. issue VII : viii .

by barathron

. artist : the heavy midgets / tungs .
. album : sisters .
. year : 2013 .
. label : bad grrrl .
. grade : a .


I flipped format on this at first hearing, I had to within the first few seconds. Fidelity lessons, such as they are and can be a staring contest of sorts, led to discussion and a Robbery with two bs. I listened to the vinyl first as I am wont to, trying to go back to the best years of all time, 1967 until 1974, the red carpet and the burnished brass handles of antique angling. Not always want for stereo sound anyhow, not always in want of even a Crosley for the all-in-one packet. A beige plastic love of mine and I felt the fidelity of a woody on the beach as the asphalt edges blur to sand in the regular on the lapping rusty of damp oceanic air. So, I bandcamped and little speakers sounded the same as my other little speakers. The reel-to-reel spoke to me magnetically and I doubted. I delved into other sound systems, other delivery platforms and found the same delivery as my first Fisher Price foundation solid, solid, solid. Acid byproduct juiced pulp contained around me sent out for dusty bubble gum cardboard sleeve press, courting me to yankee doodle spirograph. I plopped on bandcamp and there it was again. The sound, man, the sound.

Heavy Midgets (Charlanne McCarthy, Jenn Hall, John Graham, and Ian McQuary) have managed to recreate the radio play of my long green youth, treehouse carved out of format and airplay. Someone else has given me the low wave sound that broadcast itself and into my ears as a small soundtrack of current events (despite all the computation you could just dance it to that rock-and-roll station. [Editor’s note/CONNOR SEZ: Nowadays anyways what the days holds for programming have already been programmed by a director of it under a manager of direction and company directive.]

“Sierra Leone” ends when you think it shouldn’t. This homemade lo fidelity makes for an appealing atmosphere, especially with me raised to understand the finest performance is often in nonexistence. It feels like someone went to a lot of trouble to let you listen to these two albums as a mixtape and I hope you enjoy your summer and I’ll see you when school starts again, okay? Sorry to go all summer camp 1980’s on you. It’s my demographic. The concept of the mix cd literally taking an hour to burn is within the decade of being archaic and nearly lost to the mists of dot matrix printer time; such as the reversal of Kasey Kasum as the top 40 countdown who does all those cartoons to Shaggy and Scooby who used to be that guy on the radio.

I listened to this side heavily moving into my apartment and managed to keep the side from brotherly protest which happens more often than not — and it did not, for the entire side, in a small space.

Tungs (Alex Criqui, Paul Himmelman, Ben Miller, and Matt Thiem) covers a wide spectrum of styles and tempo. “Bosses” is a droning galley chanty diving to middle management oratory, “Yossarian’s Blues” overdubs and quietly hisses basement tone toward the inn of concrete and small asbestos particles, this grey overlay of monochromatic berlin wall of sound, monument rather than franklin iron filing under manganese.

I highly recommend using this cassette tape (because, yes, it comes in this flavor and packaging; prided upon as advertised) as a love potion before the end of the summer. If you’re going to have an excellent fine romance of quick chemistry and chemical balancing routines, make sure you do it to this in the cassette deck (I know, I know, just let me believe that your ipod dock retrofitted from a pioneer tape deck is just a cigar) and leave it in their vehicle to find and listen to one more time after they drive you home and you have a few more wild nights in Richmond before the minute shortening sunlight hours. Overcasting the October skies and November rain slashing in curly black frets and fingfangfooms; somebody will find a schlick or two in their end.

by Perkus Tooth