Tag: Devo

The Fogerty Brothers are putting their upbringing to good use in the genuinely psychedelic outfit Hearty Har, parsing the electric sitars and paisleys of long ago into a legitimate translation.

The Ghoulies from Perth, Australia look like regular blokes caught out grocery shopping, but the sound they make is an urgent, insistent punk rock howl with a frenetic keyboard bubbling through.

What is in that Canadian water? Kiwi Jr. are burning up my speakers with their latest release, a rich concoction of perfectly crafted indie guitar pop that seems designed to be played loud, and if I’m supposed to stop doing that, then I guess I’ll be buying new speakers soon.

It’s the triumphant return of Pom Poko and their shattered-and-reassembled attacks of aggression and affection, like the sonic equivalent of staying inside the sauna for as long as you can, then running out to roll around in the snow.

The Gaslamp Killer earned his nickname by ruining the vibe of clubs in San Diego’s Gaslamp district with his incongruous DJ sets, so we must conclude those clubs were lame.

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.

Habibi is what happens when you spill solvent on the psychedelic garage / surf music / girl groups section of your record collection.

Double Date With Death are loud and Canadian, and they don’t care if you don’t understand their French howling. They have a double date to get to.

The Musée National stood like a squat block, facing the highway at an angle and mirrored to the left by the library. The hu hu sat inside, waiting in the wing housing the musical instrument collection. The surgeon nervously handled the endoscope case, dusty from the helicopter ride that had brought them to N’Djamena. The calligrapher was clearly nervous but their services would only be required for brief minutes while they inspected the inscription on the inside of the ancient calabash.

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.