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A couple years ago I had a pair of Avec Sans tracks on my manpod that would pop up at just the worst fucking times. I would be knuckle deep in pounding out turkey burgers, or just stepped into the shower to wash off the sin, or I'dve just pulled into work; every time was a bad time it seemed. Wait, you think I was trying to avoid the Avec Sans shits?  Nah mang. Either my hands were full of raw poultry or I was wet in the shower or I was already at work bro, that means I couldn't turn the shit up and go full tween on myself. WHY YOU ASSUMES I BE THE HATINS?!?! So then Avec Sans disappears and I'm left to other random bubblegum electro pop and it's all just bad influences on me and shit, so I've started smoking, using the F word (which is...

I didn't sleep for shit last night. I looked at my blinds until my alarm went off at 5am, and then I hit snooze three fucking times, and them three sets of 9 minutes were the best sleep I've had in the last month I tells ya.  What did I learn last night? Three things: 1. My blinds, from windowsill to windowtop, are comprised of 42 individual slats. 2. Around the 17th slat is a slight bend upwards towards the eastern most third of the aluminum slat. 3. I fucking love tacos. All that being said, I've been listening to Norte's "Beryl" since I received it yesterday afternoon, and its pillow-like futuristic city soundtrack sheen is fucking comfortable as shit. I have no idea what they're singing, but the vocal effect is just as cozy as the bed I laid awake in all last...

DUUUUUUUUUUUUDE. This guy's throat sounds very Chris Cornell, but only if Chris Cornell didn't know he was Chris Cornell so he didn't Chris Cornell all over the fucking song like Chris fucking Cornell fucking Chris Cornells.  YEA, I MADE DUDE AN ADJECTIVE,  A NOUN, AND A FUCKING VERB BRO. I WENT TO HIGHED SCHOOLING. This Jack Berry dude, besides having the perfect name for a CIA/spy action novel protaganist, has one hell of a crisp fucking delivery on "The Bull". Sure, it sounds like maybe it was recorded in a studio worth more than my entire fucking house, but that's to be expected. I mean, check out dude's facial hair in the picture up there? Is this dude's facial hair and birthmarks similar to a clown's make up hot as fuck or are my rock and roll glasses all...

Ifuckingmmediately, this song has me by the balls I keep in my pants. Taking aspects of two distinct sound altars I have come to genuflect in front of and smooshing them together into something that both cups and massages the aforementioned balls I keep in my pants, TUFT not only has the best band name of the day, they're fucking spilling blood all over the aforementioned altars I mentioned before mentioning again my aforementioned balls I keep in my pants. What does Tuft and the song "Stills" sound like? This shit sounds like White Denim and Jason Isbell blended together into a delectable porridge and then masterfully simmered to a nice rolling boil and then served into bowls made of gem stones. THEY'RE MINERALS. Sorry Hank, they're fucking...

You know when you reach 'that moment' of a song? An emotional climax that gets your undercarriage prickly like a porcupine and it triggers a surge of endorphins all the way to your fingertips? ...the rest of the song could blow, but you listen anyway because the anticipation of that moment is coming get you all fucking giddlywinks.  What if I told you that I just listened to a track where half fucking song is 'that moment'?  Well, I just did. 'Living Hour' by Seagull. 

This almost sounds like Zavala dropped a box of noise on a warehouse floor and he recorded the bits and pieces skittering away from him in slow motion. Then, in a way only Zavala seems to know how to do, he brilliantly sticks them pieces on the wall of my fucking brain and all I can do to escape from wanting it to never end is to keep hitting the play button on this soundcloud page so it never does.  This week is miserable for me, historically, and I've been listening to old Radiohead albums just to have something to yell along to, but this has taken my attention so far past where it's been for the last few days. To be honest, I've been staring at my feet or out into the distance as much as I can recall, at specifically nothing in particular. I needed a...

What happened when I first streamed Reaches' new record I Am Alive and Well:  My shorts just hollered peace to my knees and hi to my thighs. I found myself headband shopping. A cool breeze picked up and, while nary a hair on my sculpted head budged, I was comforted by the polyester magic of a neon pink wind breaker. I totally scrunched my socks.  And then something strange began to happen:  The blisteringly freezing air screaming off Lake Michigan began to devour my new found phosphorescent fashion. Something darker emerged, emotive and coated in mascara. Hair, still sculpted, leaked an inky black sadness from its fried roots to its towering tips. My cells softened. My sex dwarf handed me her leash. We made a movie where every scene was an undulating thin English...

Greg Laswell has the voice of a fucking guy who's seen it all. He's a small town sherrif, a big city coroner, a 19 year old soldier; each battling different demons. Whether it's nightmares that won't let him sleep, mirrors who show him who he doesn't want to see, flashbacks of what no one should have seen in the first place, Greg sounds fucking miserable.  Buuuuut, I won't lie and say dude isn't appreciated like a muthafucka. His voice is somewhere in between Chris Isaak and the guy from Soul Coughing, both romantic and deep like the mind of Minolta (now picture this. Not pic-a-nic baskets, pic-a-nic caskets). Greg Laswell's "Dodged a Bullet" has me jacked as fuck for another album I'll only listen to alone, but I'll end up...

Holy balls orbiting around a black pepper steak topped with truffle sauce. Caveman has a new song out: 'Never Going Back'. I only write about bands and songs I love, so naturally, I always sound excited about music. BUT this makes me really, REALLY excited. Caveman's self-titled album was released in 2013 and it was easily one of my favorites that year. It was so dark and dreary, but could make me happy on a sunny day. AND a song off that album called 'Over My Head' is one of the best songs of the century; it makes my knees clatter against each other just thinking about it. But, but, but....there was another song on that album that wasn't as moody and it was their 'hit'. That song was called 'In The City' and you may remember the video because it...

Holy fucking gooseballs all up on my goosepimples, this dude sounds like a freshly shaven Glen Hansard. Not only is this Flora Cash song the first song to make me immediately look out my window to my right and watch each individual snowflake flake, but this might be the first time I've felt a song this huge make me feel this small. "For Someone" is the song that plays in my imagination when some young wide eyed little girl finds the music box you've been trapped inside for decades up in some random attic and casually turns the key expecting nothing. Then the picture quickly zooms out and we're living life through the eyes of innocence, experiencing love, heartbreak, success, failure, and then it somehow ends with the little girl I just mentioned dancing at her...