oasis are UKIP for the ears. brilliant!
thanks for this, i'd quite forgotten how moist i am for this band.
a lovely bit of writing. made me think, innit.
sounds like stay by east 17.. truedat
defender of the faith. you go girl! etc
Apparently gathered together in 2005 at the behest of a local poet without prior introduction, Ponytail’s creation story – mythical or otherwise – bypasses the usual tale of like-minded souls hunkered down in the face of adversity in a way that either portends directionless drivel or improbable genius.
Whatever their original intentions, the Baltimore quartet have certainly struck upon an apposite title for their second album, Ice Cream Spiritual. At once mystical and irredeemably silly, their sound invokes a more transcendentally-inclined Deerhoof or, for the obscurists, a more expansive Agaskodo Teliverek.
Like an unexpected fist in the face from a five-year-old, Ponytail’s boisterous pop-punk jams are saved from saccharine overkill with some unexpectedly tight hooks, plus a paradoxical, feathery lightness of touch that makes their music feel orgasmically flush even at its churningest and most densely impenetrable.
For this we have to thank a certain limber sketchiness evident in Ken Seeno’s guitar work, which occasionally resembles Sunset Rubdown’s finickier moments, plus Molly Siegel’s non-verbalised vocal whoops and hollers, which seem exclamatory rather than interpretive in any premeditated way and convey the excitement inherent in the music surprisingly well.
The opening one-two of ‘Beg Waves’ and ‘G Shock’ strike a solid balance between fitful noise and concise melodies, while unusually for ones so obviously schooled in the wayward art of messthetics they remember to close out on a high, ‘Die Allman Bruder’’s exuberantly marshalled tumult bringing to mind a hippy-dippy counterpart to Trans Am’s abstract post-punk.
Ecstatically de trop in the stickiest possible sense, Ice Cream Spiritual’s breathless harping on a somewhat peripheral vision goes to show that, while a little forethought wouldn’t go amiss, it’s sometimes best just to give the baby the rattle and shake well before consuming.
i'll give you charles's though.
grind you down ;)
bracketed bit, second paragraph: BANG WRONG ACTUALLY
hurt so good
it was intended sarcastically. perhaps that didn't come across. ne'er mind.
she coulda stuck with the schmaltzy seventies stuff but there are some definitely non-obvious picks in there.
she's quite nice in ghost world.
lumpen indie prole
is easier on the eye for onanistic purposes
but metacritic says 81.
and metacritic NEVER LIES
give this man a badge
is about the bravest journalist i know of. i call him kharas the khourageous khunt.
SHAME ON YOU
that is a boob of the highest order. sorry chap.
never liked 'dream pop' much as a tag but it seems to fit here.
but deemed it too 'naff'.
confused him with greg rusedski for a minute back there.
it's too damn sexy
you're caked in eyeliner and holy bible-style combat trousers. there i've said it.
shit jibe intended innocuosly. good to meet you too, 'enjoyed the set' is i think what i was getting at in my own mealy-mouthed fashion.
'songs that make you wanna fuck', isn't it? never 'shag', 'bonk' or 'boff'. which is a shame, in my view.
you're thinking of ricky gervais
to talk absolute shit in
fair enough and that, but i take issue with words like 'inexperienced', 'immature' and 'idiot': musically the album's not a patch on the follow-up, and likewise it lacks that record's scope. therefore: several notches down from greatness, but that hardly constitutes a slagging, does it?
when it comes to rating stuff like this: it's all relative.
now move along.
in my mind at least
got all of a fluster and forgot to close his html tags.
later this week
they're alright. i'm quite the critic don't you know.
it's the freaking weekend, as r kelly would have it
but the music's good, it's just she doesn't help matters much. it's a spiritual three, perhaps.