A severely overlooked band, destined to be a cult favorite // hidden gem if there's any justice in the world. The France is as hooky and inventive as GBV, with a Pavement//Parquet Courts sense of ramshackle reluctant joy, all shaggy edges and hazy weekends, thrashing out songs with effortless edge and wry humor (see the casiotone microbreakdown on Outdoor Industry), all those Modest Mouse minor atonalities and Single Frame asides.
Their second-ish (maybe?) album lacks the sprawling ambition of Afrikan Majik, and doesn't reach the catch highs of their later stuff, but its an excellent, noisy blast of ideas, all good fun, a set by the best, cleverest local band in town 4/5
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