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Rating:
Once again with feeling, brought back to a sporadic youthful enthusiasm with the same lack of desire as always: to reiterate the always dear concept of urgency, which some call immediacy, but to me seems somewhat diminishing (because the Washer are a perfect circle, but full of edges). Also to find among the reassuring arpeggios and the inconsistent phrasings on which this damn voice, nasal, monotonous, rests, the safest way home, a fraternal listening, an eternal loser that we once were not ashamed to describe as a slacker, always outdone by something more meticulous, coquettish, sharp, boastful, Jeff Rosenstock.
It seems necessary to attribute the formula to the confusing American alternative guitar music of the late nineties, not without violent parables, more Kinsella family than Wilco, focused on melodies and simple dynamics, supported only by the lazy chase of bass and drums and nothing else (lazy, or tired: at times one will perceive a limp that is not charming); not even lacking, as in the most impactful episode The Waning Moon, garage or surf temptations and refrain/outburst which for this writer find their peak in the anti-anthem Fail Big, a glimmer in a scenario already scarce in worthy releases, let alone songs.
Fail big: a belated manifesto.
[For further insights refer to dear Kloo on these pages. I am happy to find the same sweet and sad boys, always for themselves, always all in all all right. I hope the same for you.]
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