if you close your eyes, it’s like 1965. not that i would remember the year, of course.
you know, i have spent two whole weeks. TWO WHOLE WEEKS, writing about songs i loathe. i have subjected myself, and the
hundreds three people out there who still dare to read my stuff, to pure, unadulterated crap. i just wanted to feel the love, people, so i am changing tracks. i think for the two weeks of awful, hateful songs (really? you really like my humps? you’re a sad case, you are. get thee to a nunnery), i need to do penance. so… you loved it for years. you laughed at meÂ with me at my sometimes quirky taste in music. and so?
trust me: you’ll like it like mikey likes it.
anywho… from what i can glean, the young sinclairs have been around for over a decade, and where the HELL HAVE I BEEN? seriously, i am a serious sucker for jangly pop. i have a history of listening voraciously as the rickenbacker torch has passed from the byrds to tom petty to REM to the La’s to… well, there are loads in between who are fine, fine jangly pop people. these guys hail from downstate in Roanoke, a place i have never been. i hope they come up to play at Iota or the StateÂ (i’m sure the legwarmers can find another place to play to drunken 40-somethings trying to recapture their frat party memories from the ’80s some saturday night, amirite?) sometime, both fun venues. Â with my luck, i’ve probably missed them.
timing is everything.
anyway, my timing was lucky, as i heard this on little steven’s underground garage one day while chauffeuring the boy somewhere. (the kids grin and bear it when i refuse to listen to the top hits station on sirius/xm in the car; there’s only so much bruno mars i can stands and i can’t stands no mo’!) and yes; i was thrilled, yea verily… for i heard something garagey and fresh, all rolled into a lovely, poppy, jangly hot mess. and i became that mom, the one with the windows rolled down in the school kiss-and-ride line and the volume cranked to 11. Â i don’t often do that (usually, it happens when rocks offÂ comes on, and not otherwise much), especially since the day i embarrassed BC amidst her middle school pals when i had the clash cranked. moooom, girlfriend moaned, you’re embarrassing me!
(oh honey. embarrassing would be if i had perry como at full throttle. Â not:
the maGNIFICENT… SEVEN!
but i digress. per usual.
in short: i rarely hear things that make me want to go out and buy the album (only too bad for me, the 1980s called and saidÂ we want our albums back, nobody makes albums anymore, old lady) or at least download this stuff.
the young sinclairs deserve a better write-up than what i can glean from internet searches. i would tell you more if i could. but in the meantime, take a tip from me. you can close your eyes and pretend you’re a groovy girl from the ’60s when you hear it. but you have to rejoin the 21st century (still in progress) to get there. so:
just. download. it.