001 SWIMTEAM_RADIO, 002 SWIMTEAM_RADIO, 003 SWIMTEAM_RADIO… RAMBOW, FOO!!! And he scoopin’ up them ICE CREAM beats, garnishing a swirl of sprinkled samples and loops that’ll probably crackle your skull like it raining Pop-Rocks on ya brain. Would you rather be shaking your head working over-time, or sitting in traffic? Well, fuck it, I’d turn’t some RAMBOW SWIMTEAM_RADIO_004 on the highway beyond what people can SIT TO. This singing around the two-minute mark will sound like I’ve wireless access to some lady’s bullhorn. People be flashin’ brights and dancing between cars. Ain’t nobody’s booty safe. Party on the BQE. Rush hour. Be there and drop it with me.
OR, y’all can reach out tonight for that pre-Swim Team stroke in the Palisades. Daddy AOL x LORD $M$ gonna be slammin’ bodies around 8PM. However, if you want the real-RAMBOW-deal, hit up Trans Pecos tomorrow night around 10PM (naps prior are a necessity, as we goin’ to 4AM). Swim Team bringing down Brooklyn and here are all the details! I’ll be at both. Tonight in a blue hoodie. Tomorrow in [nap clothes; gym wear; jammies]. Get at me. If it might be me, say “Hey!” to whoever. You’re invited to introduce yourself to everyone.
I seriously feel blessed to be listening to RAMBOW SWIMTEAM_RADIO_004 all damn day today, only to pre-game my stroke tonight for “GOD DAMN, Swim Team” tomorrow.
K Trax compiles all the best vogue-bass-club-etc. versions of DJ DIOR’S “Elevator”. On paper, it sounds like a bad idea. But give it a listen. There really aren’t any words. I’m really glad this happened. Is that dramatic?
“Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica”
On record, friendly spikes of mid- band jut out across the empty room. The bunsen flame meddles in the fidelity. Fixing to cherry-pick, hands warmed by the flame hover over the keyboard.
Grit between intervals rubs off on the zoned-out sequence of keys, leaving fingerprints. All is calm. The sequence ambles along, hands behind its head, until The Kiriks have, prematurely, had enough. Frustrated fingers depress mash notes. This resolution entertains non-musical gesture. The room is filled now.
• A Beard of Snails: http://www.abeardofsnails.com
Yes, summer has come and gone for the most part, but leave it to Moon Glyph to roll with the seasons on Is/Is’s autumnal Shadow Days tape. The duo of Sarah Rose and Sarah Nienaber, originally from Minneapolis but now residing in Portland, OR, craft skeletal psych-rock jams reminiscent of Moon Glyph’s other acid-fried rocker, Dead Luke. The two Sarahs have a way with hypnotic, burned out songs that makes “Palmers” stand out among the rest. It has an expansive yet intimate feel that brings you in and leaves you wanting more; thankfully, Moon Glyph has a few other samples of the tape on their SoundCloud, and Shadow Days is available for purchase.
“No one owns the sky”
The starkness of Buck Gooter’s music is what brings the minimal brutality of “No one owns the sky.” It’s rooted, but not roots-heavy. Fucking existentially blues’d out too. Everything from the internal is rotten, but still breathing. Bellows from the acid of an empty stomach. The hum of every swan-songed echo that’s come back around for revenge. Each piece of the drum-set being played, one-at-a-time. The tension it taught. Ownership is of Guthrie-level warranting, only the sky ain’t the limit. So who better to protect Buck Gooter’s space is some cosmic HENCH that went to the corner-store, snagged a couple Ultraman masks, and started struttin’ the clouds. Make sense? Fuck yeah, it does!
“No one owns the sky” is taken from Buck Gooter’s newest album The Spider’s Eyes available soon on the illustrious Feeding Tube Records and Sophomore Lounge Records. And I’m thinking this release will be as raw as what both labels usually bring, with an excellent combination of Sophomore Lounge’s gruffer sounds and Feeding Tube’s storyteller aspects. Get jacked and be on the look out for these two sky-dudes below on your next flight outta town: