Mixtape 359 • Earth To
Named after the most stylish of jeans, White Denim guarantee you will be the envy of the dance floor.
Named after the most stylish of jeans, White Denim guarantee you will be the envy of the dance floor.

If you visit Los Frankies’ website, you’ll see they describe themselves as influenced by early 2000s garage rock, which spins my head around while ghostly drifting clocks and peeling calendars are superimposed in the background. Great stuff! Also, I changed my mind while I was playing one of the songs, and decided it isn’t actually good. I’m not going to say which one, but I will say I’m sorry.
Another band with a well-earned penchant for ALL-CAPS, overbrimming with adolescent incorrigible behavior sung about from the perspective of adults proving it is indeed corrigible. The music is hyper-pop-punk and the irony levels are high.

The screen door banged against the frame of the small building that was once Cisco, Utah’s non-bustling post office. It’s like a ghost town abandoned by the ghosts, mused the cinematographer. Whatever once haunted this place left out of boredom. Meanwhile, the blacksmith methodically tapped the foundation along the perimeter of the building. They had brought the infractometer over from the side-by-side they had arrived in, but sometimes the old ways worked best. The rhythm etched out a Namibian bossanova that had been popular in the ‘70s. The entrance to the silo complex had to be near.

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.

Punchy and punch drunk laments wrapped in glorious blankets of fuzz and overgained vocals.