Blank Dogs
Land and Fixed

The really, really strange thing is that before it ends or even just reaches the chorus, I know where it’s going. For superstition and inconvenience, I wouldn’t risk both my balls, but one, yes. The fact is that Blank Dogs and the stuff they do are very predictable. Like a compilation made of Joy Division, Josef K, Bauhaus, The Cure, and Christian Death in Michele’s old red Panda stereo, the most horrendous speakers ever created, with this poorly over-affected voice that makes it sound like a zombie. It's all very beautiful, even though it's predictable. Even though you know how it’s going to end. But what’s the point in listening to stuff that you already know blablabla and that’s more or less the same as blablablabla? So what’s the point of having sex even one more time than the first, and with a different woman at that?!? Woman for woman, they’re all the same, once done then and what the heck. Like not wanting to change bars by force of habit. I have my habits.

Then, let’s agree that any reviewer who wrote low-fi associated with this album is an idiot and told you a lot of nonsense. Blank Dogs has switched to Pop. No more low-fi and here we could say the same things that have been said for Wavves. Awareness of one's means, now I’m having fun, I’ll even let you hear my voice. Pop, Pop, Pop. Regarding certain things on this album, the absent dog, would have attempted, in the recent past, at least some hesitation. Like I’ll put in the Pop track, but it’s the most low-fi of all, with the voice recorded in the shower and nothing more. That's life.

I like it. Like on a Sunday morning, it’s a balm. Tracks like "Goes By," "Blurred Tonight," "Another Language," "Out The Door" put me in a good mood. I told a friend. He put an arm around my shoulder and said: «I never imagined you were so broken.»

Cadaverous Synth-Pop for people in pieces. Drum-machine with a heart, American stuff.