My wife and I have been living in the same house since September of 2009. The first time July 4th came around when we were living here, we had walked up the street to our friend's house, and when the two of us got back to our house, we couldn't help but notice the full-on, professional level (read: outrageously expensive) fireworks party happening in the elementary school parking lot directly across the street from our house. So we sat out on our elevated patio, drinking and watching the show 'til it petered out a little after midnight. I think our friend had given us some painkillers earlier. Great night.
The next year, we invited some folks over to BBQ, keeping our fingers crossed that the fireworks people would show up again. And they did, and it was fucking incredible again. So the NEXT year, we went all out, and threw probably the biggest banger of a party we've ever had here. Tons of people showed up, including the fireworks folks -- there were topless ladies setting off fireworks in the street, a dance floor on the patio, people partying on the roof and fucking in the basement, and just good, good vibes. One of the best nights.
This went on for the next few years, albeit never getting quite as wild as that one. Then one year, our dumb-dick neighbors had been shooting Roman candles directly at this big hedge that acted as a wall around the edge of the parking lot, and surprise, surprise: it caught fire. Within minutes, the whole goddamn thing was ablaze -- remember, we're talking about a hedge that encircles an entire elementary school parking lot -- and total pandemonium ensued. My wife was in Australia at the time, and she called me in a panic because someone at the party had posted a shaky, 10-second video on Facebook of a blazing inferno and someone shouting my name over and over (they were trying to get me to move my car out of harm's way.) Not a good night.
That was the last year the fireworks people showed up. It was also the last year before Donald Trump the Politician came looming into view, reminding anyone who needed reminding that whatever progress one may have thought that we as a country had made -- culturally, politically -- was an illusion, and that active regression was the name of the game. The next year, we went to our friend's house for a daytime BBQ, but no one really felt like partying. And that's where we've been since. The past few years, we've spent the 4th hunkered down with our cats, who honestly seem to handle all the noise pretty well. And every year, there's something terrible in the news that begs the question: What's to fucking celebrate? This year is obviously no different, and I don't have to tell you or provide links for you to know exactly what I'm talking about.
So, what does all of this have to do with a low-key, lo-fi-ish slowcore album, you ask? Probably not a lot, honestly. I initially thought of this record because the final track is based on recordings made in Her Space Holiday's backyard on July 4th, 1996 -- he apparently set up mics to record the neighborhood's fireworks, recorded some improvisations in real time, then recorded overdubs the next day. But listening to it now, it's making a lot more sense. The wistful guitar lines, the sweet, murmuring vocals, the analogue, dimly-lit atmosphere -- it's taking me back to that first year with my wife, sitting quietly, feeling warm and full of love, and watching the lights burst into massive, sparkling clouds that dissipated as soon as we laid eyes on them.
Track listing:
1. The Astronauts Are Sleeping (Enter)
2. Promised a Flight
3. Slide Guitars and Moving Cars
4. Our Favorite Day
5. Sweet Baby Jesus
6. Explosion Existence
7. The Astronauts Are Sleeping (Exit)
8. The Fourth of July
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