April 17, 2008

HEY HEY, MY MY

Ladyhawk's Shots, as do most records released by Jagjag/Secretly Canaddian, hews to a sound easily described "Neil Young album +________". With that other thing being along the lines of "many doobs" or "Black Flag when they started to slow down" or "sexual glee". (It's a formula I am especially partial too, as someone who is oft driven to tears by all that is alive and dying within Rust Never Sleeps). Holding true, Shots is like NY's Stars & Bars + The Places That Scare You tacked with a woozy lonesome that's proprietary to Uncle Tupelo and the spaces between the words when Westerburg mutters "swingin party down the line". (The real story is in that ebb, that shadowing pall). The third song is heavy on that trouble the buddhists call desire, immobilized and thrashed by fear, the singer quivers a little. There is a familiar thread tween this dude and the tremble and thrall of mid-period Pedro the Lion albums, which I blv stems from the fact that most every indie-rock making dude tween the age of 28 and 36 learned how to play from Nirvana records; thus the thrashing of the innards, the rasp, the warm sadness, cool disgust and overdriven Marshall sound. Ladyhawk do it especially well this time around, and by well, I mean it unsettles you enough to hold your attention with a little guitar-wowing to boot.

Posted by Jessica at April 17, 2008 11:20 AM | TrackBack