I used to live in Brighton. It's a great place. Why then do I have to hold back an aesthetic dry-retch every time I hear a musician is based there?
I hear Brighton and I hear smug. I hear the clatter of GAPpy teeth, dripping tiger prawn and oyster sauce, the zen-clap swish of Shockwave Xtrovert Plastic Elastic Hair.
My therapist Mr. Krakatoa (aka the 1000 year old guy with one-leg who eats only beetroot and lives in the tunnel network under the park) suggested I post a few tracks by Rashamon, to "deterritorialize [my] sense-boundaries and distinction-adverbs" and, really, who am I to argue?
Tinkles like an uninspired Four Tet caught on a no-return (Sundays only) train to Pembroke Dock then a soft voice announces the beginning of a clumping amplified typewriter beat before backwards cymbal worrying breaks down into those tingles again.
Lopes a little in the early stages before the Sunshine Bus are let loose on some sheet metal shards and a condenser mic only for them to lose interest after a while (except Big Sheila who thumps away in time with her own curdling), stumble around a bit, looking for truffles and abandoned Hurricane Fighter Planes.
Do I like them? What's to like/not like?
Both tracks VIA
Disclaimer: Mr Rashamon does not necessarily endorse Xtrovert Plastic Elastic (or any other similarly mis-spelled, rhyming hair care product) - any suggestion otherwise is purely unintelligible.
Disclaimer 2: The fact that Mr Rashamon is, in fact, bald as a coot was not comprehended at time of press and the above picture is in no way intended to humiliate Mr Rashamon and/or members of his remedial family
P.S. I've fired Mr Krakatoa.
1 comment:
Yeah...I am a bit thin on top but not quite bald yet.
It does sound a bit shit when you hear an artist is 'from Brighton' but I do live here and people seem to understand that better rather than he's 'from Bexhill'.
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