The Exbats
Song Machine

I had a dream, and in this dream, I find myself catapulted into one of those mega gatherings of mega groups amidst hundreds of thousands of screaming fans. There on stage are Inez and Kenny, they're the main attraction, we're all here for them. Inez announces the last song and "Singalong Tonight" starts, and I hear my voice joining the chorus along with hundreds of thousands of other voices, together with Inez and Kenny. Even when the song is over and Inez and Kenny have greeted us and left the stage, my voice and all the other voices tirelessly continue to sing that chorus over and over, like in "40" at the end of "Under A Blood Red Sky." Since I arrived early at the concert, I also witnessed when smack in the middle of "Food Fight" – another plagiarism of "Blitzkrieg Bop," the unbelievers will tell you – Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Tommy jumped out from who knows where, gabba gabba hey, and before security could kick them out, Joey had time to whisper, "Thanks little Inez, thanks old Kenny, for keeping the spirit alive," verbatim; we all read Joey's lips, all hundred thousand of us there, and then all four of them disappeared backstage and no one saw them again, while security is still looking for them. And then I woke up.

So, a couple of months ago, the new Exbats album came out, it's called "Song Machine" and it's exactly like "Now Where Were We" from two years ago but better, because in two years what doesn't work gets fixed perfectly and everything runs smoothly, that's how it works in Inez and Kenny's albums, that's how it works for many other things. So, Papa Kenny resigns himself and forgets about singing for eternity, he plays guitar, does some backing vocals, and everything else is Inez's domain; and the struggles of "Drop The Rebound" give way to an "Easy To Be Sorry," seemingly fragile but solid, supported by a small string section that resembles some delicious Beatlesque syrup at the level of "Let It Be," and if I had told Eric Oblivian just two years ago that he would find himself involved in something like this, he would have spat in my face.

So, if "Singalong Tonight," "Food Fight," and "Easy To Be Sorry," each in their own way, catch me by surprise and take advantage to nestle into a corner of my personal "best of 2023," everything else fits there too, without even needing to surprise me: from the mid-tempo papapapapa of "Riding With Paul" to the hyperkinetic one of "Himbo," with that hammond underneath unearthing the roots; from the yuuuuuiiiiiyuuuuu of "To All The Mothers That I'd Like To Forgive" to the ahahahahuwohoh of "Like It Like I Do"; from the primitive rock'n'roll of "You Got My Heart Hot" to the cinematic garage of "Better At Love," passing through a renewed electric rush to the country canon of "Cry About Me" and even to the doo-wop one of "I Knew What I Wanted" with a dizzying final acceleration that, if it weren't for everything else, would alone be worth the handful of euros paid to Inez and Kenny.

In the end, I'm still there wondering if there's more genius in those who steal my heart with plots so elaborate and complex that I can't even hope to understand or in those who use just two fingers, three guitar chords, and a detergent barrel beaten with a wooden spoon.

Either way, Joey is right, thank you Exbats.