. issue VII : i .
Let’s go behind the curtain and inside the beltway. I know nothing about anything, and everyday if I’m not muttering that to myself as I ambulate street feet than I am exalting myself much more than I should be. When Day Joy’s bandcamp only had two songs from their first full length proper I felt cheated. Not only cheated, but lacking, and with a value system out of mind. Not only could I not formulate a personal business plan I was left thinking that this portended. Hollow bird bones fell across and graced the strewn marble engraved hallways of my speech-deadened awe-stricken cerebrum. But what? How? What other questions could I quaff and quench?
The folk sound can go so far, the might vibration buzzing a cicada stereo. I don’t understand how every single kid who is moving into the city just came out of the backwoods and has roots stretching back, but much like the deer and rabbits have been crushed and trampled out they’ve been driven out from under these logs and foliage to exist in another environment bringing with them their elven traditions, replacing their names with memorial conquerors, heroic soakers superb.
OR ARE THEY!?!
These nature sounds tape played porch at sunrise, snug. Workaholics meets Wolfenstein sees Wagner (I, Spy; not the opera guy) culminates in “Animal Noise,” [the iPod Random Choice Association Award goes to selling my ears on]. The lyrics soar in and out of noise, like I like my languages, experienced with as many senses at the possible moment. To translate that last bit, I do hope if you’re enjoying Comedy Central at home these days and have seen the “Workaholics” program, then you should mute the sound of the theme song and replace it with “Animal Noise.” This song found a niche for itself within my iPod playlist during random play of all songs, and has a certain subtropical cool combined with today’s Fleet Foxes & Fantastic Family of Flannel Felines sensibility, emulating the consumability of the commodification of the youth culture culminating in the arrival of kodachrome color television within the middle 1960’s and 70’s.
“CCD” actually has a working english pronunciation guide along with it and tone has a choral shift so the mass of singers and mouth mutilate these words into vowels into notes upon page. The notes are delicious.
Sentimental uplifting, depressing progressive, wide open spaces. Not knowing this band is from Florida, all I can see are jagged canyons, yard stripes crimson and dusty red clay. (“Talks of Terror” may as well be a little death, frenchiefied, greased instead of lube for the garage roof, a stonehenge of carports. The yodels yawn of what I now know must be swampland, the sight of the burning star setting and reddening the water to a deeper darker unreflected moon, the lapping of the small current is from monsters of the deep and not the elements as mankind named them.)
“Go To Sleep, Mess” names the album in perfection then. The vibrating hum of insects at dusk finally can be accurately representing by people that are just starting to grow and earn their wings. Dusk settles, twilight loses the vampire sparkle and goes back to a zone; rage, rage against the dye of the light.
by Perkus Tooth