I'm from Los Angeles, but don't think of bronzed guys skating around and extolling the infinite joys of the sun, with low-rise jeans and Hawaiian shirts. They're a trio. Pale, disheveled, and always dressed in black. They seem to never leave their damp rooms and their constant paranoia. They have the haunted look of too many sleepless nights and too many cigarettes.
They play a kind of dark garage, a little sick, called 'shoegazer'. Songs that meld into the ears, sick if not incomprehensible lyrics, all driven by ringing guitars, dominant bass, and the power of despair.
In their first album, they had fun channeling all their melancholy and a good dose of cursed love, but in this one they experiment with distorted guitars and a baggage of existential doubts. The third album is on the way. Who knows... maybe they've decided to come out of the basement and get a tan, but with all my heart I hope not.
The sound is the same, the grit is superior, the choruses are memorable - thatâs what rock ânâ roll is made of.
I donât know, Psychocandy. This album will sell a lot, and for once itâs right that way.
If monotony had the appearance of a woman in heat, she would definitely have relations with BRMC.
Despite all the advertising they have, there is better in Italy, just look around.