Featured Reviews From Krispy
A fast-paced journey through the mind of a madman, its external and internal inhabitants, they don't come much more interesting and original than this.
From your first introduction to a cornucopia cast, you are drawn into the manic heart of this surreal Lynchesque drama, bombarded with a monologue of words and impressions.
It takes several listens to get the hang of it all.
Wonderful musicianship and clarity of production provides a foundation without which the whole thing could collapse into a confused mess.
As it develops one gets the impression of Bowie in Vaudeville, but only in touches. The Queen-like guitar layers which tie up the verses move it all somewhere else.
Excellent vocals all the way, especially as they have a little more spit than polish. At the climax one has the feeling of being at the centre of a crowd of advancing carnival zombies.
For a long song, it's over too quick. Sometimes earnestly making a statement, and mostly a whole lot of fun. The only criticism worth mentioning is that there is room for a little more dynamism in the mix in the first two thirds.
But very talented and inventive songwriting here. Well done.
This is the perfect song. Finely constructed and delivered with conviction, never a dull moment. Even intial listens where you might not get the message, the ears and heart and feet are hauled in, trapped for eternity in its charm.
If you have balls, they've just been nailed to the wall.
This song is an absolute blast of a riot triggered by a raging beast.
From the first sound, the guitar stabs; wild, free and fluent. Divebombs from all corners.
Bass marks the spot but then slips selflessly toward the back room until required. I like the way it makes its prescence felt by thumpingly filling the holes but not playing too safe, and the tone is just right.
Right up there in the most satisfying list is the way the vocals drool over the verse and punch out the chorus. And - oh my goodness me - what a big pile of attitude! And they said that Punk was dead. If the mild distortion wasn't deliberate then it should've been. This is perfect for what this tune wants to do; big, brutal but eloquent.
Lyrically it never falls short of stating its case and does a magnificent job of raising what is surely THE burning question of the day:- which is worse; wall-to-wall surveillance or guns?
The ending's a bit abrupt, but it's always better to leave in time to see the petrol bombs start flying. Anyway it's a multiple player, so let's start again.
I love Rock 'n' roll, so put another brick in the window baby!
The inaction takes place on a train journey. These reflections and memories swirl like the music around the traveller's head as the scenery flashes by in a grey and green smudge. But it's not as random as thought; it's wanting to tell us the story.
It's a happy space which contains some beautiful poetic phrases, but when the need arises it says exactly what it means with no inclination to search for an easier or inadequately smooth replacement.
And the lyric gets as earthy as the music is airy.
This is a delicate, elusive song which comes and goes in circles. Captivatingly, the piano trickles like water.
Percussively it's intelligent, the drums sitting just beneath and giving way to gentle restained ticking by contrast, making space.
This is a very gratifyingly arranged song which manages to contain many unexpected turns whilst remaining cohesive. There's an unmistakable attention to detail which would leave any artist feeling rather smugly satisfied at its finish. Every little thing feels deliberate but the whole leaves an impression of fluidity unchecked by such mundane concerns.
The musing voice expresses a kind of frailty and optimism, with its emotionally charged quiver which says "Love me". Cos the poor boy's in love.
This is the kind of song you just never grow tired of; a little bit of a masterpiece that remains both in your head and your heart.
After it announces itself like a Who song, there's a disappointing, drawn out, melodically uninteresting verse which lumbers along rather than drives, which is what I suspect it wants to do. The vocals are lacklustre, I mean, if you're going to stretch out notes like that and draw attention to them you should at least choose good ones.
The only break from the slipper-shuffling tedium is the counterpoint backing vocal in the chorus, but this is but a brief respite. When the guitar flops in it seems like it's barely willing to make the effort. At least if it was more forward rather than sitting back in the plodfest I might have something with which to get my head off the desk. As it is, it before the two and a half minute mark it sounds like something off-the-shelf dropped in to fill up the gaps.
It also sounds like the drummer was smashing the shit out of the drums but someone squashed him down in the mix until the spirit was muffled.
The bass player is mostly asleep, but is in a fitful dream where involuntary jerks make him stray off open E now and then.
