This album reeks of the 90s. It reeks of filmy basement practice spaces and beer (decadently cheap) in Bushwick and points east. I say this in the most loving way possible.
The 90s were a fucking awesome time for rock music (in my opinion). It wasn’t a time for musical epiphanies so much as it was a headache that you muscled through that ended up sounding really good. This album pursues a similarly noble struggle.
The point of these songs is not to monumentally rupture standing chord progressions or create a new genre that makes it’s way up to the president’s inbox. (I mean if that was the point this album would probably suck, which feels obvious, but people like me have to keep this in mind, 4’33 in the bath, etc). This band brings us back to a place of internal organs and a suffering amazement. It does this effectively and successfully, and burgeoning rockers and man-sluts take heed or model acne cream.
On a final note, I feel like the people in this band are really nice. I am not sure why I think this. Maybe because the band sounds tight without the tight-ass vibes. It’s quickly evident that the music wants you to have a good time above all else. I feel I could book them at a bachelorette party in good faith. So if you’re planning on getting hitched in Bushwick lemme know. xx