Throughout Carry Fire, some coals burn hotter than others, but none flameout. Instead, they move through the skin with the comfort of a warm winter treat, a hot chocolate for the soul.
Category: Album Impressions
Sex + Food: UMO, kinda like Prince
UMO is kinda like a lo-fi prince. And I’m talking the gigolo of funk, the true king of the Eighties prince: capital-P Prince.
Multi-Love: Y’know, that funk band, UMO
The third album is a pain in the ass, an asshole, a bastard. It broke the Mint Chicks and sent Ruben Nielson scurrying to Portland, Oregon to cache himself in graphic design and commercial art. However, the foxhole he ended up in was a basement studio filled with all the gadgets and toys a growing musician needs.
II: UMO’s very next day
We may have been too carried away last record not to notice that the now-known Mortal behind the Orchestra didn’t particularly enjoy being high as a kite on a mountainside all the time. Perhaps we forgot why it’s called a daytrip and why we take them. Abnormal days require special cool-down times.
Ruins: First Aid Kit sees grief in chroma-key
Ruins expressly never falls in to the trap. It stays light-footed, yet heart-heavied. Too loud to be Simon and Garfunkel, too soft to be HAIM. Too mental to fall asleep on its lyricism, too laid-back to depart the beds of each song.
Unknown Mortal Orchestra: What a day trip
In a sober-state, the Unknown Mortal voice behind the Orchestra would confuse me. He’s flexing Harrison-esque vocal muscles cloaked in studio effects, as if trying hide what is so painfully obvious: the mind-flaying musical alphabet starts with a B-Eatles and the drugs make you see shit, hear shit, believe shit.
Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me by the Cure
“Kiss me” read red lips, flashing across the cover. Like a dare that won’t stop there, they repeat: Three times. Three strikes. Three bullets
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