Like pre-teens throwing every liquid into the kitchen blender and daring each other to drink the results, Woody and Jeremy fuse all manner of sounds legitimate and profane into some murky concoction that tastes surprisingly good.
Information on this outfit is scant, but not required to enjoy their lilting melodies and careful close harmonies. These songs are like a cat that has become expert at sneaking onto your lap. Before you know it, they are nestled in and thrumming.
You can say that bedrock funk bassist Bootsy Collins is The One, and you would be right on so many levels.
Viagra Boys don’t care what you think… there’s plenty of room for a saxophone and John Prine covers in the backseat of a 21st century punk band.
“Batu means ‘rock’ in Malay” said the photographer, for the third time in a week. The sous-chef ignored the comment, also for the third time, and tried squinting in the darkness at the cribbage board. They had been wise enough to purchase a glow-in-the-dark deck after all these midnight assignments, but had yet to extend their ingenuity to the board. Tapping a foot in irritation, they knocked over the thermos full of hot cocoa set on the steps, and it would have rolled down several long flights of guano-covered stairs had it not been stopped by the tandem bike’s wheel leaning against the statue’s pedestal. Above them, Lord Murugan stared stonily into the dark.
When your arrangements are razor-sharp, your moods mercurial and psychedelic, and your melodies constantly off-kilter, you’re probably a Dutch band like Certain Animals.
Dutch indie rock psychedelic bands often stand out from their UK or US counterparts because they are just too good at the tropes. It’s like they took the test and got 110%, and there wasn’t even extra credit.
When I hear indie pop as carefully crafted as this, with luminous chord changes and impeccable diction, I immediately suspect a Dutch or German origin… these cats are from Nuremberg.
The Shilin Night Market had seemed to grow even more chaotic in the intervening years, yet the vendors and customers still retained their preternatural calm, as if the events happening all around them were due to forces completely out of their control. As the skeptic checked the status lights on the Stinky Tofu Containment Device for the seventh time that mission, the inspector pinged the jetpacks they had secured under a table of bejeweled phone cases to make sure they were primed for a quick getaway. Their progress came to a sudden halt as they considered the sign before them: “Small Sausage In Large Sausage - $120”
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