we are in the year nineteen hundred and something. recording technology is as clunky as a power station, and everything is analog and works brilliantly that way, just like the lace mat under grandma's bakelite telephone. exactly the right conditions for a hit in the indie charts of what used to be a great seafaring nation, but which nowadays only keeps its head above water by adding land area. a concert experience in an establishment for entertaining young music-lovers in Antwerp leads to an interview in Flemish-speaking radio (must have been a private station because they provided pot along with the questions). some recordings in the studio didn't go down as well as expected: the indie community, once sure of its taste, now had confused taste. control your emotions whatever that means. 10 years later, everything is starting over. the big blond and the little blonde are still big and little and blond. the female voice has since been classically trained and bangs on the anvil: go and fight and do what's right – but of course in moderation: according to mama's rule. the guitar sounds like a triple burger: lots of heavy stuff on it and when you take a bite some of it is sure to get on your pants. the sound is full of mathematically exact inspiration: genius times chance equals force times distance. take away percussion and bass, and the whole thing sounds like you don't need any percussion or bass at all. and if you chew on it, you won't have ketchup running down your chin, but lifeblood. and the best thing about it is that you don't need to make yourself go crazy. you are crazy already.
Paradox – S.oda / Bon Jorno
lyrics by Aaron Wrixon (Toronto, CA)