The manipulation of wooden, plastic, catgut, animal skins; the wild distortion of one’s voice; the practice of donning strange textiles when performing the aforementioned tasks–all are used as a form of “self-expression” by young people today. Our job is to figure out what all of the hijinks signify.
Join UI as we Flashion Forward to a magical aesthetic land through which we coquettishly zip about the closets of our fave new interviewees and explore their closets to examine the physical and psychological baggage they pack their shizzle in–and ask ourselves important, meta questions about, ya know, clothes ‘n shit.
Today, we’re poking our noses into Japandroids’ multi-colored coats to see what chicanery their folds conceal.
Japandroids–though their name sounds like they’re going to sound like yet another ironic post-pop electronica cooler-than-thou snarkfest–actually manage to trod well-worn musical paths and make them their own. Singing songs about busting into mom and dad’s stash of booze, driving too fast and hanging out with your friends may sound inauspicious at best, but Japandroids manage to churn out “terminally catchy music played with punk’s enthusiasm and velocity…[it] makes you feel like joining in to bash along. It’s as fun as an ill-gotten sixpack and there really aren’t too many bands doing stuff like this well anymore.”
Their new album, Post-Nothing, is the perfect antidote to the empty cacophony the vast majority of primping popsters have been producing (with mixed results) for about a generation now.
And unlike so many of the Lower East Side shine-and-sparkle-focused musical vanguard, Japandroids, small town boys at heart, seem to draw inspiration from the simpler things in life. (And yes–those are cutoff jean shorts they’re wearing. No one can accuse them of posing as pretty boys, a change of pace I think we should all get down on our knees and thank Beezlebub for).
Below, check out Japandroids’ sentimental look back at the zany summers spent working thankless, sweaty corn-bred jobs at mills, cherry-picking farms…and places containing respirators. They sound like my Grandma and Grandpa waxing nostalgic about the good ol’ bad days on their hardscrabble farm in Indiana. And they’re almost as cute.
TOPICS: News