a mixed bag of Curtis Mayfield vocals, Carlos Santana guitar solos, Mariachi band trumpets, disco bass lines and more, so much more besides
There’s a more loveable, syrupy feel to Lindsay’s own offering; but Cheek Mountain Thief aren’t worlds away from Tunng. Let’s say, approximately 1,100 miles instead, or two and a half hours if you must know.
Newly nestled between fellow Sub Pop artists like Fleet Foxes and Iron and Wine, Husky are hardly outcasts on the label, they’re the weird kids, but I’m pretty sure they’ll get invited to more parties.
Volcano! make music that is unpredictable and by all stretches of the imagination explosive; listening to the LP is most likely to leave you with a feeling of; ‘it was good but I can’t remember why’.
Once you just allow the record some space – always a problem with a set of covers, you’re mining some gold in amongst the ore. Fucking good fun, playmates.
These songs still ultimately feel like snatches, film score pieces, confessionals, personal recitals, glimpses of the parts of a larger whole. Maybe that’s the point. But what the heck, it’s still bloody good. You should get this.
...given the songs are pretty much snatches of sound padded out by sky high attitude, it’s hard to define exactly why you like them or why you’re frustrated they’re not 3 times as long… Maybe that’s the whole point.
This is a big record, wide in scope and sound. You do have to stick with it at times as it’s over an hour but the beat is ever present, and at times you can wander off mentally but I think that’s more to do with the fact that this is a deeply satisfying, refreshing listen
It’s a wee bit saggy and one paced just at the points in the record’s lifespan when it needs to look from under its fringe and do something different, or give something that the listener can latch onto; it’s just too diffident for its own good.
If anything Silver Silver reminds me of one those crossover pastoral modern folk LPs, pastoral works like Iren Lovasz and Teagrass’s Wide is the Danube, say.
The sound veers between rock and roll, a rolling country (i’ll be rested) a messy sort of blues (Hear Me Calling) and a more arty, Clowns/Triffids sound in the aforementioned Play With Fire and curtains.
This is an LP of its time. And faces the same pitfalls. Just like all those “old” looking pictures that Gilded Youth delights to create using Instagram, it’s not always about the effect but ultimately about how to present good content.
One For Kenny sounds like a tourist Odyssey on dope, shumbling from coffee shop to coffee shop, more and more buggered off Nederweed whilst completely lost in a sea of tourist crocodiles, pimps and pissed up ex pats.
A bit of Faust Tapes cut and paste here, a bit of laconic female vocals there, and a bit of Gong keyboard sound for good measure. Everything a sensitive type needs, n’est-ce pas?
Tuffers aside, our first signs of some naughtiness and joie de vivre come with Howl in the Typewriter’s Cheesebuger Eating American and the daft collage Chewed by Badgers.
This is the sound of someone who has found their feet; Quarantine is extremely arresting in both the way that Halo sets out her vision and the contradictions that listening to it presents.
Make no mistake: this is a commercial record, glossy, sleek and assured; this is the sort of music bands like Editors would make if they were any good, to be frank.
...this is a classic bedsit record, full of low density guitar phasing, slightly tinny sound effects, woozy textures and other lo fi “patina” bric-a-brac that somehow collide with the singer’s moody disposition.
Marvellous, ridiculously laid back and far too much fun for one sitting, surely?
Like some farmer lad at a Christmas do, neck bursting out of his collar, tie askew, this record struggles to contain all the potential it possesses.