Damn. The Pupils are creepy creepy born-in-a-stable-to-backwoods-inbred-parents music. Boy, are they creepy. Reminds me of a more subdued Old Time Relijun mixed with a more minimal and gritty Palace or Bonnie Prince Billie.
These songs speak (lyrically and musically) of impending doom from a skewed perspective which seems to be missing some crucial transductive/interpretive mechanism which the rest of us take for granted. The Pupils’ lyrics are perhaps utter shit, or perhaps some of the most brilliant experiments in condensed/subtractive phrasing I’ve heard recently. I can’t tell, and I don’t particularly care, but I’m leaning toward the latter. Fans of Will Oldham’s creepier stuff or Tom Waits’ less accessible side may find this interesting…
But you should check it out even if you don’t like that stuff. Minimal crooning music by which to swig moonshine. If you have it on hand. In your tub. I like The Pupils. Don’t buy this record for your friend who only likes The Promise Ring and Saves The Day.
|
Review provided by Brian, The New Scheme > Stuart Anderson, Editor stuart@thenewscheme.com |
 |
