Is it the analog synthesizer flourishes, or the gentle delivery with an aggressive intent, or the seamless shuttling between disparate elements that shouldn't work together? The band sounds perfectly familiar, yet completely its own thing.
Boston’s Sleepyhead have been successfully dodging full wakefulness for a couple decades now, putting out an intriguing type of bedroom pop filled with subtle complexities, and their new album is filled to the brim with such. In other news we kick off with a Fugazi cover from quintessential NYC band BODEGA, whose lineage clearly traces back to legions of posterized grit punks.
Sure, we’ve all heard of the Eiffel Tower, but what do we know about the architect whose name it bears? April March breaks it all down on this version of the Pixies’ song. Also in this show, a special-delivery track from Planets in the Ocean, a new project from one of my favorite vocalists, Robb Benson.
Taking their name from Australian slang for something not good, The Chats are here to strike fear in the hearts of parents and guidance counselors across the globe.
That loose groove on the drums, the casually menacing bass, and Mike Doughty’s stream-and-consciousness narration… there’s also no shortage of political commentary on these three songs, putting a bold face on topics most others approach obliquely.
Matt Sharp and The Rentals have always attracted a stellar cast of musicians to help them assemble their popsong symphonies.
They had wandered through the town, having left the aquabus in one of the drainage ponds at the I-70 interchange. It had been a dusty drive, and the vehicle certainly could use the soaking. As they wandered through the town’s enormous collection of objects, they felt lilliputian. The dentist rattled the bag of tiles suggestively as they walked past the sign for the World’s Largest Rocking Chair. The typesetter did not hesitate to point out that at 678 inches, it was the tallest chair of any kind in the United States. It was a habit that was both tiresome and instructive. And it never got in the way of a quick game of mahjong.
The world of Khruangbin is made up of velvet sunsets, shimmering dunes, and cool river rocks. There’s also a guitar, some drums, and a bass. And lately, vocals.
The pair powered down the sand-skis as they approached the slight concavity in the beach that had been described by the vendor in the spice market. The cliffs of Levera National Park did not seem to be an ideal place for smugglers to congregate, but the actuary would be the first to admit they did not know the first thing about smugglers and their habits of congregation. The blacksmith was better versed in these things, and they didn’t seem to be bothered by where the assignment was taking them. As the morning fog absorbed the last echoes of the recently-killed engines, they marveled at the conical shape of Sugar Loaf rising above the azure Caribbean water.
“Did you say you wanted FIVE?” asked the turkey-leg vendor, his incredulity betraying the slightest bit of Norwegian accent. The crowds at the Trondenes Middle Ages Visitor Park thronged past as the young man counted the hands available to the pair before him, performed a simple matching algorithm to the five turkey-legs being requested, and came up with a non-computing value. “We’re hungry,” offered the machinist helpfully. The gymnast kept an eye out for Sverre the allodialist. They needed to have a few words with him about the land titles, preferably in the privacy of the sleek three-man catamaran that had discretely brought them here. The half-darkening of the sky that passed for night at these latitudes meant the usual tactics were out and they would have to convince him to come willingly.
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