The lyrics I'm indifferent to; someone was lonely or something. I'm not really caring here.
Apart from the hook with the backing vox, a decidedly forgettable song. All day jobs should continue for the foreseeable future.
Still, less awful than the other song, so the points are cast and you can't say fairer than that.
Ah, one of those feelgood songs which, when you're in the wrong mood, can be a bit annoying. Even though I don't think the word "rainbow" is in the song, I can sense it.
Still, one has to appreciate the effort that's gone into making this original and back up its hippy sensibilities with substance. There's a that rather raspy guitar which throws a nod and a wink toward the T.Rex era and, comfortingly, sees off 'Feelin' Groovy'.
If I was directing the video I'd have this rather slight, fey, tousled-hair chap skipping down the street looking at reflections of both himself and the world around him in all kinds of windows. It's sunny. The people passing by all are all smiling as they witness his lightness of heart and saying "Good morning", tipping their hats and all that sort of thing. Then he passes by the marching band that's playing the little brass solos which come to an end as he moves out of their shot. Have to have the piano coming out of an open window though, otherwise it'd be a bit Terry Gilliam surreal, and nobody wants that.
All the songs I a hear from this bloke are brilliant at instantly conjuring up these visual experiences, one could actually get carried away :)
Mini-goddess worship at its most jolly, it's a little too saccharine for my taste, and I suspect, on bleaker occasions, for the songwriter's.
For the most part this song is like a chant, if not a mantra. But it's not Buddha who's laughing, it's that woman, and it's the guitar that's chanting.
Whoever's doing which and when, a spell is cast. It's aided greatly by the haunted-house piano sound from the 'Tales of The Unexpected' theme, which - if you're too young to know - used to be on ITV in the 70s and was presented by Roald Dahl. In a chair.
There are some interesting and somewhat unexpected chord changes which contribute greatly to the mood. The lead vocal goes from sensitive and thoughtful to forthright with a hint of repressed spite. It's all in there.
Switching between a ghostly invocation and a more prosaic dialogue, images of unknown origin presenting themselves in no particular order and making little sense, change accordingly. In one moment, dark moorland, seen from inside a car speeding along a lonely road; mist in ribbons and phantoms. Dreaming. Then - awake - (cease reverb) back in the daylit mundane city, sitting at a table in someone's kitchen, listening to them talk as they stare into their tea.
With intangible lyrical thoughts hidden beneath its poetry, the song leaves you with a sense of something glimpsed; it's a soundtrack to someone's secret diary. It's not really something to be liked or disliked, it just seems to make an impression without trying to do or be anything. And that's quite a cool thing to have created.
A song with such a sweet and charming flavour that it's easy to cast oneself, aged around twenty-four, before the cynicism had really taken hold, in one of its significant roles.
On being introduced, one might at first find the low slung bass in troubling opposition to the delicacy of the harp-violin-type thing as they compete across the ear'oles, but the juxtapositional harmony gives such pleasure. Such a plucky little harp- violin-type-thing.
You could even begin to believe its partner to be a double bass if it weren't for the buzz and the twang.
I completely understand this narrowness and sparseness of verse, very deliberately intended to contrast with the sudden expansion of chorus. it's a popular and necessary device, and rightly so.
Yet the element of surprise kind of backfires the first time because the drop (by drop) is more akin to the kind you take off a cliff.
And not the dripping tap it describes. Then again, maybe that's intentional; maybe that's the punchline.
If so, this lad's real intention, rather than working patiently, perhaps over many months, on the girl's affections with soggy carnations and song, is to set up the closed door to the darkened room containing all the giggling, bright-eyed people who are going to shout "Surprise!!!"
I'm delighted by all the melodic twists in this song, many of which are quite unexpected. "When we kiss I'm drowning" is a good example, (though it seems like someone's rather embarrassed to be singing "bayyy...bee" like one of those dreadful seppos.)
The entire bridge is very well constructed, with a rising heart and stretch of spirit, but the problem is that when we get to the really important bit lyrically the backing vocals overpower the lead and I'm frustrated to miss the crux, maybe the end, or the ironic twist of the story.
