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Monday, March 19, 2012

Rob Crawford - Cross Fingers

Year : 2012
Genre : Britpop / Rock with supermild punk affections
Label : Independent
Origin : United Kingdom
Official site : > - here - <

Rob Crawford is a one man band project led by and centered around - seek out an airmchair to succumb to - Rob Crawford's musical vision. The artist makes continuous and inventive efforts to cultivate and maintain an organic community-connection with the audience through his website, and now is the time to talk about the music, too.

Cross Fingers is a pleasant set of sonic patterns to relate to, as the key influences are very evident - tautology - and presented in tactile fashion throughout the record. The vibes that are eager and fervent to surface up on the delivery to fuel autonomous full value compositions all in the spirit of their respective modal aspirations, are numerous, yet honest to the core in their character. Read on to find out more about those.

The Cross Fingers LP conveys the hilarious morose/borderline-happy emotional disposition so ubiquitous and - paradoxically - unique to the archetype of British popular music. The album manages to corner me into the classical Britpop/rock mood of not being able to decide if I'm cheerful or down in the dumps, so, what the hell, let me grab something - anyone/anything from fat woman to broomstick - and let me dance with it whatever way I can, whatever the thing might be.

The album is quick to reveal a spiritual content-field super-reminiscent to the classical synthpop statements of the '80s, revealed by a production environment that has an eye for the tender, and, for the rabid, too. When you would have falsely thought that the LP has shown what it is all about and submit to the morose/marching britpop vibes, Rob Crawford puts The Beatles on steroids to reveal a superb extra-aspect of the album.

The tastily presented "Beatles-Punk" affection is pronounced on the delivery throughout, and let's be realistic and admit that you still need to be a very bitter person frequented romantically only by pissed off midgets to not enjoy the character of music the Beatles bring. Think of the same music at heart, yet, with more punchy production values and a more eager propensity to bring heft than the most comfy and risk-free "girlaneedja" Beatles register is prone to exhibit.

Warning : the album does not seek to bring "just" heft, it claims the right - thank God and Co. - to submit to various flavors and patterns of a seemingly conscious decision to bring tasteful britpop/rock variety, though I personally think that the majority of the album's peak moments tend to define extreme value via these intense Beatles-meets-Sex Pistols constructions. The music is never aggressive here, as all vile intentions are assuaged by The Beatles vibe, which is a primordial factorial. I dare say that sometimes even a Black Sabbath takes a glimpse at the fray, but there is no need to hide your daughter into the closet. (Sir, I feel obliged to inform you that your daughter is ugly like a sloth, only uglier, anyway.) These contributions bring a nice sense of emulated "digital dirt" and Rob employs JUST the right amount of effects on his voice and on the instruments to take you to a parallel universe where the only space-time is that of a loop encompassing a period of 1963-1972, and the meaning of sonic art is resonated by speakers made with top of the heat tube technology.

I don't have anything against the britpop deliveries on this disc, either, I especially like the ones that seek to reveal the charming cheese-factor of the '80s, as this affection is exhibited with style and charisma, while some of them invite me to the company of a channeled Martin Gore/Dave Gahan hive-entity who promised that JUST this ONCE, it WILL reveal disgustingly pink hope and I'm not yet decided if I believe it, but I tend to, and that frightens me. But this, of course, is entirely subjective matter and you are free to beat me to death in your mind with the peeled skin of a banana for thinking so.

Heavy duty commercial exploitation-attempts are few and far between on the spin, nevertheless present and eager to Affect All willing to give a damaged self-image to them. They emerge somewhat tolerable, - oops¿. - just pretend you are a chocoholic woman looking for a fix other than audio, and never forget that you are - as the track and its title tells you - Beautifully Wonderful. WHAT? You heard a similar concept before? "You're BEAUTY! fu. ull. Here is my life in my pocket, look, look, it's me, look!" Yes. A human artist needs to eat to live on, so he eats if he can, to keep on living. You Are Beautiful. (Of course I'm lying. Buy the single or I will stop lying.)

The disc comes to you via a well balanced structural flow, with the majority of the compositions weighing in around the four minutes mark, and the 8 eight minutes Epic also is included, which, also happens to be among the strongest segments of the fray. Sigmund Freud laps my back with a shovel and a violent rubber lady for pointing out the relevance of the intensified "Beatles-rock" influence of the LP, as the Epic in question is structured on that particular rhetorics, too. Rob Crawford's Cross Fingers LP is a ripe delivery with a coherent vision of what it wants to do, and manages to fulfill those aspirations with an intact shape revealed to the things it is after.

Check Rob Crawford and his debut LP at the artist's official site.

GyZ at Bandcamp.

If you want, check out my music

and / or

Buy me beer.

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