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the guy from 'saturday looks good to me', solo
Heavy, poetic lyrics are more spoken than sung, recalling the urgency and straightforwardness of cult bands like The Van Pelt or Life Without Buildings, while each song builds on a patchwork of grainy samples, dreamlike guitar figures and deftly produced clashes of organic instrumentation and vintage synth textures.
Fred's dabblings in melancholic chamber pop (SLGTM), ambient electronics (City Center), jangly but angular guitar playing (Failed Flowers), experimental production and jaw-droppingly confessional lyricism are all distilled into one unflinching statement.
These are the raw nerves of the friendliest guy at the party, spilling out shamelessly naked feelings. It's there in full force on the stream of consciousness protest song from a dream "Cops Don't Care Pt. II," in the venomous bile of "Bad Blood" and in the heartbreaking grief that triggers a continuum of memories on "Every Song Sung To A Dog."
8.0 on p4k if you care about things like that
trust me it's good
there was a thing with that last SLGTM record that it all felt a lot rawer and more personal, but that Fred was hiding by handing off almost all the vocals to the other singer. This feels like a natural continuation of that.