We've got swimming vegetables pretending to be fish up in here. A soiree of this type requires a spot on soundtrack. Might I suggest:
When I was a kid, anytime my mom wanted to worm her way into my heart she broke out the fish sticks. This would've been perfectly fine with me if a) she didn't also break out the fish sticks when my brother, sister and father needed a little bit of mom's love and b) I actually enjoyed fish sticks. As it was, we ate fish sticks four nights a week because mom figured this was the blueprint for a happy family. Since we are talking happy families, let's talk Sundara Karma and their new single "Happy Family." The song feels like it is actually two songs in one. The first half is an ode to Americana choral music. With its breezy, flowing feel, I could totally see getting lost alone in the fields of yesteryear. But then the handclaps and boot stomping bass take over. No longer are you lost in the fields of yesteryear by yourself, now there is a bad ass bull looking to poke a few holes in your torso. Sundara Karma is prepping for their early 2017 album debut. Based on the handful of tracks that have previously hit the internet, I have no idea what to expect from it. Will the album be all indie dance floor like "She Said?" Snake charming glory like "Flame"? Or boot stomper like "Happy Family"? I guess we'll find out shortly.
Another early 2017 release is the sophomore full length album from Mushy Callahan. The band consists of four brothers Noah, Joel, Jacob and Lucas. These guys have a penchant for holding on when they've been beaten down, clinging to blind faith when there is nothing else left and turning zucchini into crabs. That's what their track "End of My Rope" is all about. Ok, maybe not the third one so much.
"We f**k and fight, how good it feels, I'm high, I'm high your ecstasy." Aw...my favorite thing about "Heroine" by Everywhere, especially this particular line, is the feeling that it gives me. I'm both relaxed and euphoric. All the pain that is floating around in my life is quickly stripped away and blocked. My shoelaces and silver spoons begin disappearing. All my straws are served with a side of burn marks. My aunt has remarked on numerous occasions how strange it is that Everywhere's version of "Heroine" induces the exact same symptoms in me as shooting actual heroin would. The only difference? Track lines appear in your ears instead of on your arms. I've repeatedly told her to stop looking for stories where there aren't any.