'I wish I could live in a room on the outskirts of town with no-one around...'
Come come all ye comely creeps into this deceptively cramped cabin carpeted with wondrously desiccated frantic acid-folk and serrated salt-water swirls and furnished & coated in slide, rollicksome bass under-over-sideways 'round roiling drums festooned with farfisa frolics and occasional flourishes of surf-scowling guitar sinistrations so seasoned a thousand fringes would be granted free therapy, as anyone exposed in any local barren store and crumbling coastlines of recorded delights to the monstrous storm of Movie Star Junkie's mellifluous MELVILLE marvelpiece - two of whom's helmsmen's loiter in these shadows - will whoop-a-holler about. Fearsomely foxy fairytales dripping in ethereal yet direct prickly insinuations and haughty purrs, however off kilter. Anna's enchanting twang is like the disembodied air in Kat Bjelland dark lantern stare that could idly disembowel you with a furtive hither ye come oh simpering sap. Sure, the psych-country goth-skiffle approach may beach Holly Golightly (or Gothlightly as the cheat sheet info delightfully says - LOOK, EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS RECORD IS PRETTY BARSTADLY DELIGHTFUL) - into still waters all the better for sinking through - like the fragillically epic Monsoon Blues, a waltz indeed above & beyond yours stuly's fetishistic warmth for the form, beckoning Bow-waves), by itself no small salt-shakers but it's shape-shifting, unaffectedly kooky charms conjures Voice of the Beehive, Warm Up with it's strains of California Dreamin', the Floyd-fucked by The Fish (or thrice vice versa) closer Ghost Song to Fabien Delsol's coquettish girl spy-pop (Wake Me When I Die) or and any other continental chick you keep in your lockets. Quite sweetly astonishing and quietly gargantuan. Damn, I do love Germans.
General Stulysses S Damned