Bleary braille eyes, acrid tobacco tongue, and an apartment a drained swamp of beer bottles–no problem–San Francisco’s Sic Alps hit harder than caffeine. Where bubble gum meets barbed wire, channeling that anorexic aperture between harsh daylight and phantom fragments of forgotten conversations. Mike Donovan sneers “she went to seek adoption, just to see wot she had gotten for me, we bombed that mansion, its gonna be the last one, its gonna be the last fling.” All tocsins and toxicity.
Lo-fi employed as a tool, not just a crutch. Sic Alps’ new 7″ on Slumberland is teleological in its intent–only the ends matter. The idea is that they won’t meet you halfway, but they do–a slinking propulsive piano line, jangly sun-soaked guitars, and shambolic 60s garage clatter. They only need few sentences and the right tone to get their point across: “we went to see a doc then, just to see wot she had gotten for me mind searching, shes gonna get back at them, gonna gonna get back at them with violence.” Even if they telegraph their intent, escape is ineluctable.
Download:
MP3: Sic Alps-“L Mansion”
