| hmm.... The Capitol Years – Meet Yr Acres (Full Frame Records) Unsure of who the fuck Shai, Son of Eli is (credited with every last scrap of work on this platter), this queer little bending of pop craft came highly recommended by an acquaintance who, from the sharp sounds of his own band, seemed trustworthy. At first I wasn’t so sure though. Maybe it was the growling hum of my lawn mower (first listen: pushing the Craftsman 250 around the lawn, walkman on) drowning out nuances. Or maybe it was my salty disposition (it was hot as Hades, I was dragging ass through an enormous eighth hour of hanging over). But whatever it was, the lifted Petty pretend of Shai groaning "here comes my giiirl" ("Here Comes") seemed a bit, um, forced if not entirely sad. I turned the damn thing off. Then a few days later I turned it back on – and BAM! – I figured the thing out, hearing its quiet, soft edges for the first time. Meet Yr Acres, it turns out, is a high wire act of quiet pop that stays as smart as it does subtle. Seems Eli’s boy Shai has a little George Harrison predilection that he power washes with Chilton-at-the-edge acoustic pop sadness that so many others take stabs at and fail so miserably. I nearly lose it when I here this kid do the CSN&Y smoking Mama and the Papas leftovers version of the Velv Undergrounds "All Tommorow’s Parties". But I quickly cool down when I dig the mood and figure this boy has as good a grip on the Underground’s essence as any baker’s dozen of influence-citing nitwits who proclaim Cale, Reed, Morrison, and Tucker as the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost of all thing sub-modern. As far as tastes go Meet Yr Acres is all black licorice, and we all know how that goes; love it or hate it, no in-betweens. I got a taste for the shit, so call me Kurt, adopted son of no one. |