I know alot of people have been tossing around the word “psychedelic” in descriptions of these dudes—I mean, I just did—but they don’t have any of the cloying spaciness. They’re of a more dusty and adventurous stance. At the end, Chris Frias’ guitar strap comes undone and he’s left smiling, singing and holding his guitar like a rubber chicken. If this was an acid trip, it’d be one with convulsing laughter, climbing trees and rolling on blankets, thinking you’re a dog.

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Experience Drew Denny & Kyoung Kim’s AQUARIUM exhibit at Sea & Space while enjoying a reading curated by Daiana Feuer.
FEB 23
7:30pm sharp
Sea & Space Explorations
4755 York Blvd, 90042
They wanted something special. We’ll give ya…something!
Be blown away by the following mix of word, song, noise, and video by……
The poet Gedda Ilves was born in Harbin, North [...]

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Though Music Go Music seems to be plundering from ’70s dance pop, they are not running on the fumes of nostalgia. They propel everything forward with intensity and precision, elevating lyrics about hearts and love into feverish, epic anthems, bridging the gap between Bjorn Ulvaeus and Dimmu Borgir’s Shagrath.

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The Holloys produce sound structures; similar to the way sand and wind, over thousands of years, can hack away at rocks and produce eerie and precise architectures. They are diligent: slowly chipping away at a beat or a riff until it is transformed and made sculptural, an integral part of a landscape.

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I cursed my choice of drink: whiskey; it was all wrong. In the middle of the empty dance floor, some dude in black contorted his torso indolently. The music doesn’t seem meant for this type of response, though. It wants to inspire palm-trees swaying, or feet dangling out a window on desert roads, or smoking pot on the porch while discussing succulents. Sly or uncomfortable, maybe, Luke Top calls the dude out, simultaneously encouraging and admonishing him.

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I was sequestered in the back, attempting the role of passive observer, balancing on the rickety floor. This was not meant to be a passive scene, though, and a white t-shirt and a rolling belly called me on my shit. “You move your legs,” he said, “and then you go forwards and then backwards and then you go to the side and then forwards again and your arms go up like this.” as he pulled phantom levers above his head, smiling, his belly poking out in rhythm. “You’ve got to move.”

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