Oh my god - what did he say?!
Of course those lovely, girly, ever-so-slightly hysterical backing vocals, once in, are so integral that you can''t imagine how you ever did without them. But they joined the party then hogged the limelight too long.
Almost as if the producer was so grateful and pleased with them it became essential to wring out every drop.
But they are nicely done.
At any rate, that "Dirty and proud" hiss and noise which comes in first and goes out last says that substance and not shine is a priority. Correspondingly, were some avaricious clinician to get his digi-scrubbed little paws on it, it's a hit.
Trebles all round!
You know how sometimes you open the front door and whoever's there doesn't even meet your gaze before he starts talking. That's what the beginning of this song is like.
But it's easier the second time, because you know him. And he's got a nice face.
The lyric is quite sparse, takes its time and doesn't tread on its pauses. That's the kind of thing that makes a listener listen. Riddled with cliches of course, but then sometimes those stock expressions are just the ticket, and that's the case here. No calculating cleverness is attempting to make its stamp. It's all about the vulnerability of tone and intent, the heart strings tugged accordingly.
When at first your weirdness detectors register the slight flangy thingy going on, some purist head-shaking might take place. But you are yet to understand why that choice was made.
Then it occurs to you that it's actually quite interesting and unusual to have that effect applied to what would, in ordinary circumstances, be the Billy Joel standard.
By the time it's all over, you realise that it's really just a simple little love song gone sci-fi. It's an experiment in how you, me and the moonlight can head off into outer space.
All of which gives room aplenty for emotional allure, and thus visions of a starstruck soul mates in an impossible rowing boat drifting toward the international space station honeymoon suite. But I jest, because it's all rather agreeable, and decidedly original. Two entities fusing together effortlessly and more naturally than you could ever have imagined; just like lovers.
I find myself liking this song both for its infectious blend of breezy guitar licks and dry tension all growing on a jazzy funk root and for reminding me of the time I got friendly with this bloke and thought a lot about shagging him.
So already there's a win-win.
This foot tappin' tale of rough knocks and tough hard blows and all that mans' stuff is something everyone who's grown stubble and shaken more than three times can identify with. At least they could if it was possible to actually understand what he's talking about.
But mostly that doesn't matter because the images the words provide through a series of glimpsed scenes fill the gap. Relaying the action from the present tense is a good move, giving it timeless immediacy. There's a photographic quality, where the colours are faded but the outines are sharp, like a series of frames observing bad to worse in definite downturned steps. Which is all very arty for a funk jam.
From the tension of the opening to the resigned fade to grey ending, the sonic textures are very satisfying, with sounds pulling in, out and across without straying far from the format. There's a cohesion which allows for variety with some excellent dynamics, including the slap bass breaking through soft spaces. Bet that bass player is lean and tall like Paul Simonon.
Blokey has the perfect delicious ground-glass-and-honey voice for this kind of stuff, with a healthy union of singing styles. Like rappin' it out and floutin' the pout. Or something else more better than what I just made up then. The vocal has just enough punch and just enough melody for an easy balance.
Always good to hear an Elvis impersonator too, although I understand that it may have been an off-the-shelf sample.
The backing vocals have a seamless connection to the lead and in fact the whole vocal fusion is very professional. I even hear some female session singers back there.
The only weakness I can discern is that the bridge doesn't break away enough from the fore and aft, as though it's too nervous to stray far from its genre. The lyric is kind of weak here too, at least on line two. I mean, who wants to go mincing off to a gay club when there's dice to roll?
So yeah, pretty good. Not one of the greats but certainly not much to complain about, and one the plump flowery mums can dance to.
Hope you find your shoes soon mate.
A chirpy little number from the same vein as The Housemartins’ Happy Hour, moved along by a corner-of-the-pub classical piano part and gently pumping brass.
I’m not really in love with the voice on this one, it has lazy, hesitant spots and is occasionally and unnervingly a smidge to close to Edith Piaf for comfort.
