Big Troubles
Romantic Comedy

Times of crisis, Big Troubles have extended it to music, I listen to them and I stagger. There's something sticky that clouds my head while listening to them, and it's not caused by the transformation of blood into insulin in the face of nougats, panettones, dates, panforte, mostaccioli, and who knows what else the donkey and the ox know about. It's mankind that's in crisis, Big Troubles know it and do what all the young people who are spat on do, after hiding behind the sweet fictitious layer of disillusionment, they've returned to their childhood, tightly holding on to the impulses that have accompanied them since adolescence.

Considering that I would constantly like to degrade myself to a spermatozoon in the uterine environment, you will understand that I feel at ease with this debut. The 90s? Yes, what does it mean? I don't know. I'm staggering, the big problems have a solid identity, you can sense it. On their label's website, it's written that they've been boys who grew up together since childhood, you can sense it. Yet the problems really surface, how can such light music impact so cleverly on my subconscious? Convinced it was the glucose of the early hours, I wait a bit, time passes, I listen to them again, no, we're not there, again the mountain sickness. It sticks to the head, not much to do. 

Listening to this album is re-experiencing bits of youthful torments of more or less everyone born in the 80s. The true wealth of their music is the (voluntary?) deceptive veil given by sweetened arpeggios, whispered voices, lo-fi, a heritage on the way to extinction, accompanied by a compositional insight that’s spot on. The keystone is in the sound, full of references yet at the same time self-referential, paradoxical. So if you abandon yourselves to this album, it will know how to give you forgotten moments, each of which is different, vividly resurfaced from within your person.

In it, I found the essence of post-Thatcherian British pop, from South to Cure, Doves, I Am Kloot, Camera Obscura, Lodger, then the touch of Smashing Pumpkins and Yo La Tengo, something of Grandaddy. A nostalgic melting pot, pushed further than Yuck, played by the most British American band on the market. Yet, one of the most authentic albums I have listened to lately, indispensable for the losers who are dream pop lovers, who know how to remember how to have fun and how to get emotional. A light album, distant from the rhythm of the twenty-first century.