Saturday, January 31, 2009


I had given up on Animal Collective. And even after the release of this album (which I’ll give you in a minute), my dissatisfaction with their work remains. Their last two joints “Feels” and “Strawberry Jam” slipped on and off of my radar screen without a moment’s connection.

No need to scramble my mind military.

“Sir, we’ve got a bogey at 12 miles due west. Priming F-18s for intercept.”

No. Nothing there. Just sounded like “Fun With Loop Pedals starring Regis Philbin!” No heart. Just electronics.

The blip on my radar with this new one, “Merriweather Post Pavilion” isn’t as large as the album itself, but simply the size of a single song: the second track, “My Girls.”

Thing’s a fucking jamnation. It sliced into my brain like a warm knife through birthday cake. Once the slice was eaten, it planted little song seeds into the hole and sewed it up. After about a week, those little fuckers began hatching and messed up my whole existence.

I can’t stop thinking about that goddamn song. It’s taken over my days (and nights). When I’d normally wake up in a sweat after a dream-state sexual romp with a Celtics cheerleader (that really happened…awesome), I emerged from sleep with “whoos” and digital “clap-claps” and other monstrous groove-inducing mechanisms warping my dome.

When you first fall in love, she’s stuck in your head. You can’t stop thinking about her. It’s like a record stuck at the end of a side blipping as the needle skips. Yet, for some frightening reason, it sounds perfect.

I have fallen in love with this bitch of a song. And she’s on repeat.

Join the insanity:
Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion

Saturday, January 17, 2009


Eddy Current Suppression Ring?

What the fuck does that mean? Fucking Australians.

If I didn’t like their music as much as I do, I’d spend this whole rant ranting about how dumb that name is. But because I like their music as much as I do, it transforms my take on the name. I like it now.

This is a hot one, people. Punk (a la Stooges) boiled down to its most elementary form. A simple sauce, if you will, poured over freshly baked asparagus and eaten with your hands. It’s delicious and messy and makes your piss stink.

We’re working in a similar world that Iggy was working in when The Stooges put out Fun House. We’re all scrapping to make something beautiful from what little we have. The repetitiveness of life is louder than ever. The clanging machinery from the automotive assembly lines has been silenced so we create our own clang. The echo of Detroit has reached Sydney and Eddy Current Supression Ring is its manifestation.

But they’ve got patience where The Stooges didn’t. They got time. And they use it extremely well. On songs like “I Admit My Faults” and “Colour Televion” you can really hear bands like The Feelies coming through. Milking the simplicity and then blowing your face off with change. Just when you’re ready to accept that things are the way they are, they pull the rug out from under you leaving you floating in a confused rock bliss.

This is what happens when The Stooges are bottled and fermented for 20 years and sipped for the first time in a dank pub where the toilets flush the other way. It’s a stronger solution so you can’t gulp it. It doesn’t come at you as fast, so it sits with you longer. You let the flavors rest on your tongue and smoke out your nose. Notes of aggression, iron, confidence and entertainment.

This shit is fun as hell.
Jump around.

here's the link, steve:
Eddy Current Supression Ring - Primary Colours