Duologue had me a few years ago based solely on the vocals. This dude's throat just pukes out the most desperate sounding beauty I've ever fucking heard.
It's like every bar is painful. Every word is a challenge to sing. Every song has a purpose because without having sung it, there'd still be that pain.
The first track I ever heard from these guys was titled "Get Out While You Can", and jesus balls on an amusement park maintenance cart overflowing with transparent trash bags filled with random amusement park waste, I was hooked on Duologue immediately.
The similarities to Radiohead and...
A WORLD BROMIERE FROM MY FAVORITE POST ROCK BAND WITH BEARDS? YESSSSSSsssssss.
This Patch of Sky have yet to create something that hasn't made me smile. And not one of those OH HEY I'M SMILING BECAUSE I'M HAPPY AND/OR INTOXICATED smiles, but rather one of those "if anyone saw my face right now I'd be arrested for looking creepy as I stare out the mental ward window" smiles.
Fulfilling, enlightening, encouraging, motivating, relaxing, invigorating... TPoS have managed to stroke nearly every bone in my body with one of the previously typed wordsies.
They aren't just composing amazingly beautiful instrumental music under the genre classified rain cloud of post rock, they're crafting soundtracks to the hundreds of different emotions we all feel throughout the day, at any given time.
I see This Patch of Sky, and the world premiere of "Ten Thousand Hours", as yet another baseball card like collectible of things that I absolutely fucking love from a band that I'm borderline obsessed with.
When this band's new album comes out, I'll be the first guy in suburban Illinois to cop it, but I encourage you now to START STALKING THIS BAND WITH US, because we aren't the only jagbags on the internet giving these guys props yo. EVERYONE ELSE IS NOTICING WHAT WE'VE BEEN WRITING ABOUT FOR THE PAST THREE YEARS, so should you.
The older I get, the more I'm noticing I've got a soft spot in me located about 7/8 of an inch away from my loins.
This soft spot is directly connected via wifi to that face I catch myself wearing in the mirror from time to time; the face I don't realize I'm making until I've already been making it for so long that any attempt at covering it up with something cooler only makes me look farther and farther away from the potential cool bro. The face I'm referring to is crafted of both innocence and a sincere level of comfort, it's full on geek, it's 100% content in whatever it's sitting inside of, it's a result of being perfectly where you're supposed to be.
Musically, my soft spot is completely disinterested with thy drums played with a mighty and rigid forceful fist, or...
My love for the band White Lies is as flexible as it is girthy. While my girth keeps me in the hole I want to be in (the White Lies hole bro), my flexibility allows me to reach said hole when it happens to be in a slightly different spot or elevation than I am used to.
My White Lies hole is my standard for music that contains a high inspirational value, while being delivered in an impossibly calm rock and roll manner. It's almost the juxtaposition of AAAAAAAAHHHHH INSPIRATIONAL POST ROCK INSTRUMENTALS and the calm insertions of a sort of spoken-sung bellow that makes me pay attention, mock the playing of said instrumentalz, and then tell everyone I fucking can about how mmmmmhmmmmmm this shit makes me feel.
Bands that sound like Roman Remains tend to straddle that thick line between something I can obsess over and something I can emphatically declare my hatred for. While electronic music itself is pretty straightforward, female vocals are a tricky bird for me. It's so easy to hate it when the vocals don't complement the beats in a manner befitting the awesome.
Sometimes the vocals are so distractingly obnoxious no fucking beat in the world can reel me into its attempted grandeur. Sometimes the beat itself is titties and the vocals by themselves are titties, but together they're four titties instead of just two succulent titties, and they're vying for who is the better pair of titties. Sometimes the shit is just...