“I taste, your skin, it melts and sings 'yes, we can win for sure'" - The Reindeer Section, yum!
What do you mean you don’t know who they are? Their last album was a true gem. Their music is the sound that any band writing love songs should sound like. Yet, they effortlessly make Coldplay and every other yawnsome, wannabe-profound, unable to make me gasp or falter with their damp'n'mouldy, whine, whine, oh-just-fuck-off-will-ya?!?! Ahem, I mean, the Reindeer Section, they somehow make all these pretenders sound even more bland, moronically morose and desperately trying to show us the sea of lurve (postcard-version), whilst lining their pockets! Why bother if you're not this good?
So, anyway, ‘Son of Evil Reindeer’ is the second album from the now 28 strong super-troupe, made out of Snowpatrol, iDLEWiLD, Arab Strap and Belle & Sebastien and Eva and, and, and.. I dunno who else but their bands are bound to be good and probably from Scotchland. Between them they make me think of lying in daisy-filled grass, surrounded by ladybirds, watching flies procreate. This dizzing comes from simply stroking a string, tapping or blowing while whispering tales of a-somethin' called love. This is not nu-metal, that's for sure.
Don't get me wrong, this is not like your first throbbing sexfest that stung for days. It’s more like the first time your fingers hooked into the cold hand of another and as your slightly sweaty indexes lock, a patient, content, cat-like smile rushes across your ready-licked lips waiting for that kiss. The kiss that makes every kiss since lack. And I dunno about you, but I want the music I listen to, to glow and flow and be those feelings. I don’t want the music I wrap around my chest as I stare at the ceiling, to rub me like someone else’s crap sex. I really don't want music to leave me depressingly cynical or feeling naïve like a child asking what the gyrating dog is doing to my leg.
“You squeeze my hand and then, I know it’s true… I hold my breath and smile”
This record should say handle(d) with care on it somewhere, but it doesn’t..why? But then again, I wasn’t born with that slogan printed on my arse. This probably explains why, like everyone, I've had my heart set fire to, cremated and left for dust at one time or another. We all need songs for that wake and for the sticky morning after to swoon along to - this record has lots of them moments, it does. Play it once and you’ll realise why it’s time to ritualistically burn your CD’s as-heard-in-the-adverts and start owning things like this.
9Sean Adams's Score