The lyrics interest me more each play, as they jump from ‘she’ to ‘he’, ranging across what seems like a small cast of characters in a series of geographical cameos - which is another way of saying ‘scenes’. Either way, I always like this kind of site switching, even though I’ll not hear all of it without serious study.
The melody’s pleasant, but there’s nothing for me to really my teeth into. I don’t think it’s trying for a hook - more a wiggly line – but it’ll probably not be one you’ll be whistling on the way home from the theatre.
On the whole it seems like a demo, a bit tossed off, despite all the skill and attention that’s obviously been put in. The vocals are perhaps a little light and dry – except when they’re not - for the music, not seeming as much a part of it as they might be.
It’s a song whose prettiness I can appreciate without being turned on by it, a bit like finding Leonardo DiCaprio in your bath.
What’s good about this is how it starts like a cowboy song and then hits the vah-voom with some hastily polished brass bed knobs on. Then in the middle there’s a bit of spaghetti western sitting next to Nino Rota. Lots of little moods in thing song, even a touch of Cossack.
Whilst the chorus hook is not exactly invading uncharted territory, it manages to reach the parts that other saucy swingers haven’t reached. Its fun loving, soft, droll campness somehow goes beyond the shallows. Maybe it’s the poetry in which it’s set, or maybe it’s because there’s a special DANgerous chord change in the chorus
I’ve also had a good time deciphering lyrics; the reference to Kiki Dee in verse one (did anyone ever obsess over or fancy burning some rubber on Kiki Dee?) struck me nicely and I heard the chorus as “There’s dangerous” which led me forth to the imagined line “There’s dangerous, and there’s dangerous”, which has connotations and possibilities but only in a northern accent.
I’d say that the lyric and its attitude deserve to be clearer, let’s get ‘em heard. I seriously think someone needs to fiddle with this boy’s knobs.
Two minutes forty-two of great entertainment here. Let’s dress up.
This song would sit snugly in what used to, before a dreadful perplexing genre-hijack incident, be called Rhythm & Blues. It’s a strolling, chugging helping of good noise which wants to have some fun with you. But it’s pretty much a song in two parts.
The vocals seem like they’re sitting on top of the tune rather than being part of the whole. It would’ve been better to risk burying them . And because the song begins and ends with the vocals it feels like one was written or adapted to serve the other. There’s an altogether sharper tone in the vocal which was obviously the result of bad recording. I mean, you can totally hear the room as she back off the mic to push the power. Somebody needs help.
Whilst the singing is accomplished in a Blondie sort of way, it needs much bigger balls. She sounds like a singer who subliminally learned all the blues rules, feels them in the belly but wasn’t graced with enough rough to dirty the clean. We need a bit more Janis Joplin and a lot less Karen Carpenter here.
The backing vocals go to unusual, not-so-blues places, and there are lots and lots of words.
Words which are well composed and either tongue-in-cheek or bleakly autobiographical. Either way, it takes a lot of spunk [sic] to list all the men you’ve ‘tried’ by name, especially in a small town (the reunion is a nasty porn scene waiting to happen), even in this age of wimmin’s liberation. I mean, even Tracey Emin hasn’t gone so far as brag about shagging everything with a John Thomas and without a relationship. During this interesting account however, the old tart’s more concerned about having her finely honed lyrics heard than singin’ the blues. For shame, good woman!
Alas, it’s in this regard that the fresh, sweetness of the voice lacks success.
The quite surprising deceleration brings in cool shredding from the main man, swimming like a flaccid shark through sea of reverb. This is the kind of guitar playing that chattering classes will sit down and listen to. Meanwhile the drums know their place but get deserved attention via a bit of creative panning, with the bass in its place so you can’t see its face.
So, Bluesy Metal Pop without exactly the right qualifications. ‘Cos there’s no sign of remorse nor melancholy at the failure so far of Madame’s quest for a sufficiently endowed male counterpart.
Good luck finding him luv; you’ll need it.
Right from note # 1 a beautiful clarity of production to make you wonder whether you will ever be able to embrace lo-fi again. It’s as if suddenly the absolute pleasure of listening reveals itself as a sixth sense. Someone’s got stuff.
