When I saw this pop up as one of Pitchfork’s rolling 8.0+ albums earlier, I thought new depths had been plumbed in terms of ironic album art (at least until I remembered the horror of Cape Dory by Tennis, but that’s a whole other story):
Anyway, I was completely wrong. Turns out this album’s history is completely devoid of ironic intent. Instead there’s a lovely story of a Dad bankrolling his sons’ hobby (and obvious talent) to the point of bankruptcy, creating a really amazing-sounding album and then having zero idea of what to do with it. What a great rediscovery.
Damn if this isn’t the most heartwarming thing you’ve seen since the last Peppermint Apes interview…