You know, I could’ve been on a hot date tonight. Some experimental prepared piano atmospheric intimacies in a basement called Subculture, then sushi and cocktails and then maybe, just maybe Kay Parker. Instead, I was deep down on the other side of the island making time with an unexpected popfest and – sure – my yen for a swinging life of haute culture has me regretting missing out on the what could have been the sexxxiest Friday I’ve had in a minute but there’s no place for woe in rock and roll.
I heard someone describe Hot Curl as “indie psych surf or psych pop garage or a little of bit both but definitely indie” which just made me want to shove bottlecaps in my gums but might actually be reasonably accurate. Hot Curl is very much a band of the moment, indulging in excessive pedals, 4/4 and cosmopolitan boredom to create a twinkling sound that evokes the notion of a shore bereft of crashing waves and sunscreen.
Kinda like Aruba only markedly less humid.
For the entirety of Dinowalrus’ existence (or, at least, as long as I’ve known of them) I have confused the band with Caddywhompus and I likely will until I stop listening to loopy bands with goofy names. I mean, I guess it’s all right. Both bands play on some post-modern mischief shit but whereas Caddywhompus go a deep skramz dynamic duo Southern belle-ringer jazz freak shtick, Dinowalrus play a synth-laden wedge of psychedelic Brit pop homage which I’ll just go ahead and call acid disco futurism. Not really my thing but curious enough to keep my attention for thirty minutes.
From what I’ve heard, this was Chain Wallet’s first visit to the US (they should be in Austin right about now) and I’d like to think they had a good time but I know damn well NYC is a motherfucker to play because photographers tend to outnumber dancers any gig that doesn’t feature breakdowns or electric daisies and that can be a bummer when you’re a feel-good band from Norway just trying to ply some pop joy across the pond.
(and, yes, I recognize that I’m a part of the problem)
Still, they seemed to have some fun. I know that’s what I usually say when my friend’s shitty band plays a set so debilitatingly mundane I start to question the content of my own character but it’s true. Chain Wallet appeared genuinely delighted to be playing in Chain Wallet and why wouldn’t they? Their brand is the hazy shimmer of a Nordic Spring buoyed by the body electric. Not a party but a pleasantry passed with a wink.
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