Douglas Martin’s Dirty Shoes: The Divine Art of Skull Eating
October 19th, 2009
Are we all tired of lo-fi, yet? Has the practice of some asshole holing up in his garage or basement or parents’ summer house and piling distortion on top of a couple– and, if said lo-fi artist is a virtuoso, maybe even three– chords and a vocal melody so half-assed that it makes Stephen Malkmus sound like Mariah Carey finally reached its point of over-saturation? Perhaps it was Nathan Williams of Wavves basically turning Pitchfork into a hipster TMZ, Dum Dum Girls signing to Sub Pop, music fans over the age of 16 using the rather abhorrent term “shitgaze,“ or the audible slap on my forehead when a kid at the bar was schooling his friend on some really cool up-and-coming band called Sebadoh, but it’s totally understandable if you feel lo-fi has put on the Fonz’s leather coat with some swim trunks and jumped the shark. With the way things are going for the genre, you could very well anticipate Jay-Z showing up at a Wooden Shijps show, or Kanye bigging up Ganglians on his blog.
But then, something funny happened on lo-fi’s unlikely trip to the bank; the best band got lost in the shuffle.
