…are the simple things. For instance, a song starting off with a phat beat and pulse-raising bassline, building tension on one glorious note until the simple release of a chord change. Beautiful. You can forgive a band almost any grotesque excess just to bask in the glorious simplicity of that drum and that bass.

Now, the above paragraph is descriptive enough, yes? Yet I’ve taken the liberty of Pitchforking it like so:

…are the simple things - not simplistic, mind you, merely unprepossessing - like a song infused with an enviable austerity, a sort of Jungian synchronicity melting the absence of dynamic interplay into the dreamstate-like repetition of bassline and beat. The sort of song one might sense upon waking from a particularly arctic dream, waking from the building tension of approaching daybreak to the gloriously understated climax of eyes cracking open, blinking in the glare of what can only be described as the archetypal chord change. One may forgive a band almost any grotesque superfluity in pursuit of that Dionysian ideal, that paradigm shift that completely redefines a record - nay, redefines an entire morning, an entire day, an entire week, an entire generation.

Tags: faggotry, music