Spoon
Gimme Fiction

THE REVIEW

Strange and fascinating creature these Spoon.
Originally from Texas, they confirm with this fourth work that they are one of the most interesting entities in the indie rock scene.
Difficult by their own choice to categorize, the quartet led by the eclectic Britt Daniel, in forty minutes of disorder and creativity, manages to confuse and captivate at the same time, creating a sound tapestry that, listen after listen, becomes more and more intense and enveloping.
It's an unstable, caricatural, elusive, and melancholic rock that Spoon delivers.

The beginning with Beast and Dragon, a slow and insistent march, immediately catapults into an unstable and unreal world, where it feels like being in one of the White Duke's lounges.
But already with The Two Sides of Monsieur the rhythm changes, we open our eyes, and a bespectacled Lou Barlow appears with his unmistakable grimace.
The eleven tracks result in a bizarre and unpredictable collage of quotes, changes in direction, songs with a bad mood: Beatles and Pavement, melody and lo-fi, funky and folk, even a piano at times strengthens the melodic lines and especially the pop outbursts.
There is no shortage of Pixies school indie rock (My Mathematical Mind), who are one of the band's many points of reference, but the spectrum of influences is much wider and is often just a pretext to try new languages.

Gimme Fiction is a rock of suspended time, wrapped in a mist of subtle mystery, where it is beautiful to abandon oneself without knowing what is happening or what will happen, because trust in this case is always rewarded with vibrant emotions.