I really love this side of Brokaw, where it sounds like his raw guitar tones are sliding and buzzing around inside a thrumming, gargantuan steel boiler or something. Not enraged, just kinda seething. Come, Codiene, and New Year fans are already aware just how amazing a musician this guy is; I only wish his solo efforts garnered more attention.
Near-constant rotation in my living room—my son just adores these pastel-hued faux rock-star moppets—demands the inclusion of this unabashedly hokey quasi-rap in this column. Every time Busdriver Bob's verse comes around ("Yeah, come on!/We're gonna take a...bus ride"), I'm inspired to break out my mawkish Zach de la Rocha imitation.
This track—from a split with vertigo-inducing synthers Disexistentsium—spends most of its 13 minutes pursuing Reaching.'s usual jagged, slippery agenda of whiplashing lightning-noise. But gradually, these distorted fuzz-splatters peter out into something downright calming, even ethereal. Evan Craig—the name Reaching. goes by when signing checks and such—is, like Black Pus, a fierce believer in giving his work away for free. Take advantage.
R&B history is littered with [insert gender pronoun here]-done-me-wrong moans; what it sorely lacks are down-with-domestic-violence ballads à la the Jennifer Lopez flick Enough. Here's an invigorating step toward filling that gap.
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