The Lacking Permanence

Analog synthesizers still sound like the shiny plastic future, even if they’re likely older than the young man fiddling with them in the California sunshine.

Would the tour of palaces never end? Having visited several monarchical residences, the cobbler had become habitually underwhelmed with the perpetual ostentation. Taking a seat at a padded bench to admire the mosaics of Dar al-Makhzen, the topologist hummed a Balkan square-dancing melody. The ancient Land Cruiser that had brought them here, well-cared for and highly-modified, sat in a modern parking lot that clashed with the surrounding Moroccan geometry. They pretended to take some selfies while monitoring the 360° camera feed coming from the vehicle.

Sounding a lot like the heyday of 1990s indie dream pop, Walrus keeps it a little spicy if not very distinctive.

Francophonic guitar attaque, brimming with chiming arpeggios, complicated stringular interplay, and words beyond comprehension but not understanding.

A mix of country, western swing, rockabilly, and various other semi-compatible genres, paired with seductive vocals and plenty of musical swagger.

Out of all the ways there were to get into Zugdidi — they could have taken the ekranoplan, for example — the agency had chosen the bus. This exasperated the developer to no end. Their gear sat somewhere in the guts of the green behemoth, guarded by six different hardware and software protocols, but it still felt queasy to be so far removed from it. The meteorologist peered across the botanical garden to the Dadiani palaces. Somewhere in there, a nondescript yogurt stand would have a small radio playing Konnakkol techno. They were to purchase two cones and overpay. Instructions would follow.

It’s all about the Benjamins, or more like the Hamiltons and Jacksons as we play music to encourage our listeners to become funding members of KAFM. We make no attempt to be subtle here.

A distinctive female voice fronting a standard indie combo is not the most exciting formula, but Big Thief has a penchant for weird flourishes and unexpected changes that keeps things interesting

The carpenter took a leisurely walk around the perimeter. In the weird light cone projected by the light they had installed at the top of the can, the ropes they had used to rappel down looked like the undulating tentacles of a mysterious jellyfish. Outside the cylindrical building that very deliberately resembled an oversized Coca Cola can, the security guard’s radio played Chicago sambas into the crisp Manitoba evening as he idly played his flashlight over the bushes outside. The choreographer stifled a giggle. On one of the ornithopters parked atop the domed top, next to an opening that looked like someone forgot to bring a canopener, a single LED began to blink. The mission was running out of time.

Verring wildly from soft-funk to outright garage fuzz, this wouldn’t be out of place coming out the AM radio and windows of a 1974 Maverick.