Tag: Field Music

If you're unsure of where you are and need to be put in your place quick, consult Amyl and the Sniffers.

The end of the year slide has commenced, and things feel somewhat lackadaisical, but there’s still a huge backlog of new music to get through. Among the highlights is a new album from Amyl and the Sniffers, which contains lots of great stuff the FCC would frown on, but I was able to find one track that required minimal editing for compatibility.

If the name didn't give it away, there is a very distinct beach slash surf feeling to San Diego's Wavves and their sun-glittered sounds.

You know I have a weakness for pitch-perfect harmonies and razor-sharp hooks, and The Rare Occasions deliver both in voluminous quantities. Also noteworthy tonight is back to back tracks from The Who Sell Out, only one of which is performed by The Who!

Jade Hairpins don’t care about your repetitive song structures, man. That’s not how you cram five albums’ worth of material into less than forty minutes.

Katie Crutchfield, performing as Waxahatchee, has been slowly and steadily building her repertoire and now her talent is overflowing her banks.

Well into their third decade, G. Love and Special Sauce still sound like they are in no particular hurry to get there.

They call it Hotlanta for a good reason, but I’m sure The Black Lips have enough bad attitude to have way more colorful names for their hometown.

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.

It was a peaceful suburban street, and they had taken great care to select a vehicle that would not stand out when parked along its sidewalks, a gold Taurus wagon. The very familiar nature of the setting — the shading trees, the mottled but well-kept asphalt, the toys scattered on lawns — made it feel like one of the most exotic places they’d been to in a while. The cartographer checked the coordinates on the fancy device strapped to their wrist, but any web search could have found them Brewster, New York. The ethnomusicologist leaned against the mailbox, labeled “Marie”, and scanned the canopy of the tremendous spreading oak planted square in the middle of the lawn, eyes peeled for that squirrel.