Yep, cow-boys are back! I read it in Glamour and I just got the proof of it while listening to a very dusty and brokeback CD I came across very randomly, Muchacho from a band I had never heard of before, Phosphorescent. Aparently from Alabama ( as I don't have a clear idea as to where it is, I 'll assumed it has some connection with Texas and rancheros), it's not a first album, all the other being widely celebrated by serious Portlandiaish people such as Pitchfork, but I've been out of this loop.
Anyway, I quite like this one, and because I'm careless and lazy, I have no intention of going back to listening to the previous 6 albums just to get a clearer idea of what this is about. This one is satisfying enough.
Opening on a sort of electronical chant saluting the sun, one can be afraid of what may come next. One shouldn't, as the rest of the album is moving out of this to get you in a spiralling spaced Haneke-like lovesong ( meaning sweet and aweful at the same time) that is Song for Zula
Anyway, I quite like this one, and because I'm careless and lazy, I have no intention of going back to listening to the previous 6 albums just to get a clearer idea of what this is about. This one is satisfying enough.
Opening on a sort of electronical chant saluting the sun, one can be afraid of what may come next. One shouldn't, as the rest of the album is moving out of this to get you in a spiralling spaced Haneke-like lovesong ( meaning sweet and aweful at the same time) that is Song for Zula
Then going further to some serious cow-boy stuff, like Ride on, right on with classic american guitars and tambourine, little Elvis-like cries and a philosophy " Take your greedy hand, lay it on me". Giddy up.
My favourite part though, is where it's coming down to desperados whining violins, lonely guitar, some kind of piano ritournelle and talk about dirty city snow.
Muchacho's time
And the very Leonesque trumpet opening A new anhedonia makes me wanna shoot some dirty coyotes and quote MacCarthy at the same time
They heard somewhere in that tenantless night a bell that tolled and ceased where no bell was to and they rode out on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swarming stars so that they rode not under but among them, and they rode at once, jaunty and circumspect, like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing.
MacCarthy, All the pretty horses
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