It’s not impolite but mere self-preservation if when anyone from anywhere but Jamaica says the word “dub” when mentioning their plans to record an album you flee, screaming.
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As someone who enjoys cacophonous and disorienting music as meditative, it’s exhilirating that the influence of music this bizarre for any time echoes in in contemporary pop music 50 years later.
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I’m almost annoyed I couldn’t help but agree with a review’s observation that this album can be represented in the union of Werewolves of London and the Shirelles’ Baby It’s You, because trust me, as much as I love the Shirelles, I don’t ever want anyone to play the Warren Zevon song ever again and I’m so thrilled something good came of it after all.
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Because our sympathetic human ability to identify sounds as coming from a human creates expectations of them, this unconscious demand on musical compositions containing them creates cognitive challenges for music that isn’t “about” the source of the sounds.
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The difference between art and design is in usage, just as the difference between wallpaper and painting is intention.
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Sounds like a bunch of grown ups who maybe enjoyed The Locust in high school, then played in The Pampers, got office jobs, then car payments, then moved to the suburbs, then felt lame for not “rocking out” anymore so they smoked an 8 ball while drinking a rack of Hamm’s and recording an ep straight to Garageband.
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A sucker for anything that sounds like the crackly noise of a record over anything else, I’m prone to enjoy it even more when other natural ambient sounds like rain are part of the composition.
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