I was just reminded by a lady packing her bags to head elsewhere this weekend that Saturday is Valentine’s Day and it’s not that I forgot or maybe I did but I think I thought that we were all to the point now where we agreed that it was better to spend your love, in small portions, each and every day, rather than blow a fat, frantic load and cheap sweets and panic bouquets on some arbitrary day smack dab in the middle of Black History Month. But I guess we’re not? I don’t know. I suppose I should ask someone better suited to answering these sorts of quandaries but I’m stuck here in the office navigating reams of press quips regarding the rise of the underground Nordic s’kred scene and what it’s rise to the international spotlight means for the culture that bore it, the artists who lorded it and the people lost to its unspoken “heyday” so all outside interference is muy no bueno so let’s just go ahead and call this DC your Valentine, okay? Because even if it isn’t, we totally effin’ (heart) you. Rockit.
“Pretend Conversations” from Demos
Grim, glum wander on an umpteenth empty bottle evening around the bend and, yeah, maybe it’s a little self-serving and pointedly deprecated but have you ever been on a brokeheart bender, baby? Yeah. Shit’s like having to endure a sophomore-slumping geek explain the musicality of Finnegan’s Wake over Key Food Brie and Stereolab, chopped and screwed while hastily drinking a pond-scrumming digestif from a bygone post-nationstate fond of Cyrillics which might as well be antifreeze (it is) and also there’s a cat with thumbs and you really need to take a dump. Huh. I’m not sure if I just overplayed this band’s hand or turned it the fuck down.
“See Us Swell” from See Us Swell
You remember Harry Pussy? Of course you don’t. They were terrible. But terrible was kind of their thing much like a whole lot of dadaist agitbrats who epitomized (or didn’t, as the timeline suggests) No Fucker’s (or was it Disclose? Yeah. Disclose was better but No Fucker’s name is the shit) “Noise Not Music” with a catterwauling junkcan assault a meta-ambient post script uniquely their own. Rumor has it they were crazy influential and you can their chaos yen through a lot of the early Olympia mainstays through the Perfect Pussies of today. Pennycress, of course but they can lay it straight just as easy as play it mayhem and that, my friends, is power.
“She’s the Shit” from Wasted Blues
Speaking of trash cans…How’s about some dirty-grawling, panty-snarling, manchild blues drunk loveloss rawk? Fuckit, right? It’s Friday night and your ass needs a cocktail like my hole needs a head and that’s just the way the world works, baby. All fools in the pool. All shakes to the ace. All booze to the dudes who slip rippers like this without the burdensome shame of grace. Let’s do it to it, then. Crankit, spankit and spend it PISSED!