like boll weevils. One obvious fact quickly disproved this paranoia: The song’s psychedelic, droning invocation of Appalachia sounds unlike anything currently available in Autumn’s catalog. Surely a bot trying to masquerade as the up-and-coming rocker would employ her trademark twang—a country elocution so strong-willed, it scoffs at Spotify’s classification of Men I Trust or the Japanese House as “Indie Twang”—over a rhythm-driven, radio-ready ditty like her most-streamed track “ Electric Lizard ,” not these shifting swells of synth and strings that edge on the acoustic trance of raga. All to say: “trampstamp” is a brooding departure for Autumn, and a decidedly human one—never has her singing sounded so abrasive, so faltering, and so flesh-and-blood.…