This goes to hip foes who spit flows
Preach each speech to pique freaks who sip those
Reach lads from street fads to deadbeat dads
Egad, elite pads of sweet plaids
Cummerbunds undone for fun
With the sun flung low on the chosen one
When the men fend denizens begun
Only ten sentences, then they’re done
Come riding high, come drowning low
No matter where we want to go
Until we die, we’ll see it through
Bat out of hell in a Nissan Cube
I lack the sly tracks of wisecracks
Try blackjack or pry at the backpack
Dry-eyed, I gasp at the clasp that
Flaps at straps and wraps ‘till the last gasp
All annoyed, all unemployed
Call the mall, android falls tall, destroyed
And the ball that Freud had once deployed
Had the gall to brawl with the awful void
Third verse, it gets worse but yet works
Let’s bet jerks to vet internet perks
Get set to lecture the cold, wet earth
Sold mirth to upset the net worth
Lecherous, techs fetch the bus
To stretch punks much less adventurous
But the fuss of lust becomes unjust
Plus the sex was a hex on mother-effing us
Tom Snowden, from Alice Springs, Australia, turns in six soft, Arthur Russell-y covers of favorites from Björk, Kylie Minogue, and more. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 11, 2020
Recorded on the Grecian isle of Hydra, this is blissed-out psych pop with stacked falsetto harmonies and luscious arrangements. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 9, 2023
Two dozen 12-string acoustic improvisations that feel undeniably haunting, like lost transmissions from ancient Appalachia, rediscovered. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 17, 2022