Friday, 6 December 2013
Com Truise seems to have smoothed a few of his more obtuse angles. This is a man not afraid to remix Maroon 5. Fearless fucker, or just perverse? Autotune vocals that actually don't sound rapey, and a general wehay we're all having massive bags of fun in an airbrushed 80s future make Declination rather a celebration.
Thursday, 5 December 2013
FUCK YES!!!! Melbourne producer Griffin James has made the drums here so loud, so so loud, to the point that I'm dancing like a twat in the coffee shop I'm writing this in. Sorry everybody there.
Wednesday, 4 December 2013
Joel Hood has been filling his Soundcloud up with quality remixes of Phoenix and Tythe. Getway Car has the same woozy pleasure as a mancold, loading up on Manuka and an entire HBO series and then spending an entire day in a dressing gown. Except without the anxiety.
Tuesday, 3 December 2013
Pandreas' synths and a brilliantly timed melodic secret weapon put him in frame with Todd Terje. Which could either be seen as lazy Geographically inclined glibness on my part (as in the way every kooky female singer gets the KateBushBjorkNewsomisms). However, possibly there is just something in the atmosphere which makes Norwegian Producers' work sound like a dayglo night of fun in a bubble factory.
Monday, 2 December 2013
There's that story of a disgruntled George Harrison being asked about John Lennon's Flux influences: "Avant Garde? Avant Garde a bloody clue!" Not that a sometimes naive approach to experimenting with one's own creativity should be resisted, pretension not prevention, that's what I say. Avant Gardener, from Melbourne's prodigious Courtney Barnett, is a luxuriant start to any monday, enjoy with some photos of the Subway...
Friday, 29 November 2013
Autobahn, from Leeds, sound very much like how a band called Autobahn should sound. Think Warsaw: pre-Joy Division Joy Division. Talking the talk is something young men pick up instinctively, but there is a conviction and intensity to their stormy, serrated rock that conjures images of thumbed copies of Henry Miller provocatively displayed next to warm ale on formica in black windowed working men's pubs. Poets wanting a fight.