Tag: Bleachers

Royel Otis would like to work you over with chocolate-covered brass knuckles.

A flamboyant tip of the hat to Charley, who shared Being Dead with me only recently. I am smitten and kicking myself for missing their debut album’s release last summer, but I am fiercely making up for lost time. This evening’s Velvet Potty Mouth award goes to STRFKR, whose distinctive FUCK sat like a rock in a river of glitter and was carefully edited out for the Grand Valley’s sensitive ears.

I always thought Kurt Vile was a play on the name of the German composer that gave us “Mack The Knife,” but that seems to be his given name (bonus: middle name is Samuel). Sonically, he’s more in line with Lou Reed than Weill, topping his awkward nouveau folk with a voice that may not be the most musical but is actually the perfect medium to express this particular malarkey.