Look. We need to talk about your inability to commit, emotionally, to music.
Think back to the first band you ever really connected with. It doesn’t matter whether it was The Sex Pistols, R.E.M. or the Captain and motherfuckin’ Tennille. You loved that band the way George Zimmerman loves gated communities, right? Now, just remember that feeling you had when everything just suddenly clicked. But then you got older; music became background noise, and, well, let’s just say “Mumford & Sons” and leave it at that. But you still miss that feeling, don’t you? OK, read on.
Rock ’n’ roll, when it’s at its best, stands firmly in the center of a crossroads between the muscular and the cerebral. Drift too far toward the corporeal, and you end up writing songs about smashing beer bottles and hurling groupies into bourbon-filled swimming pools. Drift too far toward the intellectual, and you’ll find yourself recording a concept album filled with crap about UFOs and Middle-earth. Very few bands have managed to walk the tightrope between the pounding rhythm of the heart and the eclectic charge of the brain. Enter iVardensphere and The Methuselah Tree.
If you took Dead Can Dance, fed them amphetamines and psilocybin, then dropped them in the mountains of Algeria, you might come up with something like The Methuselah Tree. It’s a pounding, tribal exploration of the id that stimulates your higher functions but still forces you to move like Bob Ford on a three-day bender.
You’ve been given a rare second chance to fall in love again. Don’t blow it and end up cruising christianmingle.com.
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