It sounds like an analysis of the space where excuses and manning up come together, where the hide starts to get a little thicker, but there are still plenty of cracks in the armor to let in those surprising swatches of cold air. Surfer Blood do a great job of taking the transition point of powerless young-man-dom and making it sound like the point where the wings have been clipped some, where there have been some burn marks made for showing off and where there's still a good helping of refusal to fall into complacency with the outcomes that may be. Pitts sings on "Harmonix," "I won't wait around for the ice to thaw out now," seemingly suggesting that there have been some concessions made and he'll be damned if he's just going to go on playing the fool, hoping that everything changes and gets made right for he knows that the odds are long. There's disappointment within these songs and there's the sense that it's just the beginning. The stories in these songs sound as if they're coming from the perspective not of a guy getting trampled on for the first time, but perhaps this is the third or fourth time and some things have become quite a bit clearer to him, however, some clarity still doesn't make for a settled spirit. It's the lyrics that Pitts puts to the songs on "Astro Coast," completed by the playing of TJ Schwarz, Thomas Fekete, Brian Black and Marcos Marchesani, that give the whole experience a feel of time on the run or threatened innocence.
#Surfer blood island Patch#
Pitts sings and it hits you the way those pockets of cold air hit you occasionally in the summertime - particularly in lower-lying areas near a body of water - where things are happening in the air and amidst the hot stuffiness comes a small patch of oddly cool air.
There's a cool air to the words that lead singer J.P. Abandoning the big time studio, the band decided to head back home to self-record and self-produce their third full-length album. It's a record that should be played when you've thought about all of the different ways that your situation could have gone and, even after having done this, there are still more questions than you'd like there to be and there are still billions of head games that are being staged up in your cobwebs, up where the passionate parts of the head are still lit up like Las Vegas Boulevard - red and white hot and every other color of illumination imaginable. 000 Palms marks a return to Surfer Blood's DIY ethos. It's a record that should be played when you've had your heart crushed and you just might be getting on to feeling a little better, but that's all relative.
#Surfer blood island skin#
"Astro Coast" isn't beach blanket music to play beneath a sparkling night sky, as the salt from the crashing waters seeps into your hair and skin without you even noticing it and the sand forms a new later of skin on the bottoms of your feet. The group of young men from West Palm Beach, Florida, aren't at all about or for the perma-tan that many might be too willing to pin on them. While it is the basis and part of the execution of every song on the record, that warmth is limited, almost a decoy that can be so easily deceptive that you can still feel caught up in it even when it's impossible. NW Passage 1000 Palms marks a return to Surfer Bloods DIY ethos. It does not keep rippling, hitting you with wave after wave of hot degrees. Maybe if I had seen SB on their own, the set wouldn’t have been so “bleh,” but sandwiched between some truly amazing sirens (Apache Beat, Screaming Females, Earl Greyhound), they just came up short.The warmth of Surfer Blood's debut album, "Astro Coast," isn't perpetual. The rest of the band acted like your 14-year-old brother and his gang of friends who have an inside joke that you’re just not in on. I have to make one concession: keyboardist Marcos Marchesani’s flowing black fro was wonderful to watch, and he actually seemed like he was happy to be there. I mean, I know, they’re like, SO over all that corporate jazz, but c’mon man, we’re on your side! I kept waiting for things to escalate, but the band couldn’t seem to get past poking fun at their Toyota commercial success and flippantly dedicating their set to Metro PCS. John Paul Pitts’ energy hit an all time high during “Take It Easy,” when he paraded around the stage, flamboyantly presenting himself in front of the monitors for the drooling photogs (see: Jamie Hale) to snap a quick picture before retreating behind the mic stand. Surfer Blood may have spouted that they were “stoked” to be on Coney Island for the first time, but they couldn’t have seemed more nonplussed.
It was hotter than West Palm Beach balls underneath the Cyclone, but the crowd was still amped for Surfer Blood to take the stage.
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