Saturday, August 30, 2008

Eleven Inches. Holly. Phoenix Feather. "Nice and Supple." Thirteen 1/2 Inches. Yew. Phoenix Feather. "Powerful."

I probably should've just written about Magic Wands in that last post, and included them in the group of bands who are biting the 80s, but executing said biting so well that it's hard to hate. Actually there's plenty room for The Magic Wands to still suck it up, as they only have like 4 tracks, but what's there is solid shit.

Most of the bands with recycled sounds that suck tried to recycle cock-rock in the most dickless way possible, like Jet or Wolfmother. Magic Wands feel so sincere though about their Blondie-esque style. Their lead singer's name is Dexy! That's dope! Who the fuck do you know named Dexy? I thought so.

They are always referred to as "Chris and Dexy Valentine." Does that mean that Chris doesn't have a last name, or they're married? Maybe it could be a White Stripes gimmicky thing. *Shrugs*

Monday, August 4, 2008

Je m'appelle...

In the long running tradition of bands like Rilo Kiley, Jethro Tull, Lynyrd Skynyrd and ZZ Top, I bring you Azeda Booth. And yes, they are a band of bearded, racist flutists, with a foxy ginger lead singer.

Some hours have passed since I wrote the above joke. Now I have no desire for this post to be funny so I will be frank instead.

Have you ever been awake by yourself at 3 in the morning, not really doing anything? You are either reading, or watching something, or writing, or drawing, or spinning around in your living room with your eyes closed, listening to Yes, and then it comes. This hope that something is steadily moving towards you. This thing is flipping over cars and pushing up dust in its wake. If you could just get your hands on this thing, the apparent mystery of 3 in the morning existence would be revealed to you, and you wouldn't just be waiting for tomorrow, you'd be living in the gorgeous, shining, electric night.

No fucking clue what I'm talking about? Well, I'm not surprised. I'm an especially sensitive boy, and I will dream up all sorts of whacked out shit if left to my own devices at 3 in the morning, which is essentially every night.

Azeda Booth sounds like this feeling. Their songs are essentially composed of urgent, fantasy beats and vocals so processed that you will think that you are listening a girl made of spun sugar, not some dude from Canada. Their album, In Flesh Tones, is affected by all the same emotional urgency that watercolors staring across the room, trying not to stare across the room, then giving the fuck up and staring across the room again, cause looking's legal right?