It was in the days before cell phones were common (mid-1990s), so I had to pull into a convenience store, call the station from a pay phone, and get the name. Paul and I eventually became cult followers of the Toronto-based Moxy Früvous, who even gave Paul his own stage name, the first of many. (He earned it. Long story.)
The last time I got excited about a band from Canada, things got easier.
It was last Saturday, and I was filling the tank, and simply wrote down what appeared to be the title of the song that was playing on the speakers. A search on Google turned up the British Columbia-based quintet known as Jets Overhead, and the song on the first clip.
Our band lives on a massive island that is pigment green with sharp grey mountains moving slowly and peninsula fingers stretching out and snagging the sea. The people in the band are all different heights and all have very different tastes in music and very different ways of expressing emotion or thinking about art.
We started making noises in a concrete basement on the wrong side of the railroad ...
... and the rest is history.
Yeah, they've got that Americana thing going on. I can live with that. So can you. Listen to the second clip, which is the title track from the latest album, eh?
.
No comments:
Post a Comment