Friday, 5 February 2010

catalan cabbies

Civil Civic will get you by the balls. I haven't come across anything this year that brings the party like this.

Less Unless, the standout track, is a thrilling lesson in how to cram a fuckload of ideas into a four-minute romp that has FUN tattooed in large, glowing letters all over its chameleonic skin. So incredibly evocative, I envisage a schizophrenic conception consisting of some choice elements. Their blog, as highlighted by NME, imagines a video with a charismatic airplane pilot losing control of his mojito.

If I were the director I would place my camera in the cabin of this joyously doomed flight from London to Barcelona. The hostess, called Jane, sets the pulse by clapping, instigating a pulse that never ever wavers. Dave, from Sydney, is transfixed. He was expecting her to go through the safety procedures.

The only option for him is to remove his guitar from the overhead locker and stand in the aisle, unleashing intricate lines that climb and dart all over. His nameless co-passenger, expecting a lifejacket, then discovers a drum-machine under his chair. He inadvertently switches it on. He was expecting a life-jacket.

In business class they have synthesizers, Evan Mast is there and he whirls out some typically charismatic shimmers whilst waiting for the hostess to come serve him more whiskey. After a quick freshen up in the toilet, a lank American guitarist circa ninety-ninety something emerges from the toilet with a riff that inspires every passenger to get up and start trying to dance. A Swede called Henrik is doing the Macarena for some reason.

By this point, the CEO of nameless corporation number sixty five has totally lost it with the hostess who failed to serve his wine correctly and is now doing the can-can. The splash of red on his Dior suit that he just had laundered that very morning is clearly never ever going to come out and he lashes out, sending her flying through the window. Cabin pressure lost, he turns into a zombie and starts screaming blue murder. Aforementioned mojito spilling pilot realizes shit has hit the fan and presses the eject button.

Newly airborne, watching the party detritus below him, he wonders why he isn't dead and wonders also why his parachute has built-in speakers and drinkholder. He then realizes he's in a music video. Unsurprisingly all the passengers have found a new dancefloor, on top of the biggest cloud you've ever seen. People are cloudsurfing on the nearby cumulus mediocris. The hostess never stops clapping.

Civil Civic - Less Unless

///buy their tape


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