Slim Twig, Sof’ Sike (Paper Bag)
Somewhere between the ’60s and ’70s and between too many psychedelics and the first symptoms of cocaine psychosis, this woozy, boozy rock ’n’ roll sound was born: The Doors, ? and the Mysterians, David Bowie, Pink Floyd, Brian Eno. But those songs don’t fully capture the outsider-ish, underground-esque soundscape that Toronto’s Slim Twig has painted here on his third LP. There’s sand in the paint. And it tastes like chicken.
If you had to place Slim Twig geographically, based solely on his weirdo aesthetic (both musical and physical), you’d certainly choose Montreal over Toronto. Much more specifically, he sounds like a Prairies refugee in a decrepit Mile End apartment building, sharing paper-thin walls with Sean Nicholas Savage and ¡Flist!.
He’s always sounded a lot like a belle provincer. Back in 2008, he was making the kind of strobe-lit electro-rockabilly that got him booked (by me, incidentally) at a local David Lynch theme night. Now he’s backed by what appears to be an actual band — guitars, organ, piano, drums, back-up vocals — and while the whole package is somehow tighter, more focused and more accessible, it’s also deliberately, gleefully strange and as loose as a wizard sleeve.
If you dig mind alteration, WFMU and gummy bears (simultaneously), this is a no-brainer. If you’re inclined towards weird rock music and intrigued by the idea that someone out there is bad-tripping on psychedelics RIGHT NOW, check this out, and this, then buy the record.
U.S. Girls, “Jack”
Meghan Remy has been making music as U.S. Girls for about five years. This is her latest track. Would it surprise you to learn that she’s Slim Twig’s ladyfriend, collaborator and muse?
Matthew Dear, “Her Fantasy”
This is what I imagine a typical night out in Montreal in the late ’80s was like: sleazy lighting, sleazier beats and Bowie-esque vocals, vintage Cirque du Soleil costumes and the cast of Bleu Nuit.