Tag: Asylum Street Spankers

Following a proud tradition of weird Australian pop, The Stroppies give us the sort of incisive harmonic jangle the world needs right now.

They had been shot at. They had avoided countless booby traps. They had been served tiny delicate cups of the most aromatic and poisonous espresso. All of these events were framed as interrupted cribbage games. Maybe they played too much. The phlebotomist ruminated on this as they locked up their two-wheel drive all-terrain motorbikes across the street from Kirov Park. The Transnistrian passports had been excruciatingly expensive, but the ergonomist insisted it was justified, for complicated political reasons. The pieces rattled against the cribbage board and the very dangerous little notebook in the messenger bag as they strolled through the trail, looking for a man holding two empty water bottles.

The Just Joans are the sonic equivalent of tartan… between the girl group influences, the pitch-perfect pastoral pop, and a sense of humor as black and bitter as truck stop coffee, they could not be more Scottish.

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.

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

The mechanic reached deep into the tool bag, knowing the required spanner would be at the very bottom. The clanking briefly drowned out the strains from the radio, its signal relayed every 500 meters by the commpods they had dropped on the way. Carefully fitting the business end of the tool between the rear set of treads on the boring machine, they found themselves exclaiming out loud “actually, I think it’s pretty interesting.” The surveyor, measuring the long tunnel behind them with an x-ray transit, looked back briefly, by now used to such outbursts. The cavern should be another two miles down.

I really love Khruangbin, despite the pronounciation quandary they plunge me into whenever I play one of their songs.

"Screaming Females" is a misnomer. There's only one, and not a whole lot of screaming in "Chamber For Sleep (Part One)".

This song by La Louma sure is a catchy anthem for us skeptics and cynics.

Now this song weighs a ton.