was making banana bread and listening to Sea Change. Sea Change ended and this song came on. I didn’t recognize it. I looked at itunes, then looked at the internet, then looked at the two dogs alternately begging for batter and acting as stumbling blocks, and none of the above could tell me anything about the song. Bedroom Guitars is a mystery when mysteries don’t exist any more. Bedroom Guitars is also the least misnomered band name I’ve ever encountered. Bedroom Guitars sounds like wires plugged into an surge protector which was previously powering a blow dryer, string of lobster lights, a vhs rewinder, and an alarm clock with fake wood paneling. Bedroom Guitars sounds like hands moving towards eachother in a night-lit pool taking up most of a backyard in Palisades Park, in the part of town over by the fake pagoda’d former-japanese restaurant. Bedroom Guitars sounds like close. Very close. And, of course, because indie subculture is obnoxious for the sake of being obnoxious sometimes, Bedroom Guitars has only released their sole release on cassette tape. Cassette Tape.
Also, pitchfork’s got (another) new Marnie Stern. If it’s not loud enough, just press the headphones closer to your ears. This one’s gonna be killer, no doubt.