Tag: The Mooney Suzuki

Steep it hot and drink it slowly, for Valerian Tea is the remedy you are seeking.

It’s the first night of the year where I arrive at the station in daylight. Also, it’s been unseasonably cool. But neither of those things is as notable as a new album from Toadies which brings up more of that brutal precision fuzz pop that made my ears perk up the first time I heard them over 30 years ago. Elsewhere tonight: a phone call from PJ, on the road, and middle-cased keyboards.

Unbridled rock and roll from the west of France, where the vehicles may be smaller but where the spirit of le garage lives on, giving us good opportunity to apply the term "howling" and generally act as American as a keg party in the woods.

You can capture my attention immediately by kicking off your album with an overdriven organ riff and a disaffected voice. Blending danceable R+B aspects with a punk attitude, this DC band is retro and fast-forward and what we need in these times,

Guppy will make you feel like a million bucks, wreck your car, and make you lose your security deposit.

Back to the tried and true formula of new, old, obscure, and occasionally weird with tonight’s set, which features the return of Les Savy Fav and their always welcome abrasive electropunk. It’s now that time of year when I enter the studio in daylight and exit in pitch black darkness, which I always appreciate. In between, there were lots of exciting discoveries. Expect more heavily-censored Guppy in coming weeks!

Mall Girl is not what you would typically encounter at the mall around these parts.

It’s the evening before Valentine’s Day, which means absolutely nothing here at lacking org. Instead, we’re opening up with the Sex Clark Five taking on the Byrds, and something from Norwegian up-and-comers Mall Girl, who manage to hold up a broken mirror to American indie rock without cutting themselves to shreds. Also, their bassist name-checks Laddio Bollocko. Also tonight, more splendiferous instrumental musings from the incomparable Matt Berry to kick off the Final Hour.

I haven’t decided if Bully is a great name or a terrible name, but it certainly fits their melodic bludgeoning.

“You missed the white crocodile,” the chipa vendor told them. The mycologist and the munitions expert gave the expected sounds of disappointment, the same as any tourist drawn to Paraguay’s Ojo de Mar would. One of them spread a blanket by the lake side while the other one got busy with entering the passcodes and unlatching the efficient-looking metal case they had extracted from the moped. Opening it once the blanket was ready, they began taking out the 3D-printed pieces from the foam molding with quick, efficient movements as the Easy Star All-Stars blared out a David Bowie song from the vendor’s portable radio.