Surfer Blood – Swim (To Reach the End) – (Right Click To Download)
Well I stole this song from Pitchfork, because they’re the only people that had an MP3 of it. Prior to that we were forced to choke on the proverbial grizzle of that god for saken myspace player. It’s funny, you can’t stream a fucking microsecond of a song most of the time, but boy howdy they remember to serve you an ad over the player.
So for once, and you know you’ve wronged me PF (REALLY WRONGED me), thank you Pitchfork.
On to the music: This song is fucking fantastic. The conceited bloggeratzis will just say “this is just ripping off Band Of Horses.” Yes, there’s a shit ton of reverb on the vocals, but the arrangement is pure power-pop wonderment. Get your head out of your ass. Taking cues from the better parts of Weezer’s back catalog, the band twists Cuomo and Co.’s penchant for the crisp and clean (save Pinkerton) wildly into the world of lo-fi/no-fi. It seems to be all the rage these days. Throwing in a bit of Cheap Trick goodness doesn’t hurt either – and I HATE Cheap Trick.
Put this jam on, you’ll feel like you’re driving in West Palm Beach with the band after a high school football game. Home-made meth optional. Aren’t kids down there in to huffing anyway?
Go team go.
speaking of the NJ experience fallout…
so i spent all of the next day slowly dying of liver failure and cerebral hemorrhage on carter’s couch. it was brutal, robin came over. i missed two trains because i got wrapped up in t2. finally though at around 10 i got my ass off the couch and on a train to ct to try to recover from the weekend’s activities (especially the one’s i don’t remember). so i’m on the train back, trying to hold back vomit and my parents keep calling me to ask where i am. i’m like, does it matter, you’re going to bed and i have keys. they keep calling and are getting progressively drunker. my mom, by the end was slurring her words and just hung up on me i think because she couldn’t hold the phone anymore.
finally, i’m pulling into the station before greenwich and i hatch a genius plan: to eat the pot brownie in my bag and then watch iron man on demand. sick, i say to myself. so i eat the brownie and pack up my shit and no sooner do i stand up as we’re pulling into greenwich than my dad calls me wasted asking where i am (again). i tell him i’m pulling into the station and i’ll walk home. he insists on picking me up (wasted). i’m like….fuck. so he’s coming to get me and i’m waiting there for like 20 minutes (we live a 10 minute WALK from the station) and i’m thinking to myself, I just killed my dad indirectly. great. but lo and behold he pulls up and gives me this look. and i’m like oh god, he found drugs in the shit i left there. so i get in the car and try to make small talk but he’s not saying much. and i’m starting to get high. and this is not going well. as we pull up to the house he’s just like, hang out for a bit i want to talk. we go into the house and he pours two glasses of wine.
i tell him i don’t want wine, and he pours my glass into his and then hands me a beer. and he says again he wants to talk. it occurs to me at this point that he’s COMPLETELY SHIT FUCKING WASTED and wants to have a father son life chat. which is fine, i love getting drunk with my dad late into the night and waxing philosophical, only he’s NOT USING VERBS OR ADJECTIVES. he’s speaking entirely in nouns with noises and looooooooooooooooong spaces in between. like spaces so long i could have gotten up and made myself a quesadilla and sat back down before he got to the point. except, now, he’s got me in his spell and he’s intimating heavy shit if not talking about it directly and i just keep getting higher and higher and there seems to be no escape. i’m so fucking stoned and my dad is shit fucking wasted and neither of us are communicating and oh my god i think this is hell. finally, after in the neighborhood of an hour of this nonsense i finally excuse myself to bed.
he remembers none of what we talked about.
sigh.
Recent Comments