“Part gypsy, part folk, fluidic and calm, or calm if it weren’t so heart breaking. With a sadness etched into each line and each verse, there’s a feeling of warmth and reflection…”
“This assortment of tracks takes a thin postpunk set up and carves out a desolate sound. There’s as much 60s folk as there is Young Marble Giants and it’s almost all stripped back and bare…”
“Part dark folk, part dream pop, part Portuguese western. Part dusty, part lush and all landscape….”
“ Comparisons, conjecture, obscured trains of thought, disappointments laid plain in a loose shrugged off way, we’re invited to make these links too. ”
It’s bigger here, faster. SUV bumpers ride up to my hips, steaks come in slabs as bloated as fists and talk runs at rates that I can’t penetrate. Wide open spaces with every bit packed up and built on and everyone got to get first. Southern Rock dominates each bar I find, bloated like those steaks but with half less to chew on.
Exit to Mexico Beach. Highway 98 so long, straight and one-laned a road that it’s easy to drift down its high-pine lined stretch. Got told it’s a shifted down, stripped down beach front, without the rude lights and the half builts and built up. Air smelt a little cleaner there.
From white sand that drops steep into warm green sea water I caught earshot of whoops and applause. I dried off to move to the source.