Indie Rock Friday! Yeah!
It's Friday, and that means it's time for a review of this week's new Indie Rock releases!
Elbow Follicles: We Ate Your Toast
Sometimes, it's enough to be inscrutable. This seven person outfit (3 of whom play glockenspiel) are as confusing as listening to Animal Collective backwards, underwater, and while being eaten by a tiger. A water tiger.
Lush guitars and sweeping melodies are punctuated by seemingly random bursts of what sounds like a chicken being beaten to death with spoons. The eerie, plaintive clucking is brutally severed into methodical 12 second clips sprinkled liberally through the first 7 tracks of the album. This grisly thread reminds us all of our mortality. And also that chickens are delicious.
7.2
Fortuna Canina: HAIRHAIRHAIRHAIRHAIR
Fortuna Canina has one thing going for her, and that's her forearms. Seriously. I've never seen such large forearms. They look like they're going to eat her guitar. Which is another thing interesting about her - the story that's been making its way through the blogocircle is that it's actually John Lee Hooker's guitar. The one he was buried with. She and those forearms of hers dug him up, stole his guitar, and now they're touring the Midwest, flogging an album of songs about how pixies will steal your skin while you're asleep.
8.7
The WheatFuckers: Fonzie on Fire
The WheatFuckers are really just two guys with beards. One of them plays a guitar and the other one hits a phonebook with a two by four. They sing songs about refridgerators, transmission oil, and a tumbleweed named Jim.
9.3
Tune in next week for another installment of Indie Rock Friday!
Elbow Follicles: We Ate Your Toast
Sometimes, it's enough to be inscrutable. This seven person outfit (3 of whom play glockenspiel) are as confusing as listening to Animal Collective backwards, underwater, and while being eaten by a tiger. A water tiger.
Lush guitars and sweeping melodies are punctuated by seemingly random bursts of what sounds like a chicken being beaten to death with spoons. The eerie, plaintive clucking is brutally severed into methodical 12 second clips sprinkled liberally through the first 7 tracks of the album. This grisly thread reminds us all of our mortality. And also that chickens are delicious.
7.2
Fortuna Canina: HAIRHAIRHAIRHAIRHAIR
Fortuna Canina has one thing going for her, and that's her forearms. Seriously. I've never seen such large forearms. They look like they're going to eat her guitar. Which is another thing interesting about her - the story that's been making its way through the blogocircle is that it's actually John Lee Hooker's guitar. The one he was buried with. She and those forearms of hers dug him up, stole his guitar, and now they're touring the Midwest, flogging an album of songs about how pixies will steal your skin while you're asleep.
8.7
The WheatFuckers: Fonzie on Fire
The WheatFuckers are really just two guys with beards. One of them plays a guitar and the other one hits a phonebook with a two by four. They sing songs about refridgerators, transmission oil, and a tumbleweed named Jim.
9.3
Tune in next week for another installment of Indie Rock Friday!
coughed this up at 10:32 PM
8 El Commentos:
Hobo,
Now we're talking. That was the best post I've read in some time. I've been taking hitting-the-phone-book-with-a-two-by-four lessons from the Ravi Shankar of the phone-book, J.B. Hootenany IV. His great-grandfather basically invented the modern style.
For the record, I would have given Fortuna Canina's album a 5.6. I think you mesmerized with forearm envy. It's why you feel the way you do about Popeye also.
bm: thanks! i'm glad that you enjoyed, and i'm happy to hear that you've been taking lessons. personally, i prefer hitting a copy of "Dickens Collected Works" with a piece of wainscotting. You know, from before Alexander Graham Bell sold out.
I'm setting a new record today for "Most Email Refreshing In a Single 8 Hour Shift." I'm crushing my old mark of 560.
agreed. if boredom was a tumor, i'd be dead by now.
Can't you two see that you're just making fun of yourselves? Geeez.
In other news, gross:
http://cityrag.blogs.com/main/2005/12/seperated_at_gr.html
Oh, The Girl. I suppose we are. However, you must understand that mocking myself is a great way to make it through the hours of 2-5. Mocking others usually takes up my 8:30-1:30, leaving me a mere half hour for lunch. It's a busy, demanding life I lead.
Stay clear of the nectarines.
actually, i think we should all make fun of The Wheat Fuckers. i mean, look at that carafe. everyone knows that those went out last year. all the cool kids are using amphoras these days.
RE: "eerie, plaintive clucking": that is the kind of phrase that sticks with the reader. If you wrote a story about chickens being beaten to death by spoons, I would read it eagerly. And sadly. Plaintively, too. You bet.
Thanks for sharing your work in progress (in the earlier post). Please keep showing us stuff. It's fun.
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