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Eighth-note piano pounding. It's in my head almost all the time these days. I wanna hear it coming from headphones and from my own fingers when I sit down at the keys. Sometimes I like it stately and steady, like John Cale. Sometimes I like it all frantic, like on this one. Workin' it. And speaking of work, happy Labor Day. Back Tuesday.
Moving right along...from the aphoristically-minded Fripp to the equally meditative "brothers" Ween. This is about as perfect a send-up of proggish lyrical muck as you're likely to find, made all the more fun because it comes from a place of genuine affection. It's awfully bonged-out, but it wisely reminds you how necessary it often is to embrace both love and cringing mockery of a musical style at the same time. Somehow, both impulses feel richer in tandem. I'd say a fair bit of SB's aesthetic these days is a result of that dual consciousness. Mang.
Eighth-note piano pounding. It's in my head almost all the time these days. I wanna hear it coming from headphones and from my own fingers when I sit down at the keys. Sometimes I like it stately and steady, like John Cale. Sometimes I like it all frantic, like on this one. Workin' it. And speaking of work, happy Labor Day. Back Tuesday.
Moving right along...from the aphoristically-minded Fripp to the equally meditative "brothers" Ween. This is about as perfect a send-up of proggish lyrical muck as you're likely to find, made all the more fun because it comes from a place of genuine affection. It's awfully bonged-out, but it wisely reminds you how necessary it often is to embrace both love and cringing mockery of a musical style at the same time. Somehow, both impulses feel richer in tandem. I'd say a fair bit of SB's aesthetic these days is a result of that dual consciousness. Mang.
