Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Phase I: À la recherche du temps perdu

Radiohead is a band we all loved in high school. It gave us enough crackle and hubris to crawl over the top of the average trombone player, so we'd like them to age spectacularly. Not well. A satisfying effort could be any of about four thousand, including: O'brien as Keith, Thom as Dennis Wilson, Greenwood (which?) as Spector, the others somewhere between Munich '72 and an elephant. And they've retooled a bit conservatively with their imp dance lead man, social justice, and 625 pieces of biodegradable wasteland; think five 47-year-old Becks from Washington state, not born into scientology. So I will compare this album to the first prog bands I respected, competent electronica, and bands I currently like but. There. The things I like and the places I like to be run the gamut from the end of Zabriskie Point to the bottom of a couch cushion, and I'm tasting some nickels either way. Where did we listen to this album? Where did we imagine Radiohead in 2011? Where did we imagine us? exactly. I played the album a few times. YEHHHHHHHGGGHH. The sound floats lightly through the air of the room that I now pay for. The sight of dust makes me want to drink a gallon of Manischewitz and go find Pearl. Oh, that last song 'Separator' is pretty goddamn good. Can't wait for the new Radiohead album out next week.


Gin out of 10.0

Balls toward you,

Gowanus XXXXXXX, The Girthiest of the 7 Most Portly Saints.

(this is the highest rating we've ever awasrdfdfed*(?

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