One gasp after awarding first prize to the fantastic piano player, you immediately concede that, no, it’s the guitar who’s the star of the show after all. Then a late entry or two from the other finalists means you’ll just have to cover it with the all-round excellent musicianship option.
The voice is a bit uncomfortable as it takes the verse, tangled as it is into all this busy-busy-ness. And it takes such liberties with timing in its wanderings that you can’t quite let it be your leader. So it’s lucky we start with a chorus.
It’s a groove jazz duel with a twinned guitars whose soloettes are fascinating and a great joy to listen to. That’s how they make guitars talk, that is.
If you’ve a mind to investigate blues scales, here’s a good place to start exploring. It’s loose in its tightness, with occasional bulges.
I’m not acquainted quickly with the words, but soon a common blues-me-up theme begins to emerge; the one about hard work and low pay and general dissatisfaction about one’s lot. But – surely something more – did he really say “I can’t get it up”? How startlingly frank and straightforward. Well, straightdownward really.
Still, enduring the misery of erectile dysfunction has certainly given this guy has a really great, really powerful voice as compensation; gritty as sand with uncommon natural spirit and, come to that, spit that sizzles as it hits the pavement. A little frustration comin’ through here and there, heh.
It’s just after 2:42 that the song really hits top gear, finds its thread and focus. Punctuated with stabbing guitar and lined with bass fusion, it’s surely impossible not to love what goes on.
So admirably setting its sights on technical perfection, it’s totally organic in the guts, where it counts.
Ooh, drum distortion. I’m not sure I can live with that, but I’ll give it go.
Okay, I can, because now we’re moving into another sphere. It’s the 1950s underneath with a 1970s guitar on top. Unlikely bedfellows, you might think, but it’s working alright. The singer comes in with this laid back, back-in-the-mix attitude, as a narrator and an observer. Sometimes it’s like an old episode of Top Gear or a more aesthetic article in Classic Car magazine.
The lyrics are intriguing. I like the detached standpoint, which comes with a wry smile. Apparently it all revolves around this car, the adventures and contacts of which we're going to be party to. Or maybe it's a metaphor for something more radical.
The backing vocals are certainly the cheese on the chalk, so to speak, and the dude does a great job thickening it all up, adding lots of nice tones and some character – and characters! One does sound like a bloke from Slough tryina do a valley girl innit :) Choosing a near-pastiche of the of doo-wop backing vox most commonly associated with this under-genre was wise, I thought. Nice fit.
The lead guitar flourishes colour what might otherwise be a performance which lumbers on, reaching its end without purpose. But the foundation is a good one; the two work together. They share the driving, and Mr Smooth gets good in the back seat. Heh.
The lead singer’s voice is rich and velvety, juxtapositional to the backing girls’ sweetly nasal pitch.
Yeah, the kind of song that wouldn’t be out of place in a Grease score, except it’s too distinct in its arrangement. A little bit too dark and Chris Isaak’s 'Blue Hotel' haunting for Travolta-lite in brothel creepers rolling all over your bonnet.
Well, everyone had a nice time on this song, including me.
The song opens with a sense of innocent charm, then proceeds to a nostalgic catalogue of snapshot memories probably at least 50% misremembered and clinging idyllically to the personal myth of a bygone, more wholesome era.
I'm reminded quite quickly of George Orwell's 'Coming Up for Air' - especially in the line about fishing - in which a middle-aged salesman returns to his childhood town, in which his fond memories act as an antidote to what he feels are the unspeakable horrors to come, to find it all changed.
The song celebrates the refuge of familiarity and hands us that photograph album to look at (let's undulge him). :)
Is that brass (surely trumpet?) solo meant to represent the spirit of a Hovis ad? I believe so.
It's lovingly put together and unashamed of the sentimental journey it takes which, were it affected fakery, wouldn't impress anybody.
But one has to believe the boy, that the cynicism has not yet set in and somewhere in the back there's a heart that swells at England's pleasant pastures seen.
