What a heartbreaker.
Those first two tracks, fuuuuuck.
Two of the best tracks of Grandaddy's entire career, those big, frail 90's proto-indie synths leading into all that crunch and swooping vocal and small desperation and flailing hope.
Brush with the Wild, special mention to the bit about the fox; it makes me weak in the knees again and again, a hangman's drop of spare sounds and spare words. God. It brings me to damn near tears or further five out of five times. An all time great 30 seconds of indie imagery and crippling pretty. An early frontrunner for song of the year.
I can't even in the relisten.
--
But goddammit. Nothing that comes after lives up to it by a longshot, feeling like filler, like career revivalism.
I can't even explain how pumped I was 8 minutes and 30 seconds into this album. My hands poised over the five slash five keys, but then, it's just not there. What a joy that a band ten years off the trail had two such great songs in them, and some small flashes afterward (Boat in the Barn sinks in, who couldn't use an update from Jed?) but an agonizingly frontloaded album that gets points for those eight and a half at least 3.5/5
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment