What prey tell has our favourite debonaire Zombie-about-town been upto since the unleashing of the ‘Teddy Boy’ EP last year? Kavinsky has been hard at work with the ’1986′ EP, which has just been released by the lovely Record Makers.
We love Zombies, its the surest thing, and we love cartoon ones that dress in Converse and 8O’s baseball jackets n’ Wayfarers the mostest. ‘Grand Canyon’ ends the EP with this massive sound. The hi-hats chop like ninja stars, the synthesisers ripple like liquid metal and the growly bass goes BBRRRRRROOWWWWW! every so often just to add to the shear drama.
If ‘Testarossa Autodrive’ was the sound of Zombies eating Outrun and belching it out to a killer beat, then ‘Grand Canyon’ is the mutated Airwolf helicopter thats gone all Transformers and is a giant robot stomping through downtown Miami.
Speaking of Kavinsky, he is playing a DJ set down in windy Brighton on the 23rd of March, brought to you by Bootfair Music Club. 20JFG will be keeping it tight in the bar with, oh fuckit, just check the flyer:
Do you want to know the truth my friend?
Stuart, Steven and Juan were called to the station to have a chat with Teniente Castillo about their whole ineffective policeman schtick, now man, weren’t those cunts Ricardo and Crockett laughing at the back of the room, yeah, Juan, Stuart and Steven are rookies, but they have good intentions, they want to look flash and dance Chaka Khan and tacky italo in the disco, pout to Phill Collins ballads, and hang out with the winners, drive flamboyant sportscars and have doomed romances with 80s style beauties with bizarro haircuts, wander around whiter than white new wave buildings made of unreal angles and cool surfaces, perhaps even arrest the odd perp and get a few loved ones killed in revenge to enhance that doomed bad boy hero aura but face it, they aren’t cool or hard enough, they come from little Brighton, and they run a blog, woah, a blog, that doesn’t cut it in the panther-like beautiful yet dangerous streets of Miami.
They look stoopid in a white jacket (well, Stuart kinda doesn’t but hey), those sleeves are too long for their scrawny toast & butter fed complexions, and the pension where they shack up (no budget for a penthouse yet) stinks with the cheap smell of patent leather loafers worn without socks. They can’t drive for shit, last time Juan borrowed Crockett’s Ferrari he smashed it into a baby. The baby was inside a church. WTF. Last time Steven tried to explain Teniente Castillo about how the police should make sure Neu Rave or whatever they call it these days stays off the streets because the kids will get hooked to it and start wearing white jeans and die, Castillo spat in his face. Face it guys, this is Miami in the 80s, every-fucking-one wears white jeans, and everyone dies, as long as it’s in an 80s way, you’re such a bunch of schmucks, pardon my yiddish.
Still they bask in the aura of Ricardo and Crockett and the rest of the hip bunch, like non-creepy sad clowns on the outskirts of the fancy carnival of lights, cocaine and chrome plated guns, like they always have done, oh the dejected ones. And they think, it was so much prettier just being at home listening to Jan Hammer’s synthetic high drama coconut tree projecting suave swagger inducing jams and phantasising about this stuff, you know, instead of travelling back in time to try and make the dream real, oh well, they better get on with it, apparently Mosca is trying to smuggle a bunch of drugs in town, real policemen need their shoes shining true to look well good as they make the bust, now get on with it you bloggers, the polish is on that cupboard over there.
Jan Hammer- Evan (Instrumental)
The cool bunch runs out into the streets, it’s all a blur of linen and tan soundtracked by borderline cheesy undoubtedly anthemic, dynamic and dexterous chase scene music, your 20JFGkids are left behind to sharpen pencils and clean the bog and be laughed at by the clerical staff, they prance around, playing the fucking mop like it was a gueeeetar idol axe, bang in upside down bins full of chewing gum wraps Derek Smalls style, somersault and pirouhette and, for a second, miss those Games Workshop games they used to play back home before they decided to challenge the harsh rules of reality. Life sucks when you’re a loser, but there’s always epic headbanging rawck tunes to hang on to.
The Fucking Champs’ new album ‘VI’ is full of music to grow your hair long to. If you wonder what this means, it means you don’t get it. Of course we love it because our inner child is a hyper-musculated Dragon Slayer covered in tattoos brandishing a battleaxe, standard.
Off to clean fucking Ricardo’s medals now, fucking motherfucker who does he think he is, I’m gonna have myself a perm too and will see who’s the coolest bloke on the block.
WAKE UP
NOT YOU. NOT EVER. DID MOMMA DROP YOU OFF THE CRIB TOO MANY TIMES OR WHAT? IT SURE LOOKS LIKE THAT
If we keep on this self-deprecating trip we’ll never get to be stars in the scene boo. 20JFG goes to therapy after the weekend, enjoy for now kittens, and go to the DO for These New Puritans blah blah.
Epilogue -This post is tagged with italo rave
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