Molly Soda [EP]
In a 2002 interview with Olga Sladeckova for Pennyblackmusic about the formation of The Jesus and Mary Chain, William Reid stated, “It was perfect timing because there weren’t any guitar bands. Everybody was making this electronic pop music.” Decades later, we seem to be facing the same conundrum. But, whoever told you all of this dreamy, gazey, electro-pop had to be all light and soft and airy has never listened to San Francisco’s DSTVV. Loud and distorted without sacrificing any of the sheen, DSTVV’s Molly Soda EP is a real rude awakening for all of this dream-pop nonsense. Wake up! Your cotton-cloud, powder-blue sky is falling.
Stream the entire Molly Soda EP below and buy the tape from Teen Witch. Give me the psycho. You can keep the candy.
DREAM INSIDE YOUR CANYONS
Mmm, that “found” sound intro to sampled orchestra revealing oblivion deserted savage folk. Raw and bare knuckles pleasantly brush metal strings and post-blues moaning tales of what self and comfort mean.
Robert Magill is at it again with DREAM INSIDE YOUR CANYONS on Deep Tapes, y’all. So fresh and to the point. Coming down off his earlier 2012 album DEDICATED TO THOSE WHO RECENTLY LIVED, Robert is now tossing out his newest works From The Year 1842 to the luckiest label to snag it. And if his little licks on guitar don’t persuade your ear, his sax is something to breathe to, aside from a little tapping and spastic dancing.
But, when it comes down to it, Robert Magill got the voice of a man. Of humanity. Of a brother who has coated his throat in honey whiskey since he was 7 or 8 or 9 and grew into the most noon-o’clock-shadowed cherub singer this side of the West Coast. Err, I’m on the East Coast. I meant his coast. And the coast is all clear! Right? So, check out his freshest three tracks on DREAM INSIDE YOUR CANYONS, and keep your eyes peeled for his newest material in the months to come.
“Don’t Deny Your Heart”
You know those Sims music videos that are all over YouTube? The new Hot Chip video for “Don’t Deny Your Heart” is like that, except a lot weirder. Watch as the band gathers on the tour bus to play a FIFA-style soccer — I’m sorry, FOOTBALL — video game. At first, things seem normal enough, or at least as normal as any game with smooshed-faced characters could possibly be. But then things erupt into a giant ball of, ahem, “brotherly” love. The results are hilarious and very uncanny valley-ish — although the best part of the clip has got to be the cheeky commentary, as well as the band’s reactions to the absurd spectacle.
Pick Your Own Poison
Everybody’s getting younger and it’s incredibly annoying. This guy’s 20, this guy’s 18, and this guy’s 15, which is just insulting. Nevertheless, Soulection have found more precocious talent for the pile with their 21st release. Waldo is 20 and proves his versatility over an eclectic buncha beats courtesy of Sango. From the man himself:
Honestly, Pick Your Own Poison is about finding your lane in life. Whether if the lane you choose to pursue is right or wrong it’s still the poison you chose. It’s also about my life and the poison I chose.
$PL▲$H ¢LUB 7
“CHROME_DREAMS” [post-vapor demo]
Walking away, shelling well gambled wampum in your wallet, you switch out cassettes and nod to the disintegrating tape-recorded version of Usher’s “OMG.” The parking lot is dark, and the reel continues rotting as you pass newer cars, so ticks and tings flicker in and out of the music and magnet. Looking at that honey photo taken earlier, your sweatpants get a little tighter, and a speckled row of cell phone screen lights linger past the corner you just came from behind. Turning down Usher’s stretched voice enhances your hearing: shuffling feet surrounding you and echoing, distant smooth jazz matching electronic dings from the flea-market casino. A silhouette of a man approaches and snags the photo out your hand. “It’s her. It’s her I was righ— fuuhahahuuck,” he says, spits, and points at your brow, “Ya done.” Running across cars becomes the best escape route, and the sound of flattening metal and alarms drives gamblers from their games. One of the cell phones chasing you nabs your ankle, and hitting your head on a car’s hood has you seeing pockets of dark matter. Out of spite for their stepped-on cars, gamblers are cheering on the gang taking shots at your gut while holding you down, and a few cheerers approach and slug a few too. The police arrive. You see this in a bright migraine light, and there’s a lot of handcuff clicking. They stand you up dripping, but you still thick, oh-me.
• $PL▲$H ¢LUB 7: http://soundcloud.com/splash-club-7