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Dusted Reviews
Artist: Cindytalk Album: Up Here in the Clouds Label: Editions Mego Review date: Aug. 31, 2010 |
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What does it say about me, and the rest of the world, that the music of Cindytalk relaxes me? Whatever. It’s chilling me out. That’s what matters.
I’ve had the privilege of going absolutely batshit insane… what is it now? A couple of times in my life. The first time it happened, I was on a bus back to Atlanta after a week’s vacation, somewhere between Chicago and Indianapolis, massively hungover from a night of hard boozing with my little brother, with an angry kid kicking the back of my seat. My dub of my brother’s Ol’ Dirty Bastard CD was just pissing me off. So I put on God and Beast by Non, and drifted into a peaceful sleep.
This weekend, I went nuts again. And, as I live and breathe, I would not have survived it without this new shit from Cindytalk. When I’m healthy, I like music. When I go nuts, I dig noise.
Enough about me. Let’s talk about Gordon Sharp, a guy who may or may not be a dude, the guy who, basically, is Cindytalk, In preparation for writing this review, I downloaded his ’09 release, The Crackle of My Soul, and withstood it a few times. Not my thing. Gave me a headache. So what happened?
Gordon Sharp dug up a real winner. I am seriously chilled out right now. This clicking in the background of “Guts of London” is cheering me up. And I will be awake for work tomorrow. Or I’ve finally lost it. Which I forever refuse to admit.
Why does “We Are Without Words” remind me of my own mother’s heartbeat? Why does “The Eighth Sea” relax me like mediating by the Pacific Ocean? How is Up Here in the Clouds this asshole’s version of new age music? This is awkward. I’m going to bed.
By Emerson Dameron
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Hold Everything Dear