The Coasts

Self Titled

9 out of 10
Joel Frieders | August 31, 2011

I had a friend in high school that was constantly listening to The Everly Brothers. Like the first time I almost saw her bewbs she was singing Kathy's Clown. And the second time I almost saw her bewbs I was singing Kathy's Clown trying to get her to accidentally slip a bewb.

I grew a fondness for the peaceful childhood simplicity that those old Everly songs made me feel. I always associate my great aunt's basement with that same type of feeling, in addition to Miss American Pie out of a huge wooden turn dial radio, playing pool without being able to see over the pool table, and that fridge in the corner that always had a shitload of Christmas cookies no matter what time of year it was.

The Coasts and their self titled album boast a similar simplicity that is heavy with sadness, but covered in a confidence that reminds me of those folks a generation or two older than me. Like, yes, shit is tough, we're eating the same canned shit food, wearing work boots with holes, all of our dads, uncles and brothers are fighting a war that isn't ours, there are only two television channels and yet, there's nothing to fucking complain about.

Surfy without feeling coastal, classic without feeling dated, and sing a long without feeling hokey, The Coasts have captured a wide range of genres into a single album that goes from simple piano or banjo accompaniment to a full on tidy Black Keys. This entire album sounds like a feeling. I love the shitting shit out it.

If I had to pick my favorite album from 40 years ago that was released in 2011, it would have to be The Coasts by The Coasts.

I dare you to listen to this fucking album and not at least once sway back and forth, hold your lit lighter in the air, or join in on a few "Ooooooos".


Go buy this shit and help these Arkansas pricks save up for some teeth.