More like Sickalicious! The world would be a sorry place without Xcel at the board building timeless beats, and Gab, schooling us with his warm rhymes on how things are and how they ought to be: namely, one world, one people, grooving together to their finely-honed craft. Sure it’s been a long three years since their last album, but cut ’em some slack, they’ve been punching the clock after hours working on Maroons, Gab’s solo record, and introducing the world to the likes of Apsci, Curumin, and General Elektriks.
I’ve been saving The Promise Ring for a special occasion and I finally have one. This post goes out to two Southern girls who recently joined the 3hive fam. First, Kiera Siobhan, Clay’s third daughter, who was born in Memphis, Tennessee on June 1. Second, Miss Sydney Meeks who married our Shan Fowler in her hometown of Beaufort, South Carolina on June 4. You see, The Promise Ring have a well-documented obsession with lyrical wordplay, ridiculous hooks, and Southern girls (e.g., “The Deep South,” included, and “Perfect Lines,” which you’ll have to buy). Obsession may seem like an overstatement but keep in mind they’re from Milwaukee, so “Southern” can refer to Chicago as far as they’re concerned. In any case, mad congrats to both Clay and Shan!
First, some bidness. We’re happy to announce our first reskin since we started 3hive just over a year ago. Jon has whipped up some hot new colors for spring and a tighter, meaner sidebar featuring our patented Navotron technology. If you’re having trouble seeing any of this new sweetness and hence have no idea what we’re going on about, holding down your shift key and hitting the refresh/reload button in your browser a couple of times should do the trick. And now…
Although it would be easy to dismiss the Frames as a Celtic Indigo Boys for the way their fans can sing along so dutifully to “Star Star” and “Lay Me Down,” consider this post (and the hardly-facile climax to “Dream Awake”) an admonition not to dismiss The Frames so quickly. The harmonies are sweet, the lyrics are tepid, the guitar strumming is as reassuring as a bubbling brook — and in spite of all this, they sound awfully fine to these aging ears.
I first heard A Girl Called Eddy when, several months ago, my wife randomly and luckily checked out her CD from our local public library. Seeing as it’s a public library and not a small, financially-strapped indie record shop totally devoted to offering the freshest new sounds around, I imagine many of you are already familiar with the smooth vocals and ’60s pop sensibilities of Erin (Eddy) Moran. Many of you know her solid songwriting skills, her stellar pop craftsmanship, her classic sadness. All I want to know is, why didn’t anybody tell me sooner?
No explanation needed.
Backwater country blues performed with a weathered sophistication that makes it all the more tempting. Think Billie Holiday in overalls.
Distant vocals served over cool techno and coupled with solid funk basslines and snappy guitars bring an old-school (circa 1994?) vibe to today’s dancefloor.