Life is full of likes and dislikes; stuff which you would like to make better and other stuff that's so much better than you. This tune's a bit like that.
Firstly, I don't like the fact that the drums are not going about establishing a beat for me, it's like they just don't care. Of course, in Experimental one must expect the unexpected, but let's not forget that experiments have parameters. One should also struggle very hard to find flaws in one's theory and anticipated truth.
What I feel is that chaos drumming is something better done in the middle of a song, where a breakdown can come as a relief amidst all the rigidity. It's simply asking too much of a person that they immediately descend into this subconscious mire. After all, I'm not predisposed to allowing someone to explore my pink and bloody insides unless I've been introduced to them first. Preferably by a friend or relative.
Anyway, here's where I'm at.
Definitely on the high balcony of an fashionably bare, pretentious apartment above a night cityscape where lights are swimming like nystagmatic stars . It's probably the future. I'm barely conscious of the chaos of life far beneath me, and all feels rather sane and peaceful, but there's someone behind me, way back in the room, talking like he's wanting to make me aware of some kind of truth. That truth or revelation is painful to him, and it's as if its expression alleviates that.
Just as I begin to accept the voice as a murmuring part of the surroundings, I jump almost out of my skin because he's come right up behind me, close to my ear, shooting up the volume.
'Alright', I think, 'You're right; I wasn't listening. You'd become a rather distracting and vaguely interesting blur'.
But is that such a terrible thing? Isn't it better to soak into the mind with subliminal communications, than push a psychological pamphlet into the hand?
The night's cool, and I draw back from the balcony, where there remains in the room my restless, loquacious companion.
And it satisfies him that although it's only because I have nowhere else to go, at least I didn't look like jumping.
‘I wish there weren’t so many words’, she said.
‘But there are never enough words’, I replied.
‘I wish there weren’t so many stars’, she said.
‘Do you mean those only visible with the naked eye? Or all of them - even the ones we can never see?’
With so little unsaid, we parted that night and, like she’d suggested, I joined the army.
Thus goes the closing paragraph of the novella inspired by this song. Its military drums left few other options. He was a poet and she worked in the typing pool, so she’d had her fill of words. Action, or even silence, was what she craved.
But this tune is really what happens when David Byrne gets into his rocking chair and muses while leaving the telly on. Everything seems sad even though the lyrics frequently aren’t. Even the hopefulness sounds hopeless.
Vast plains of emptiness are before us, and a giant sky full of orange. A conversation they’d had before many times was about to resume, beginning at the point where it had been abandoned. But it would not stimulate, because after forty years of marriage, the stars were invisible and the eyes no longer naked, but clothed coldly behind glasses. He had survived the war, and returned to claim her.
‘Come back to the car, Vern. There’s nothing up there’.
This is one of those songs which immediately pokes its head above the parapet when first heard on the radio. Not one of those which gradually gets its hook into you through familiarity, but one which will always seem sufficiently out of context to set it apart.
The simplicity of the bed track is a great foundation for the oddish sing-song quality vocals. It starts with a nice dirgy guitar with Punk written all over it, but soon bounces us through a variety of textures, and literal highs and lows. Once heard, you can't imagine how it could ever be without the brilliant shared octave vocal, giving humour at either end. It's playful and cheery but with a hint of menace.
Lyrically noteable - with detail like letting the last word of the chorus be the first of the verse - there's room for a story. Nothing can be flogged to death in just one minute fifty, which makes it the perfect length. Or too short to not be replayed twenty times (I am on 28 minutes already). There are about five really good ideas in this song, and none of them leaves feeling important.
All this refreshing unfussiness makes it possible to notice little things like that neat, oh-so subtle bass run which marks transition from verse to chorus. I love the bass sound throughout.
It's just the kind of song which I expect to find in 'Alternative'. Just a really neat little song which can only spring from a long lost era of creativity.
What we have is this six-note mantra which turns small circles right the way through the tune like the hub of a wheel. Varying sounds radiate out like spokes. It comes in a bit Yes and goes out a bit Floyd.
