Rugged Bleach

I love to give, so when I've been absent from this little slice of digital heaven for a while, I feel bad... not just for you, but for me; I don't get to enjoy the bobbing heads and satisfied grins of my friends. In short... this is a very selfish act.

It's funny how long spells of absence from my Shananigans are often brought to an end by stumbling on exceptional bands that simply have to be pushed out into the world. In this case, White Denim was no exception. An Austin-based four piece, this group of wickedly talented musicians has been honing their craft since 2006. Their cohesion and practice shines through and they manage to hit a rarity in popular music; musically and technically challenging and intricate song writing that still comes across as infectiously catchy and universally accessible. Chalk it up to frontman James Patralli's soothing, baritone voice or his embracing, blue-collar lyrics, or maybe the beautiful rhythmic flow between all players - whatever it is, it works.

Having just released their sixth LP in the fall, White Denim seems to be one of those bands who has hit a certain plateau in their careers. However, given the right alignment of the moon, one song making the right rounds or the right person at one of their gigs... these guys are ready to blow over the top. They've got all the ingredients, it's just a matter of mixing in the right order, at the right time.



-When you're bottled up and ready to go, won't you light my fuse and I'll blow

Electric Confusion

If I were to sum up my listening tastes as of late into one word, that word would be 'weird.' Ever since QOTSA released the brilliantly uncanny Like Clockwork, I've been on a listening tirade to continually befuddle and defy my brain.

As such, when I found out that an old favourite, Rose Hill Drive, had released a new record over a year ago that I was completely absent for, I was excitedly confused. There's still a healthy dose of southern, riff-heavy insanity on the album, but it gets blended with a healthy amount of spastic, cross-dressing, in-your-face, jolty, unpredictable noise. The album took a couple of listens to grow on me, but now I find myself twitching along to every screech and blurp. It has become a glorious, psychedelic trip down an auditory glory-hole.

The song below, Psychoanalyst, is one of the more tame tracks on the album, perhaps representing a moment to step-back and become soberly introspective...that or I'm overanalyzing things. That said, if you're willing to dig further down the rabbit hole, check out the full release; it's worth every penny.

-And this phantom twitch keeps on beating in my vestigial heart