I always thought Kurt Vile was a play on the name of the German composer that gave us “Mack The Knife,” but that seems to be his given name (bonus: middle name is Samuel). Sonically, he’s more in line with Lou Reed than Weill, topping his awkward nouveau folk with a voice that may not be the most musical but is actually the perfect medium to express this particular malarkey.
Sure, they claim to be joking, but the chops you hear from Lizard Music are as serious as a car accident, their indie guitar pop leaving no hook unsharpened or ear unwormed.
If you are of a certain age and exposure to the MTV, you would think that people in Tijuana eat barbecued iguana, but that was just Stan Ridgway and Wall of Voodoo reaching for a cheap rhyme. Polvo takes the song's nervous energy and turns it up a few notches.
The courier unrolled the blueprints onto the brightly-lit drafting table. The basement of the Gomel Regional Museum of Military Glory was not only roomy enough to house several specimens of large weaponry, but also extremely well illuminated. The historian had mused, repeatedly, on how some of the bigger pieces must have been disassembled in the field then reassembled in here for storage, hence the need for the lights. Upstairs, the gala which had served as their cover for entry continued into the night, the band now striking up some sort of Caspian samba. Quite an elaborate operation, but they needed to machine a new aileron for the ekranoplan, and this was the only place they would find the designs.
A soft Texas breeze ruffled the grass along the banks of Belton Lake. Why not Lake Belton? wondered the hydrologist. Behind the trees, the aviator finished securing the paragliders. They had arrived with two, but would be leaving with three, which added a true twist to the logistics. Across the water, the sounds of Jamaican country music could clearly be heard coming from a raucous campsite. They were about 300 feet away, and had not been part of the plan. But if there were to be witnesses, then let them be the inebriated type.
Once above the canopy, it was impossible to see the green-winged hang-gliders that the archeologist and the mercenary had used to enter the Antananarivo bird sanctuary. Going through Customs had been dicey, the parts for the flying machines had been dispersed with various kinds of unassembled patio furniture, but the quality of the materials still stood out. Fortunately, the mercenary had brought up the Madagascar goth metal scene and distracted the functionaries into stamping passports and waving them through. They hadn’t even asked about the Geiger counter.
Bratty bedroom fuzz from an out there Swedish woman, this rocks in a raw way, like someone who wanted to build on the sounds of the Flat Duo Jets, the White Stripes, and the Raveonettes, but didn’t actually need a second person to make it happen.
lacking.org