Styles: instrumental prog-metal, math rock
Others: Yes, Explosions In the Sky, King Crimson, Pinback
The most accurate way to explain it is a bike messenger -- a bike messenger making his runs, going down his routes, delivering his packages. A constant rush and hurry for punctuality. His calves are covered in bruises. Grease from the chain coats and tangles his leg hairs. Gashes and scrapes layer atop his kneecaps. His socks are shredded from missteps into the sharp edges of the pedals. The tender skin on the sides of his hands is blistered and callused from the rubber grips. He stands upright and he sits uncomfortably. His packages are in his backpack. The jutting objects pinch, prod, and knead his lumbar region. It feels as though he has a herniated everything. He pedals hard, through a nameless big city, weaving and careening between rush hour traffic and lines of vehicles at stoplights. He squints into brake lights. His underarms sweat as he negotiates through a crowded intersection without slowing. He swerves to avoid open car doors and swerves to catch a breeze to his wind-worn face. He's responsible and wary. He locks his bike to posts and public monuments when he hustles to a door for delivery. He's complex and weary. If the mental fatigue subdues him, the physical picks up the slack, and vice versa. His day is relentless. His day is punishing. He has colorful streamers draping down from his handlebars just for the kicks and giggles he receives from the taxi drivers. He wears headphones to hush the madness, to muffle the insanity. He remains focused and poised. His earpieces are so permanently affixed in his ears that cartilage has formed around them like tree bark around a clothesline wheel. The music he listens to is Sleeping People. He makes decent money.
1. Blue Fly Green Fly
2. Nasty Portion
3. Fripp For Girls
4. Technically You...
6. Johnny Depp