Bandcamp Artist of the Week: The N'ere Dowells

I've had this link for about two hours and I've already gone through the five fucking tracks four fucking times.

There is nothing about The N'ere Dowells you can't hear immediately. They sound like one of the few bands I've run across these past few months that can just show the Fuck up and murder. There's an easy going raw elegance to this rock and roll that most bands probably spend more time on perfecting than their songwriting skills, and The N'ere Dowells just fucking play.

Smooshing together the sounds of a handful of bands whose debut albums are extremely important to me, it's apparent The N'ere Dowells have yet to be tainted by their own individual ideas of what they're supposed to fucking sound like. They don't sound like their songs need anything more than what they were given, and it's the sparse attention paid to aesthetic that I think makes their aesthetic so fucking endearing.

The N'ere Dowells have a garagey-early 60's surf stoner vibe to them that I can't quite figure out why it sounds so fucking fitting in 2012, but it's romantic in a way I haven't heard captured in a while. When I headed into the Demo the second or third time, I started noticing these little things that make me wish I'd always get emails like this. The simple horn riffs in Comets playing out of the car speakers across the street, the constantly developing Chevy convertible guitar melody inside Anabel, the drums on Spend Time where if this was a pool party the drummer could be laying some serious mack down on any chick in the crowd holding a drink with a paper fucking umbrella ella ella ay ay ay, the Arctic Monkeys-ish "let's sing lower so it sounds like we're old enough to buy some hooch" and amazingly gorgeous guitar transitions in In The Morning, I'm fucking smitten.

The N'ere Dowells sound like a band from your childhood playing a backyard bash with multicolored paper lanterns suspended from between every tree, and all you want to do is get your dick touched by some chick named Mallory who has no tits, but smells like buttercream and knows the names of the entire defensive line of the 85 Chicago Bears.

When everything bugged me today, The N'ere Dowells passed me a fatty to enjoy the fucking Fuck out of.

NOW SOMEONE GET THESE shitHEADS TO CHANGE THE TITLE OF THEIR DEMO TO ANYTHING BUT DEMO!