No Pain In Pop

Soarers

Director Andy Bruntel asks that these videos be watched in tandem, though the one shot for ‘Keechie’ seems to be a sequel of sorts for the ‘Eraser’ footage. A ploy to hold the attention? No need. No Age…

Tandem dive after the jump.

‘Keechie’ is built from discarded moments, Bruntel bringing together bursting balloons, rescued T-shirts, fishing rods and deck shoes in a way that mirrors, to a great extent I think, what Dean Spunt and Randy Randall do so well with their music. A kind of grunge grown positive after (and perhaps because of) traumatic teenage years, the noise of ‘Keechie’ and ‘Eraser’ still seems to burn with the new bruises of youth, or at least smoulder with a memory of it that’s splintered kaleidoscopic.

It’s physical, this din - it’s an arm reaching out, veiny, a blow to the head of moping London bowl-cuts and bored, boring boar bars, a sucker-punch, a reflex axion, but boson-tied by the alloyed efforts of fresh sweat, talk that flows like a brook new and awkward but with given memories of April showers past and the time for ideas. The three come together momentarily to house a beam Providential, brains elevated loose to a vast landscape gazing back-to-back, sharing Siamese all the busy eye takes in.

Truly psyched, soaring sound… 4eva+eva+eva.

Tags: keechie, no age

One seven : Seven # two

BUY

7
SEVEN
7

Just imagine the world reaching the end of its tri-millennial life-cycle and imploding again. Dark? Now just imagine rhythm. Primal, learning, glittering rhythm…

Tags: //m//, health

This Heat and This Dirt, Again

One day we’ll stop fluttering our charred ‘lashes in your direction glowing acolytes, we promise – but for now, it’s Friday night (threshed, deathless Friday night). About to head once more for the mire of drunken London, we flutter, gobs agape, teeth on parade, knowing not how to do anything other than bring you something else vaguely Italo, something else vaguely disco.

Except it’s not – not at the outset anyway, which seems to swelter in what remains of thiz dayz rayz. No; at the outset Hecuba seem bottom half-buried beneath fading liquid – water, sweat, Amontillado, whatever – as the lax mouth of Isabelle Albuquerque surveys lost gulls and fragile hookers in a manner calm enough to make the mind’s eye section her off behind the blacked-out window of an ailing Capri. For the most part, ‘Baltimore’s a dark-eyed dub bound for the soft clink and sangria velvet of the private members’ club, but still… it’s definitely bound for somewhere.

MP3: Hecuba - Baltimore

And they called it “delirious“.

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Tags: baltimore, hecuba