Speak softly, but carry a big stick. It's a nice maxim. Shame that most bands forget the stick....
SPEAK SOFTLY, BUT CARRY A BIG STICK. IT’S A nice maxim. Shame that most bands forget the stick. Not so San Francisco’s Creeper Lagoon, whose luxuriant lo-fi country lullabies, sprawled across their debut album, come backed up with the sort of slyly hidden weaponry that Mafia empires are built on.
Strange that a band named after the cockroach-infested motel that singer Sharky Laguana worked in should sound so sweet, or that such effortlessly ephemeral pop should be infused with such latent power. But it’s impossible not to succumb to the aching, folk-inflected glide of ‘Wonderful Love’, with its gentle guitar crescendos. Better still is maudlin slacker ballad ‘Dear Deadly’, which manages to be both airy and suffocating, hovering somewhere between Sebadoh and Guided By Voices.
Like all daydreamers, Creeper Lagoon drift off occasionally, but those gorgeous, subtle melodies keep resurfacing, warding off complacency. Far more than another bunch of angsty college kids, Creeper Lagoon invite you to fall in love with them. It’s an offer you can’t refuse.