This tape is really weird in a way that feels very fin de last siecle to these weathered ears. From the dorky-awkward project name and ambiguously scatological/auditory title to the slanted and disenchanted lo-fi guitar hooks and non-sequitorial/depressed but smarter than depression allows sung, spat and drawled (I swear he sounds like a New England Howe Gelb at one point) lyrics, “Blown Cleen” could have easily been a pick of the month in an issue of CMJ circa 1995 or so. This thing is an unruly mishmash of what some may still quaintly refer to as “indie-rock” or “lo-fi” and ain’t dope white-boy poet nerd bedroom rap gets all smeared through somewhat tedious (in a good way, the tedium makes the depresso-dork factor feel authentic) tape-collage flotsam. Reminds me at moments of early oh no po mo slack rap Beck if Beck wasn’t a slick little hip weasel with money sluicing down his cute chin. I hated this tape on first listen. I loved it on second listen. I really like it on third. As one refrain goes: “nicely done, spank the pink the butt fat guy.” Yo, check it.
—Brantley Fletcher
Posts
