Don’t Tell Mike Love, But The Magnetic Fields Hate California Girls

So I’ve decided to start doing a little feature every week where I talk about a handful of songs that have been tickling my fancy. Obviously, given my updating track record, you can expect this feature to last all of two weeks tops. In the inaugural edition of this feature I’ll be discussing subjects such as stupid whores and the insatiable urge to kill everyone you come in contact with.

The Magnetic Fields – “California Girls”

On their new album Distorted, The Magnetic Fields pay homage to The Jesus and Mary Chain like never before. The lo-fi, fuzzed-out aesthetic totally ends up working for them, especially so on the wonderfully sunny and viciously cynical “California Girls.” This isn’t The Beach Boys’ rendition, that’s for sure. Despite featuring a crooning chorus that hearkens back to the glory days of Brian Wilson and company, “California Girls” is particularly scathing in its message– The Magnetic Fields hate California girls. The Fields have nothing but disdain for the lovely ladies of the sunshine state who “breathe coke and have affairs with each passing rock star.” This is a statement against vapidity, delivered with venom… and a smile.

Excepter – “Kill People”

This song is pretty simple. Take a bouncy bass line and repetitive beat, and then have the vocalists yell “kill people” over top of it in varying cadences. It’s this simplicity that makes it so fucking great. And hypnotic. It’s as if the purpose of this song is to brainwash the listener into committing murder. If so– bravo Excepter. Bravo. You can even dance to it! WHOOO.

Sascha Funke – “We Are Facing the Sun”

Mr. Funke is a pretty rad dude. He’s a fairly attractive guy, and he also happens to be among the early front runners for best electronic album of 2008. Not too shabby. This cut from his sophomore album Mango (due out next month) is a sprawling dancefloor jam that makes me want to shake my sexy ass. This nebulous slab of electronic lives in the wee hours of night, where all of the lamers have gone to bed and you’ve lost count of just how many drinks you’ve had. Funke’s pounding rhythms are propped up by a smattering of piano keys while spaced-out synths intermittently permeate the mix. Shake it. Bitch.


~ by theoberlander on January 17, 2008.

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