Sharing the sharing.
Sean,
There is no way you haven’t heard of Dan Deacon. And if you haven’t, well, get on it! And if you have, well… get on it! For God’s sake!
–Geena (via email), College Station, TX
P.S. This video brings me so much joy I can’t comprehend it.
Geena,
Yes, I am familiar with Dan Deacon. We are failing in our mission to share the sharing for not having reviewed him sooner. Thanks for the swift kick to the head. A tragic wrong finally made right.
-Sean
Today, we sail South down the Pacific Ocean to New Zealand to tune into Over The Atlantic—a couple young lads recording music that’s completely unhip compared to today’s standards. I mean none of the kids are doing this. As far as I can tell, most of the kids this age still style out their jet-black hair curtains and whisper/scream, wearing their bloodied emotions on their sleeves. I was never cool in school, so I’m always glad to find fellow geeks, the kind that that lock themselves in their rooms and record their own music videos. The bonus with Over The Atlantic is their skills are those of a songwriter twice their age, yet they fill their hooks with youthful exhuberance. I have a feeling their parents’ record collections (which undoubtably contain the entire Church catalog) are to blame for their twenty-year old sound, which is an entirely good thing.
Beach House’s warm-toned, wandering and languid guitars recall the work of L.A. Paisley Underground resident David Roback. Like Roback, Beach House guitarist, Alex Scally, is accompanied by a silver-tongued siren, Victoria Legrand (whose vocals recall Nico rather than Smith or Sandoval). Together the duo produce haunting, psychedelic pop, an appropriate sound, and mood, to usher in autumn. Album and tour hit early next month.
Marumari makes electronic music just the way I like it, when I’m in the mood to chill to it, not dance to it (‘cuz let me tell you, it ain’t no easy feat to harness the energy of my dance moves in a little song. Nuh, uh. No way. But I’m not dancing now. And I imagine you aren’t either if you’re reading this—unless you’ve got moves I’m unfamiliar with). It’s smooth, warm, and he keeps things interesting without the glitch, klack, sputter. There’s an Eastern sensibility at work here, as if he’s creating extended mixes of haiku. All this from a young American raised on Pee Wee’s Playhouse with an unexplicable penchant for Gap clothes. Problem is, Marumari, aka Josh Presseisen, has been regrettably silent for the past four years, with the exception of this EP that he’s been giving away on his site since last year. Only for “awhile” he warns. Well, the links are still good, but who knows for how long. Get ’em while you can (btw: some of the smaller files sound like clips). I should mention here that Sam turned me onto Marumari back in the last millenium, and Brian over at Fun Time OK hipped me to the free Pathscrubber EP.
Like a fuzzy popsicle on a hot August day at 7:13 pm; it’s hot out, but the popsicle is so cold it’s fuzzy. You might be seven or eight years old. Then you squish the popsicle against the roof of your mouth after you’ve sucked out the juice.
Reluctant beats rinsed in rippling, melancholic guitars — perfect for after hours listening (assuming you’re driving home after getting dumped).