Dykehouse : Chain Smoking Ghostly International
Erectile dysfunction? Lung cancer? Who cares! 'Chain Smoking' is brilliant...
any robots. They had a drummer, not
a machine. And, generally, they spent
too much mid-tempo time playing guitars like grown-ups. Sure, they had lush melodies, but they needed discipline, urgency, a computer-processed edge. Which is where Michigan's Michael "yes, it is my real name" Dykehouse comes in. Formerly a leftfield electronics bod, Dykehouse now writes dreamy indie tunes… on computers. Most of them are pretty rich, but it's this simple, dog-eared anomaly which jumps out at you. A wry ditty about soured love and sexual frustration, it is hazily melodic but, crucially, rattles along atop distorted beats, cheapo synths and scuzz-guitars. Spunky.
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