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I don't know how this dude keeps making music that simultaneously puts me in a food coma and makes me want tacos. Normally it's the latter then the former, but here Koresma knows I'm hungry, but taps me with his witchin' stick on the forehead and I'm splayed bro. I'M SPLAYED THE FUCK OUT. Koresma makes relaxing and erotic synonymous. "Sun Begins To Pour", with the benefit of sultry and lilty (sultrilty?) vocals from Alaska Reid, sounds like a week-long orgy where everyone gets a goodie bag filled with footie pajamas and a 4oz bottle of lean. If a song has ever made someone want to wear those socks that are just a few inches south of the taint when pulled up all the way, then I don't know how else to convince you that that's a...

No fucking clue who this woman is besides her being the vessel that just delivered a whole bunch of hormonal nostalgia of being a 14 year old kid listening to Sarah McLachlan's Fumbling Towards Ecstacy. Holy shit, can you hear that? Sarah was the first woman I knew only by what her voice did to me on the inside. Aces seems like the modern version of that sort of hazy chill that November mornings are known for, but holy hell does this voice make me want to hump a pillow or steal a glance towards that next door neighbor girl with the super hot tight rolled jeans.  "If I Could Be Your Girl" is the equivalent of three nights of steady nocturnal emissions, two days of forgetting to put on deodorant after gym class, and one unbelievably confused and horny high school...

Holy. Fuck. Flora Cash now sounds like a non-whimpering Bon Iver fronting an acoustic electric version of Portishead that is just as moody as the original, but holy fuck I had never considered that matchup, but DAAAAAMN THIS IS PERF! If I wasn't already seated, I'd have to sit down for this shit. "Sadness Is Taking Over" is sort of the perfect song for right now, when nothing else really seems real, but sad is really the only thing I'm sure I'm feeling. I am a complete fucking puddle when it comes to songs that make me shut the fuck up, and I am a goddamn MIME at this point.  Wow.  If you needed a reason to shut the fuck for a minute... If you needed a reason to forget how to speak for a minute... If you needed another excuse to keep your goddamn opinions to your...

I've loved this dude as a friend for a long time. I loved him as a friend before I had even became actual friends with him. The fact that he raps alls goods is secondary to how much I even like thinking about hanging out with him and slamming pogs and playing ninja gaiden and shit. While we have shared the same internet spaces together, we've also virtually shared the highs and lows of life and the uphill, sticky and snotty battle of parenthood together. Sure, sometimes it's as simple as an Instagram notification that dude liked a picture of something I took the time to capture and share, but other times it's the one on one direct messages of encouragement back and forth, or the "I'm sorry dude" back and forth, or the "fuck man, I love you" that might seem uncommon when you're talking...

So The Midnight Echo used the word "anthemic" in their music submission and I was all crossed arms like "bro, you can't call yourself anthemic, that's anti-anthemic bro".  AND THEN I LISTENED AND THEN WHEN THE SONG ENDED I WAS ON TOP OF MY DESK WITH MY FISTED HANDS AT MY SIDES IN AN ENJOYABLY PURE FIT OF WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I love when rock music makes me want to hop over household appliances and turn mops into swords and shit. Thirty Seconds to Mars is one of my weaknesses, and The Midnight Echo hit me on that 30STM nerve and while it's closer to a Blink 182 meets 30STM, I fucking love it. Anthemic balls, amazing drums, vocal layers are fucking exciting and emotional, and I've listened to tit 4 times in 15 minutes and I think the way the drums are...

How does this dude make EVERY song he writes sound like I'm waking up on a fucking beach? Seriously, Hanging Valleys always makes me feel like I'm just waking up, I rub my eyes, and I'm startled that the eye boogs I go to wipe out of my eyes are super calcified and sandy. Then I look to my finger tips, where I normally have a nice and green goopy eye boog to flick at my wife, and it's a little pile of beachy fucking sand. HANGING VALLEYS IS THE SAND YOU PICK OUT OF YOUR EYE PITS IN PLACE OF EYE BOOGS.  I have listened to "Coast Days" a good 73 times this week already and while I live nowhere near a coast, I love how enveloped in sound I've been since hitting play the first time. The capturing of the slap on the wood of the acoustic guitar is huge...

Ballerina Black are my favorite trenchcoat wearing 80's synth warriors. These guys take overcast skies and black denim, smoosh them together, and make shit sexy as fuck.  Over the last two tree four years I've relied upon their disinterested sass to make the drab reality of life in America palatable. And while I always imagine I'm wearing a collared jacket that I can then turn up the collar against the wind and cold even when it's 75F and sunny, they have warmed all of my cockles.  If you didn't already know, I'm known for my cockles.  "Telepathy" is dancy without being corny, retro without sounding tinny, but what I'm noticing more and more is that all of the latest releases from Ballerina Black all make me want to wear driving gloves and toss...

Kauf reminds me of a leather chair. NO, WE AIN'T TALKIN' FETISH PLAY BRUH! I was first introduced to Kauf a number of years ago, and back then I had this awesome chair where I would intoxicate myself and listen to music. I attribute the feels of sitting in that comf ass chrrr to more than just the value of the construction and material comfort it afforded me. I owe a lot of that chair's comfort to the music I discovered while sitting in it, in various stages of intoxication. For some obvious reason, Kauf's voice always relaxes me, his beats always soothe me, and I always look like a fucking asshole while listening to him because of the random body movements I am inspired to perform while he is inside of my side face holes. ENTER "Key to Life"....

Audego kill me.  That lilt of her voice paired with that fucking thwap of dude's beats, fuck that shit kills me. I'm dead bro. Seriously though, after obsessing over "I don't need you" I'm the human demonstration of what your body would look like if you were one of those toys where the animal is stiff until you push up on the bottom button and then it falls limp. Every stutter start of every verse finds me limp as shit, slowly erecting myself until I'm at full mast, and then the galloping happy happy that the plinking synth exudes makes me fall to the ground in a pile of my own happiness. Audego keep me on my toes broes. Playful, but unbelievably pained and therapeutic. I LOVE THEM. THEY LOVE ME. WE ARE A MATCH MADE IN CHINA. 

I don't think I've heard the end of this song yet.  I can't make it all the way through the 3:38 without starting it over. The start of this song is so fucking perfect I'm almost offended by the remaining 3:10 seconds.  Whoever the fuck From Indian Lakes is, this shit is shimmery, clicky, pleading, and completely fucking gorgeous. I've been closed eyes and neck a floppin' for the last half hour as this song has ruined any chance I had of finishing that last TPS report before lunch. "The Monster" sounds moody enough to be about a dead body, but bright enough to be about 10 for 10 limes on sale this weekend at La Markita on the west side.  I'm not sure if this is pop or rock, but the instrumentation being so eerie and the vocal being so dainty, fuck, it's almost...