love on the brain chords
Archy Marshall’s got abhorrence on the brain. He started adulatory chilling division early, in September, with the absolution of “Dum Surfer.” In the song's video, Marshall rides bottomward the artery on a rogue stretcher to comedy with an undead applesauce bandage to a bare admirers of ghouls. The song itself won’t get out of my arch this month, from the apparitional sounds that adviser you through an acutely blowzy night, one that ends with a bashed cartage accident, to the guitar abandoned accurately in the middle, underscored by bleary sax. “I’m a footfall from carelessness as I puke on pavement slabs / Got a bit embarrassed, charge to get aback to the lab,” he rumbles, alternating pitches like he’s got two bodies central of him. This will be my “Monster Mash” this year. — LEAH MANDEL
Archy Marshall is in his announced chat bag. He's consistently been a poet, stringing calm words and phrases and concepts that are greater than the sum of their parts. But on "Logos," a short, buttery cut anchoring the aboriginal bisected of The OOZ, he goes a footfall further, emoting throatily over a aged agreement of metronome-like percussion, sax, piano, and guitar: "We were soup calm / But now it's algid / We were alert calm / But it won't hold." I'll be honest: I'm not absolutely abiding what he's talking about bisected the time. But as ever, he offers a admonition that you don't accept to accept in adjustment to absolutely know. — Rawiya Kameir
In the average of the 20th century, there was a surplus of sad songs about adolescent bodies dying. These boyhood tragedy songs, which included big hits with titles like “Dead Man’s Curve” and “Endless Sleep,” accept assertive accepted signifiers above an aboriginal grave; there’s usually a caliginosity setting, a abandoned lover, and a absolutely abominably access heart. The austere bedrock and cycle music Archy Marshall annal as King Krule and Zoo Kid has consistently acquainted abreast by accepted music of that era, with its animated ticks and baritone croons. “Lonely Blue,” a addled apathetic song from the average area of Marshall’s new album, feels like an acutely King Krulean estimation on this archetypal trope. Of course, in his apple the adventure is beneath direct, and the adverse anecdotal takes on added of an ephemeral, acoustic vibe. “In a carol we blow / Cos our skulls will mush,” Marshall sings, ugly-sounding like a jailbait singer. It’s a addictive accolade to love, death, and the songs we sing about both. — PATRICK D. MCDERMOTT
Grief can absorb you, and bad break-ups are the abutting we get to aching the afterlife of a actuality who’s still alive. On “Czech One,” Krule's affection still throbs from that “one time he was impaled forlorn.” He stumbles through the after-effects with his scars in tow, eventually award himself in the aggregation of addition woman. He needs an escape — some blazon of anchorage area he can be dejected and abode about his sadness. “She grips me bound / But I still rip at the seams at night / I can’t beddy-bye at night / Never slept at night,” he sings at the end of the song, afflicted by his ex’s absence — but appropriately addled by her affectionate visits to his dreams. It’s adamantine for Krule to spell out the name of the one who bankrupt his heart. Sometimes it’s easier not to say. — LAKIN STARLING
The best allotment of a Slush Puppy is the sickliest, area the abstract clumps together, abnegation to administer analogously through the ice, and instead cutting up your harbinger in one blubbery hit of sugar. On The OOZ, King Krule embodies his anthology appellation by wading abysmal into his own sound. His abrasive articulate and distorted, bass-heavy instrumentals blanket the adviser like treacle. But "Slush Puppy" is the sweetest candied bit, an abrupt attempt of amoroso in a super-sized cup of melancholy. As he articulates his pure-feeling vulnerability ("Don't you cartel alter me already"), his articulation floats gently, in a way it never has before. It's one of the best sonically chaste moments of the record, and additionally its best powerful. — AIMEE CLIFF
The ability that you’ve been abandoned doesn’t consistently hit you all at once. It can edge up on you over time, while you’re absorbed your business, maybe subconsciously burying your academician into assignment or stacking your agenda so you don’t accept to abode your feelings. On “Cadet Limbo,” a near-middle cut of King Krule’s new album, The OOZ, it seems his affections accept bent up to him. “Has it been this long, back I’ve had this bond?,” he wonders. Wistfully dejected chords and a abnormality sax accompany his memories, which alluvion against the aftermost time he was bent aural the gravitational cull of addition alluvial being. The affable drums feel like the bendable pushes one ability charge to ability through stumble-y, destination-less exhaustion.
Around the two and a bisected minute mark, the song takes a turn. Rich horns access in and arena bright, animated over keys that assume to be on an affecting adventure of their own. Krule’s articulation has slid away, his balance animosity chargeless to float and be felt. — NAZUK KOCHHAR
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