I have the biggest, stupidest face-splitting grin right now. The title
track opens this tape by Snow What just kicked me right through a time warp,
and I ended up back in 1995, a year by which every great indie rock band had
released at least one record. I was a high school junior, fully immersed in the
collection of any and all records by Unrest, Guided By Voices, Pavement, The
Wedding Present and many others. It was a golden age, and I was the golden
child, the savior who would contain all of the most wonderful albums in his
collection, as well as in his vast and glorious musical encyclopedia: the mind.
The groundwork was laid, and I embraced everything.
It must be universally accepted that Snow What was conceived in this
year as well.
Not literally of course, because duh, they’ve only been around since
2010. But the metaphorical sperm penetrated Snow What’s egg about this time,
unleashing a barrage of “Ew’s” and “Grosses” from horrified readers of this
website everywhere. The fertilized trio matured into a band, their DNA
containing trace components of all the acts mentioned above, plus many others.
And because nurture and nature go hand in hand, the growth patterns of Snow
What must have contained some lighthearted moments, because quick, energetic,
upbeat songs don’t come from projects who can’t take it easy once in a while. I
mean, their band name is a pun, after all!
Look, stupids, I absolutely dig on It’s
Over, and it’s sad that it’s Snow What’s final release. We deserve more,
because we’ve been good, more or less – well, at least fifty of us have, and
that’s what the run is. I mean, other than Bob Pollard, who else is jamming out
the fun stuff these days, keeping the torch lit for underdog power-poppers everywhere?
Because that’s what bands like Snow What are, the underdogs, and they have
every bit as much wit and charm and cheek and affectation as perennial bench
players like Seafood, Chisel, and Sal Paradise. It’s amazing to hear a band
like this go out with such a bang – I hope their efforts don’t go unnoticed
beyond the handful of ghouls who have purchased this tape. I should probably
stop typing right here – the corners of my mouth are threatening to engulf my
ears, and I’m afraid if I keep listening I’ll be killed by my own smile.
Wouldn’t that be something! 1995 me would be so proud, but likely still single.
--Ryan Masteller
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