Upon breezing through a penny dreadful, one of those novels loosely devoured on a westbound train. We pick up the protagonist’s road trip in West Virginia, the car pointed vaguely in the direction of Tampa or Key West or Fidel Castro’s summer villa. For company the radio is engaged; moribund mid-seventies country rock standards far less important than the effect as a whole. The rush and flex of stations fading in and out across airwaves as wide and as open as the vista through the windshield. The conflagration of voices. A sort of seamless, repetitious epic – that final word suggesting a weighty, linear experience (at least if orthodox lit-crit methodology is applied. You should read more Dostoyevsky. Seriously).
Music experience is far from linear. Parabolic is perhaps the most apt description: as we jet forward upon our co-dependent yet inevitably individual missions, we surround ourselves not only by whispers from the past, but through skeins of sound both new and old. We keep referring back to this tune, to that album, because it if doesn’t help to define who we are, then it at least acts as a reminder of just how far we’ve travelled.
All of which is a pretentious and perhaps strange method of serving up some grim and dirty goth-flavoured grindcore fun and sprightly electro-pop – but those are the shapes your waiter pulls. If you don’t appreciate the service, don’t leave a tip. Below the words: something from not all that long ago, which – when stripped from its hipster moorings (time can do that to a track) and away from the sound of every chic, London indie disco back in late 2007, the overriding response is one of smiles.
And then: the odd, reflex jerk that in a certain light, might just be the urge to dance.
Sportsday Megaphone / Less and Less
Oh, I checked: Geek, not Nerd. I always suspected so.