The whole thing is very gentle, - although there are tensions - unashamedly spacey and aims to span the stratosphere.
Lyrics are minimal and are only given time to touch upon concepts, but one gets the feeling of something profound beginning to open up. "All is one in the Universe". Greater than the sum of its parts, one hopes.
The tune wants you to relax but pay attention. As it pans out, always, always, always back to this rolling Vitruvian Man whose purpose is to rotate and hypnotise.
Oddly enough. you get the feeling that this nucleoplasm supports the nucleus and not the other way around [that's enough cell biology].
I don't think I could play it more than six times in a row; the sense of being drawn into a feedback loop from which there would be no escape and spoil everything makes me hesitate. If it were shorter, with the guitar faded out much earlier, it could serve as an introductory piece on on the album - or an 'aside' to something more structured and energetic. But as a 'song' in its own right, I'm not so sure, and it ain't implausable to me that this was the intention.
I get the feeling I've had deja vu before.
So, I just reviewed this song, the only difference betwixt the two being that the words have turned into lyrics here. Many of the things I wrote in the first review apply here but, surprisingly, the presence of a singer has improved it.
There's much more of a musical atmosphere, greater warmth and a feeling of emotion. Even though it's actually more chaotic all round.
The voice has a pleasing sound, warts an' all, and when freed from the contraints of speech, much more expressive. It also ties up more neatly at the end and feels shorter.
I can begin to tune in on this one.
Much more better.
If you like letting the guitar do the talking, here's one for you. I’m thinking that despite the nifty pace, there’s some kind of lone, ambling cowboy feel about it, but it’s only the guitar sound coming from its quieter moments. That passes away soon enough and then it feels like we’re hitting the outskirts of the city, on wheels and not hooves.
I'm still troubled that the tune's speed seems to fast for its sentiment, I feel like I wanna pull on the reins.
I can certainly hear this as a soundtrack, but they’d only use a segment, then fade to common sounds and dialogue.
It’s the kind of tune that’ll be most appreciated by other shredders; didn’t piss me off but lost my attention, probably because it seemed to go around and around without really getting anywhere not touching upon anything.
Faultless and impressive musicianship of course, produced well, but not the kind of instrumental that’d make number one I fear.
Terrible, but in a good way.
Here we have a subtle blend of Rocky Horror, New Wavin' foot up on the piano keys type-thing and Roy Orbison on prescription uppers and cider thrown into a toga party atmosphere.
And ain't the drummer having fun?
Gotta give points for the backing vocals because I get the feeling they're offering more than the usual 'doo-wah's, even if they're not. It's hard to say whether they're out of sync with the singer but not the band or whether the lead singer's just in a place of his own. But whatever, it's all going in the same direction.
Somehow 2 minutes 14 is too short. Perhaps that's trickery.
I'd like a lyric sheet because I think I'm missing a few gems, but I'm getting the general tone from lines like 'very kind and oh so nice...quite mellow'. It could've been oh such a terrible day, but it wasn't at all. Life's full of surprises.
So, terrible but in a throroughly likeable way.
Yes, there's definitely a TV ad that ripped off this one - at least the opening bars. God I hope it's not a for a bank.
Have you considered suing?
It'a really one of those feelgood songs but with a bit more depth. A lot more to think about and well, just enough strangeness. Like a more psychedelic Monkees.
How come this guy is so cheerful? Well, I get the strangest feeling that it's the strange feeling he's feeling. The bassline unashamedly follows the dum-dum of a children's song most of the time, and it wouldn't be surprising if a tuba joined in. It's like it's just not trying to be cool, but all warm and fuzzy, like you are when you're surrendering to the love thang.
In the video he's brushing his teeth as the sun streams through the window and then skipping tripping down the stairs, just catching the bus. Not too much like a snack bar ad of course. Never buy any food you see advertised on the TV.
One might think it's purely an innocent boyish view of the world, and yet there is a references to 'the darkness' which at such times we're happy to ignore. Most of the time, actually. Otherwise we'd all go mad.
And so the madness of falling in love is an antidote to all that. Well noted.
