I Got Nothing

Again, stories to tell, things to bitch about, people to exact revenge upon, but I lack both the energy and creative energy to do any of it.

Luckily The Owls lacked none of those when recording Air. It's funny, because I'm not listening to particularly poppy music lately. It's not like the MP3 player is only cycling music that Brian Wilson would be proud of or that Phil Spector could shit out in a drug-induced paranoia. My personal mood is moving more toward harder music lately. Something with crunching guitars and a bad attitude. If that isn't available, I move back to psych rock of the late sixties.

And yet, songs like this suddenly pop into my attention span and I can't get them out. And why should I? Dig that bass line. The hipper-than-thou snits at Pitchfork actually gave them a 7.7. And there's not even a member of Pavement in this band. That's impressive.

Plus, I like their bio:

"Who are The Owls? 'Two librarian chicks, the sexiest bass player you've ever seen, and a drummer who's the spitting image of Gary Oldman.'"