Hot damn! Just when the music zines and scenes were tellin’ me it was the putrid 80s with their synthesized delights and geometric fixations, the southern hemisphere — always on a different season/trip/plane — tells me it is in fact the 90s with a chance of counterclockwise distortion, and I couldn’t be happier. I put away my waterproof Zubaz for some all-weather flannel and hol[e]y jeans because I need to feel the warm breeze of Summer Flake. Steph Crase (I can call you Steph, right?) whisked me away last year with her self-titled EP, so it should be no wonder I want a return trip to alternative dreamland. The catch? It’s the now, and very little of Where Do I Go? is beholden to a decade 20 years past expiration even if it evokes such sentimentality (I WAS THERE!). Dude nods to recognizable college-pop-rock-waster touchstones but little to tie to Coupland’s generational narrative. Crase is tighter, more prepared for something other than Alternative Nation knockoffs. The title track is a bit of a Lena Dunham insular love-and-loathing reality check. “Racecar” is a Nastanovich part away from already being part of slacker lore. There are even a few downer tracks for your 20-year Prom-themed reunion. Don’t forget the corduroy cummerbund and plaid pocket square. Anyone tired of the retro-futurism of cyberpunk symbolism can take a trip to Adelaide and dig on this. Or get it on tape, where epochs will collide and we’ll all spiral willingly down the timeless vortex.
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