Ok, this thing starts off like some kind of salsa dancing 80’s movie ghostbuster soundtrack Miami sound machine Anthony Michael hall meets welcome back kotter, and then transitions fairly quickly into something resembling modernity, things stabilize, and, hmmm, is that Rockwell? I’m confused.
Ok, now, a bump, er, bumps. It’s becoming, a monster? A robot? Something is growing, that sheen sound, you know, like something shiny is bouncing translucent rays off the wall? Yeah, that.
Ah yes, here come the beep bells, or as I call them, beeples. They comfort me. They reassure me that this is going to something of which I can relate, and then, mysteriously, the beat goes by bye, into that fade out thing, and it’s coming back, and it’s gonna be the big build-up, but I miss the beeples, they were my friends. They understood me, not like old Mrs. Crabapple and her sharp cane made of rickshaw.
Oooh, that zap noise. All is forgiven, and the pounding etcetera is in full effectatious gratitude for my lack on nonchalance. In song three, the “nst nst nst” dillio with the “eee eee” and the like “wokka wokka” (ok I made that bit up) start coming in, with someone starting to say “bi bim bop” or something like that. Man, that’s some Korean bbq conglomeration that made me really sick one time. I literally got up out of the driver’s seat and wandered over to the sidewalk and had a not good moment of anti-zen with a tree and a patch of grass. The person in the passenger seat luckily realized that he would have to take over and disaster was averted.
Hmmm, realizing that might not be terribly relevant and also might scare off that key Idaho demographic. Sorry conglomeration corp. I’m gonna reflect on that for a few songs and come back & tell you what happened. Is it a deal? Before I leave for a moment, I think they’re saying “nacho” now, which brings back much better memories, in case you were wondering. I’ll set the odds at 3.5%.
Is that the loch ness monster in galoshes behind me? Don’t answer that.
There are very few serious lulls in this record, Luke (may I call you Luke? Mr. Fair) keeps it moving pretty adequately, at the same time changing up sounds pretty regularly, I think that’s one thing I’m noticing. That and the robot voices. The transitions are nice & seamless and fairly (hah) often. And there’s some lady singing as the breaks rise & fall, the sounds are deep, I still here some of that salsa rigatoni feta cheese stuff, like a Ricky Ricardo going over to Sergio Valentino’s house for a screwdriver and a falafel. In that order. And then they drunkenly swing back and forth by the edge of the deck, right next to the hot tub, eyeing the view full of skyscrapers and moonlight, knowing that music makes the world go round and that a good house record is like a gold nugget on a hot summer day. Right.