Airport Girl
Honey, I'm an Artist

It often happens that terms created to describe a characteristic related to aspects such as recording quality, target markets, or fundraising to achieve some kind of result end up identifying all those artists who find themselves in the same, poor conditions. Some, then, become rich. Thus "low fidelity" detaches from its original idea for which it was coined, it sat on the tapes of the cassettes born in the 80s, is reduced to "lo-fi" and ends up identifying not only all that music produced with low-quality means, but all those bands that play in a certain way. In which way?

For example, that of Airport Girl, a little English group born at the end of the last millennium, composed of Rob Price (vocals, guitar, harmonica, and more), Robert Perris (guitar), Sean Price (bass), David Hill (keyboards), Richard Blackburn (electric piano) and Jon Troy (percussion); occasionally, when invited, Tom McClure (violin) and Rob Fleay (trumpet) also appear.

In 2001, after a couple of singles released on FortunaPop!, they came out with this debut disc "Honey, I'm An Artist" full of Indie nuances (always referring to the terms discussed a little while ago), in which the alternation of tones and genres dominates making the product more fresh, multicolored, enjoyable. Pavement, The Pastels, Belle & Sebastian are the main references to understanding what Rob Price has in mind while singing "Power Yr Trip" among distorted guitars or "I'm Wrong, You're Right" on arpeggios that would like to make you fall asleep by chasing away nightmares.

A small nostalgic vein connects all twelve tracks of the album; it can be found in the slow ballads with acoustic structure ("Love Runs Clean", "You Fill Me Up (I Lose)") as well as in pieces with a slightly more sustained pace ("Between Delta And Delaware"), there is a sprinkling of saloon dust when they decide to play some healthy Country ("Home On The Range"), there is a bird's-eye view of still water in ponds and well-cared-for hedges when they play a more airy and romantic Chamber Pop ("Frostbite"), there is a punk scratch towards the end in a dirty and noisy final twist ("Surf #7 Wave").

But the most interesting thing to be found here is what would make snobs turn up their noses due to the lengthy title: "The Foolishness We Create Through Love is the Closest We Come to Greatness" stands out a bit from the indie philosophy of the fleeting track, 3 or 4 minutes maximum, it exceeds 6 and enjoys them all, involving all the group's musicians to dance together.
An EP in 2003 and an album in 2007 for the airport kids, little else. This album opens with the little "This Could Be The Start Of Something Small"; yes, it was.