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Glorie - Glorie

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By: Joel Frieders
post rock, glorie, album, instrumental, rhythm
Album Rating:

If post-rock were a broad I was sitting near on a airplane, she'd be the chick most people pass over because she's subtle in her beauty and sitting two rows behind the emergency exit on the lefthand side of the plane. I mean the terts are shabanging and the neckline is smooth and zit-less, but she isn't trying to be something she's not and she isn't paying any attention to me rubbing myself through my Jnco jeans.

Her confidence and poise is what gets me, even if I'm not totally digging on her specifically. I feel the same way about most of the post-rock I listen to.

"Yosepf, this sounds dope. Who is it?"

And then the imaginary person I'm driving with says "Oh, it's a band from Canada called The Sin Is The Color Of The Explosion Of Her Soul When Reminded Of Death's Succulent Temptation."

"Oh, TSITCOTEOHSWRODST? I hear they're the illest in post-dramatic-combinative-mixed-floor-exercises."

The conversation goes on, but screw you anyway.

Enter Glorie.

A SYFFAL submission with a happy ending; I fucking love it. Introspective, moody, and complicated enough without alienating those of us without Berklee College of Music edjamacations; it's just accessible enough to bring in new listeners, while allowing music fiends like me the pleasure of hearing something fresh.

It's music like this that makes keeping the SYFFAL gears turning seductively such a fucking privilege. Tim and I go through phases where we want to either show each other pictures of our respective schwanzes at half-mast or actually break up with each other. It's so up and down when you're requesting people send you their shit. And since we don't shit on shit we don't like personally, there's a lot of stuff we pass on. But Glorie were a reminder that there are people out there that don't suck complete ass, and they do know how to use the internet.

The instrumental progressions and riffage found within the Glorie's self titled shits develop like a movie soundtrack starring me, but seeming way more interesting. Sure my diaper changing and pharmacy day job might SEEM hollywood glam and shit, but I assure you, the only way my day to day is compelling is if I lied to you or you're watching me with this shit in your ears.

If you suffer with a mundane existence and have too many responsibilities to get knee deep in a heroin addiction or gambling debt with a member of the Albanian mafia (Hi Artan!), I suggest you turn your day into a fucking movie utilizing the Glorie shits as a soundtrack.

My favorite part is the part where you look suspicious at your toilet paper wad...

Go to their bandcamp site and buy this fucking album you fucking Fucks.

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