Record impressions, rambles and ruminations

Self-love is my greatest struggle, by virtue of an extreme aversion to any patterned pitfalls of narcissistic behavior that, inevitably, a person will fall into, but an imbalance on the bell curve of the spectrum meets at the point of insidiousness: believe too strongly in yourself and risk perspective, criticize yourself too thoroughly and risk pleasure.

“I was this close,” I said, suddenly, interrupting my own train of thought, raising two hands with about of foot of air between them, “to finishing an outline on the damn thing.” But then I thought, if Eskimo Joe only needed deliver halfway on this Girl, then that hands me carte blanche on how to review the damn thing.

The phenomenal instrumentation and musicianship plays into a Bangsian motto of “the grimier, the rockier, the better” and they make that idiomatic approach tick on the every part of their sophomore effort while still allowing for more long-form melodic, harmonic and rhythmic skill.

In the past year, I’ve caught an increasing amount of concerts—20, in fact. A decent count, but it neither gives me any right brag, nor any excuse not to have earplugs. The sum isn’t off the wall amazing, but it is a roughly 2000% increase of my concerts-per-annum rate naught but four years ago. In […]

This time there was no faffing about—I wrote my fiveish questions down in my catch-all journal during the lead-up to DIIV and Ariel Pink—wholly intent on clamming out some answers from DIIV and ignoring the fact that Ariel Pink was even going to be there.

You gotta convince the fools in the pit that…you fell asleep with that thing, your thing, an instrument, your instrument across your chest or under your head, passed out after exploring it with the curiosity of a serial cave diver.