| The Hoarsebox bandwagon poured into Oxford, Mississippi in drips and drabs and set up shop in The Links apartments, a safe haven from underage drinking, fried foods, mob rule, Gary Busey, unripe peaches and outlanders. The links boasts a wide variety of wondrous gifts, from a large swimming pool and a golf course to a wonderful woman known to everyone as “Debbie.” She manages the Links and drives a yellow mini Cooper and saw the Beatles perform live in the 60’s. She is the dog’s pyjamas and the cat’s bollox. There is everything an “altpop” band from Dublin could want in order to aid in their quest to finish what has become a yearlong attempt to complete a debut album of music for today’s generation. A gym, table tennis table, pool table, sauna, Jacuzzi, tennis court. There’s even two sunbeds, which is strange considering it’s a million billion Brazilian degrees outside with humidity that makes your nails sweat. Anyway, Philip’s lovely lady he gets intimate with is here with their hilarious and brilliant little baby, Noah. Noah is 5 months old and smiles at everything and everyone. He giggles, wibbles, wobbles, drools and generally soaks up all the positive attention going. He’s a good boy who seems more comfortable with the transition to this part of the world than anyone else in the convoy. The only criticism that could be attached to him is that he hasn’t really developed a very good tan in the 2 weeks he’s been here but he should be given time to redeem himself. Baby brown is the new blah. Work has gone ahead on more demos. Another bunch of tracks to tickle everyone fancy and wiggle everyone’s monkeys. The contenders have been narrowed down and everyone is happy. There’s “Jimmy Bop,” the opposite of a ballad. New Orleans drum core meets a crusty and manky tea towel that hasn’t been washed in two months. Honestly, that’s what it sounds like. “Pushy” is a tribute to going to the type of church where people are happy for a change. Where the preacher stirs the audience into a gloriously ecstatic rage and the gospel choir sings like the end is coming...the word “tits” might be in there somewhere too but might not make the final cut. It’s just not ironic enough for our kind of pop music. Next is “Help me.” It does exactly what it says on the tin. Begs for assistance...in getting down! Nice alternative pop song people will sing along to because it’s catchy like pink eye. Then comes “Top Drop,” a feisty throwback to the days when rappers were Snoop Doggy Dogg and producers were in their videos. We somehow entered a musical DeLorean and set the date to 1993 and took it from behind like a pooch. It’s fun and makes you want to get jiggly with it like Will.Smith.I.Am in Miami town where Cubans arrive on tires and fashion designers get gunned down in order for their gaffs to be turned into boutique hotels. Finally and maybe not, we have “Perfect Army.” It needs work but it’s a nice piece of music. It wants to make people feel things; melancholy, sorrow, belonging, relief, joy and other stuff that nice music does. We’ll see how it goes. It may end up being a tribute to the cosine tables or 6 flags amusement park or even the way your wee smells like asparagus after you eat asparagus. Time will tell. We sleep, try to eat things that haven’t been deep fried in gasoline and go to the studio to make history for the future. That’s it. Demo time is over. Tracking starts in the morning. See you soon. |
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