Guitarist, singer and songwriter Troy Mercy says of his new music video “A Place of Our Own,” “Visually I played up the song’s lyrical themes of feeling alienated in the normal day-to-day cycle. I admire the films by Cocteau, Tati, Kenneth Anger, and Gilliam. So I thought some of that more oblique imagery would hit the mark here. It’s a hopeful song, but you really don’t have any need for hope unless you find yourself currently in the dark, y’know?”
Guitarist, singer and songwriter Troy Mercy says of his new music video “A Place of Our Own,” “Visually I played up the song’s lyrical themes of feeling alienated in the normal day-to-day cycle. I admire the films by Cocteau, Tati, Kenneth Anger, and Gilliam. So I thought some of that more oblique imagery would hit the mark here. It’s a hopeful song, but you really don’t have any need for hope unless you find yourself currently in the dark, y’know?”
Liam Creamer is as fueled by the recording process as he is by the writing. His debut 6-song EP, under the moniker Ken Park, captures fleeting moments rather than a singular narrative. The record spans a vast sonic range, moving from the fuzzy shoegaze of “Maybe Delete” to the haunting, acoustic-driven “Sleep Paralysis,” which sits at the intersection of Simon & Garfunkel and Elliott Smith.
Liam Creamer is as fueled by the recording process as he is by the writing. His debut 6-song EP, under the moniker Ken Park, captures fleeting moments rather than a singular narrative. The record spans a vast sonic range, moving from the fuzzy shoegaze of “Maybe Delete” to the haunting, acoustic-driven “Sleep Paralysis,” which sits at the intersection of Simon & Garfunkel and Elliott Smith.
Over their eighteen years as a band, Jim Putnam’s Los Angeles based collective Radar Brothers proved to be a model of consistency and melancholic, sun-baked comfort. Defying conventional, perpetual myths that artists must consciously reinvent themselves, a deep dive retrospective at the band’s working class trajectory reveals a singular path on the perennial edge of a larger, opportunistic breakthrough.
Over their eighteen years as a band, Jim Putnam’s Los Angeles based collective Radar Brothers proved to be a model of consistency and melancholic, sun-baked comfort. Defying conventional, perpetual myths that artists must consciously reinvent themselves, a deep dive retrospective at the band’s working class trajectory reveals a singular path on the perennial edge of a larger, opportunistic breakthrough.
