I had just been ejected from the rapidly declining New Orleans music venue, Tipitina’s, when I felt a dull throbbing in my back pocket. I ignored the vibrations to make some more disparaging comments at the band loading out the gear their parents had recently purchased for them. Who calls a band Jawbreaker when they aren’t even Jawbreaker? Who starts a 90s cover band with the same name as a fairly popular 90s act? Children with no sense of history, that’s who. Waste of twelve of dollars. That’s like eleven cheeseburgers at Rally’s I could have used to trim a few days off my life span like the wilted leaves they would have otherwise been. I can’t stand the thought of getting old. I want to die young and leave a pudgy, purple Chris Farley-looking corpse.
The worst part about being an aging hair farm is when pop culture passes you by. I threw a rock at the fake Jawbreaker’s car and even though I completely missed I was scared of getting into trouble so I made my best approximation of what it looks like to run and wheezed and sweated my ass all the way down to the basketball court across from Ms. Mae’s. I collapsed on a bench and pulled out my phone to see if maybe today is the day someone decided to send me pictures of their sex parts. I saw I had an e-mail from my editor and I was immediately daydreaming about the possibilities of his dong.
I was only slightly disappointed when it was a writing gig. He offered me enough money to buy almost twenty-three cheeseburgers from Rally’s so you know I had to accept the mission. And that mission was to review a record that had dropped that day called Sensitive G by someone I surprisingly had not heard of called Eyedress. How could there be new music I didn’t know about? My thumb had been firmly placed up my asshole for years and that is notoriously one of the best ways to check a pulse. Perhaps due to the thumb technically not being a finger I had lost touch with what was going on.
The music of Eyedress is certainly not the product of a child with no sense of history. The entire album has a very cohesive aesthetic that is present even when Eyedress drastically shifts from genre to genre. There’s an intimacy bordering on claustrophobia you really only find in one man bands. It made me think of some of those early Blank Dogs albums I used to listen to back when I lived in Brooklyn back in the late 2000s. Unlike my time in Brooklyn, none of the 20 tracks on Sensitive G outstay their welcome. It immediately took me to that time in my life when my friends were my family and cocaine usage was kept constant yet casual. I was feeling the same nostalgia I had hoped to conjure by going to see Jawbreaker as well as the heartbreak of seeing a bunch of babies covering Weezer and realizing they probably got their name from a Rose McGowen movie.
Whether it’s the surprising R&B elements of “PTSD”, the snotty Redd Kross punk rock of “No Love in the City”, or the watery love and Marine Girls-style guitar playing in “Alone Time”, Eyedress does it all with a very unified spirit. It sort of reminds me of when Maxwell covered Kate Bush on his Unplugged and prefaced the song by saying that “Kate Bush is da bomb”. I feel like Eyedress also thinks Kate Bush is da bomb. There’s a yearning for authenticity on this record. Wondering what happened to the real motherfuckers who just wanted to feel something. Not all prolific geniuses need to be misguided clowns wearing Donald Trump hats. Sensitive G is the product of someone who doesn’t have to announce on Twitter that they are going to focus on being creative. I love it.-Joe Somar