I said stupid things about Iglu & Hartly. It's not easy to write about a group that you've never seen in full physical effort, since it makes up three quarters of its identity and as long as you did not see you're not ideally placed to judge what it's worth. Because last night it was physical. I had just arrived at the Exhibition Grounds, In This City began: I ran to the scene to be as loud as possible, transported by melody and ultra-efficient when the guy threw his flow, it was the W with our fingers and waved it proudly shouting "west siiiiiiiiiiiiiide!" Because everything was there, the California sun, bronzed torsos, hip-hop and it kills just amazing chorus echoed by the crowd. We all like jumpi Pequenos the first concert of their lives. I had not hung up on other songs before, except that they were all amazing live, and all had a fucking tubesque potential. I spoke with Andy Maths Class, who passionately hate: it's called a hit machine, he finds it too easy, you're forced to love a group like that, because its taste is nothing complicated, it is now, that you do not need ears to enjoy ultra-Wise Iglu & Hartly. Well just me that's what I like about this group. it feels good to kiffer a piece within seconds without you dig to locate the neurons affiliations crooked with a particular thing obscure 80s. It's cool to find that it's a little red hot anyway, and that flow to the Beastie Boys it tears. You leave the concert and you're delighted. You're broke, you're shaking your brushing your little ass and tell yourself that these trans they start well.
Candy.
Candy.
0 comments:
Post a Comment