Tag: White Denim

Matt Berry has a little surprise for you, but first you have to slip into something groovy.

White Denim, part of the eminently surfable wave of psychedelia we’ve enjoyed this past decade, finds it easy to freely pummel you with some of the most massive riffs you’ll encounter on this side of the water’s surface. Shout out to our caller who could possibly be Murrdawg on alternate Sundays here on KAFM. Check out their show!

BODEGA is just around the corner and they have everything you need.

A very special New Year’s Eve edition, distinguished by the fact it makes absolutely no attempt to be any different from most other alternate Tuesday nights! Other than wrapping up the show with The Dismemberment Plan and “The Ice Of Boston” as the clock nears midnight. Pop open that third bottle of bubbly, indeed.

Thick and syrupy, this is an American counterbalance to the heady psych-funk acts coming out of Australia recently, The interplay between jazzy elements and dense pop textures makes for a distinctive sound, drawing you into its warm fuzzy embrace.

I know that Water From Your Eyes is a reference I can look up in a second these days, but I am going to refuse to do so to leave the magic untainted.

“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.

Bill Callahan has been wandering the halls of music for quite some time now, his deep voice and aimless arrangements a constant hypnotic presence.

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 catamarine knifed silently upstream, its passage discernible only as a faint twin wake on the surface of the river. Up ahead, the sonar array was already picking up the turbulence from the Mbocaruzú falls, the staccato warning pings slicing neatly between the Mozambique big-band swing being piped into the earpieces. In their individual pods, the cartographer and the miner reviewed their maps, surveys, and orders. Up ahead, behind the rushing down-flow of the water and completely out of sight, a set of steel doors silently opened and awaited the pair’s arrival.