Album Review - Blisses B - Thirty Days, Sixty Years - San Francisco - Americana

Album Rating:

9

I held on to this album in a playlist called "WAIT TILL FALL". I shit you not, this sat essentially ignored for the four hot months where I hate most things that make me imagine being back in my beloved hoodie and jeans. shit that makes you remember what it feels like to sweat and then get goosebumps before you can wipe the sweat off your bald fucking heat. shit that makes you remember how much you love smelling the smell of burnt leaves, for five minutes, then you want to stab every ass-faced cock-wagon standing outside in a Carhartt jacket with a fucking rake.

Yes, the guy in my neighborhood that does that shit, Fuck you dude. AND THERE ARE LIKE 7 TREES IN THIS fucking NEIGHBORHOOD DUDE, ARE YOU OFFERING FREE DROP OFFS FROM YOUR FRIENDS WHO LIVE IN STRICTER HOODS AND HAVE PERSONAL FORESTS? Fuck YOU RAKEY MCYARDFIRE!

Blisses B, and this album Thirty Days, Sixty Years, it's a grower.

I've come to the conclusion that the band it sounds most like is something I don't particularly care for any longer, but I appreciate the Vampire Weekend like vibe to it. It's energetic and bouncy without sounding trendy. It's got emotion in addition to the energy, so it isn't as gimmicky as that band I mentioned in the previous sentence. They go from sounding like a crisp young indie band playing on a college quad somewhere to a band I can see headlining an outdoor festival where delicious beers and sausages are served by bitches on stilts.

Everything about this album feels perfect while driving with the windows down and the heat on. My kids love this album and after some careful consideration, I believe Blisses B would be a great addition to the Yo Gabba Gabba scene. It's nonthreatening and enjoyable, and I mean that with complete respect for their musicality and songwriting abilities. It's shit you can bump in front of your parents and not look over your shoulder when they start saying "fucking RAPE MISSILES YOU cuntLIPPED MUFFIN SNORTER" or something more offensive, yet probably less visually delicious.

Blisses B have a few tracks on this album that would be great soundtrack songs where the male protagonist is walking through a forest wearing a scarf. But he's not wearing the scarf because he's hip bruh, he's wearing it because it's a tit bit nipply bruh. Most notably, Regal Goodbyes, the title track Thirty Days, Sixty Years, and Valley Low; each of these tracks is fucking HELL fucking AWESOME fucking shit YEAH!

I love this fucking band. SOMEONE TELL THEM TO CALL ME ABOUT SETTING UP SOME BABYSITTING HOURS FOR THEM WITH MY KIDS YO.