My post rock diet lately has been a mixture of the dark and dirgey and the inspirationally uplifting "I just out smarted the Lannisters on the field of battle" type shit. I'm either cutting sketches of penises into my forearm in my four cornered room staring at candles or I'm allowing my comrades to lift me up triumphantly in the air as we celebrate with mead and whores.
So then Arms of Tripoli sent in their EP titled All The Fallen Embers...
Now I'm kind of in the middle of both bro bro.
Arms of Tripoli, forget them having a tattoo worthy logo, have managed to enter into my music listening habits as the only post rock band on my manpod to abstain from the distortion pedal and still sound balls as balls. There are stretches on the EP where you're daintily skipping along, while haunted by the soundtrack of course, but until the fucking shit hits the fan you're unaware of the tension building around you, and only when shit slows back down are you aware of where you just were. The entire EP is a lesson in extremes, as one second you're holding your arms out like a scarecrow stoned to the bejeezus and floating along like a hippie chick on a bowl of schwag, and next you're running from paramilitary assasins armed with blowguns and tazers, the dichotomy or juxtaposition, or whatever word you use that makes you feel smarter, is fonduborous bro.
Fonduborous is a word I just typed that doesn't have a red squiggly line under it, so I'm going to let that muthafucker ride bro bro.
All in all, Arms of Tripoli are the tame side of the post rock coin, but remember this coin is dependent on emotion, and these fuckers are that calm guy you know that all of a sudden loses it and calmly shoves a guy's foot up his own ass if given proper bait.
Allow the track Cliff Dwellings to be the track you start from, as the layered guitars tell you there's 17 guitar players, but the build into the gruff tells you they put out on the regular bro bro.