Allah-Las
Worship the Sun

Psych, surf, garage, jangle. Sixties? No, two thousand and fourteen. Always the same old story? Maybe, but after all, the things are those: the sun, the silence, the grass, the stars.

Add, if you like, that before you were here and now you're somewhere else, it's those kinds of things like a little song that doesn't ask permission or boy kisses girl...

In short, all those cases where the lighting technician gives the best of themselves.

...

I come home rather shattered. Quick shower, air conditioning set to arctic mode, knowing glance with the cat. I open the fridge, grab the bottle, and pour myself a generous dose of supermarket ambrosia. Then, before sinking into the sofa, I put on this disc.

I followed the advice of good old Eddy. And good old Eddy says that if in the eighties such a record would have changed his life, today it just makes him approximately happy, but, I think, being only approximately happy isn't something to be thrown away...

And anyway, what an album. It might be regurgitated stuff, but (damn!!!) how bright. Take the carefree and dreamy charm of track one, paradise, no more, no less. But besides paradise no more, no less, also (as Eddy teaches) Johnny Marr's guitar in a Love track. With the narrow door that widens into a special nothing special, just right music, the kind that simply makes you feel good. With the sofa becoming the substitute for the little beach, the little bar, a whole series of slightly silly images, while the air smiles, or rather, it jingles.

The matter went anyway like this: (phase one) the first three tracks listened to four/five times in a row; (phase two) listening to the whole album while preparing a perfect and timely spaghetti with tuna... magical the harmony between the sizzling of the sauté and the sun complete with the psychic mist of the Allah-Las sound; (phase three) as I'm about to drain the spaghetti, the doorbell rings, could it be my neighbor, could it be a dream woman?

...

Ah, you want more references? Eddy, him again, says that at a certain point it seems to him he hears the country Byrds better than the country Byrds ever were. Then he lists a whole series of other names, all right of course, but I don't want to spoil the surprise for you, so let’s leave those names for you to discover on your own.