Hexes is retro sampled instrumental hip hop, and from the front to the back it's a fucking snifter of double malt scotch, a cigarillo that never ends, and a gentle breeze blowing up your silk robe while you stand out on your veranda over-looking your private island getaway.
It's classy shit, but without the pretentiousness that might cause someone to balk because you aren't wearing drawls and your testicles are slapping the backs of your knees and knocking together like some sort of native windchime you'd expect to buy at a seedy headshop back on the mainland.
Dirty Art Club is known, at least in my opinion, as the purveyors of delicate chop and splice, layering sin under grace and casual over formal. When these chubchokers got together to plan out this fucking album and decide on a feel for it, they must've mentally retreated to the South Pacific (or slapped up a wallpaper scene showing the beach or some shit). That's not to say this muthafucker is islandy or islandish or islandic, no Fuck that, it's just draped in that gritty classiness that you'd see in a James Bond film, but instead of feeling a sense of brooding like they're in Borkistan, there's an underlying sunshine factor I can only place near a beach of some sort.
The track Full Metal Jacket might be the only obvious example of le boom bapz on the majority of Hexes, but I'm pretty sure it's there just to let you know that they know that you know that they know that they were the ones to drop Heavy Starch last year. Where the rest of the album gets horny, and tremolo guitary, and flutey, all the while maintaining its retroistic integrity, Full Metal Jacket throws down the white slacks and kicks the leather jesus sandals completely across the room in a show of brute relaxedness.
If you're up for a bourbon hued sassy and mimosa drenched regal ass motherfucking chill session, Rosslyn's Crypt might be your best chance at touching hell yeah. Note: hell yeah feels like Tom's chest hair, which is both soft and fucking disgustingly addicting to rub up on.
Oh, the track Slow Burner is James Blake getting kicked in his snobby hipster fucking knickers by a guy named Bryce who showers at work.
This shit is mmhmm. Dirty Art Club? Mmmhmmm.