JE Sunde

If I cared much about the opinions of others, I'd consider myself late to the JE Sunde party. But as far as I'm concerned, JE Sunde probably doesn't care when I got to the party. And I kinda like "being a year late" to the JE Sunde party, it's roomier.

So why the Fuck should I keep my mouth shut about his awesomeness just because everyone who has had his talent cock in their mouth has already spat it out by now?

I shant shut it bros.

My first introduction to JE Sunde was while seeing Phox in Chicago this last summer. He opened. He murdered. Even two songs into the Phox set my wife and I agreed he was completely fucking original and we should make it a point to hug him.

Dude's sarcastic and completely self deprecating sense of humor was the thing that threw me off at first, because it was like his attitude didn't match the music he was writing. His songwriting seemed mature and and thoughtful and older than his years, and shit, he looked twelve from where we stood.

But once he started singing, with that beautifully shrill and completely JE Sunde throat, all of that shit smooshed together into this ginger Egon badass that could suggest I strip to my skivvies and feed him individual grapes during a Green Bay Packers game and all I would do is wonder if the colander's clean for the grape rinsin'.

JE Sunde has this vigorously educated yet consistently intoxicated vibe, like he's the guy who writes on napkins at coffee shops, wears an apricot hued ascot unironically, and can actually convince you the Beach Boys aren't complete shite. Sure, his flat smells like really good weed, but he's a member of PETA, he drives a 1974 VW Golf, has a framed picture of his mom on his nightstand, and he never bakes just one pie, he bakes them all day until every flat surface in his home is covered in pies cooling.

Seriously, despite his music being addictingly retrostalgic and stuffed with all of this sexy ass nerd whimsy, he's completely fucking fascinating. It's like he's the mysterious friend of James Bond, always has a classy dame on his elbow, twirls an invisible mustache above his lip and sings "I Gave My Love A Cherry" and people don't think he's trying to seduce them (silly people, of course he's seducing you).

JE Sunde's album, Shapes That Kiss the Lips of God, sounds like the memories of looking at pictures of yourself as a toddler, but as a teenager. Everything is so cheesy balls happy to remember, but it's the fuzzy quality of the pictures of you in that one mustard yellow collared shirt with the crocodile on the left nipple that makes you remember the smells of sausages simmering in a slow cooker with multicolored toothpicks sticking up as the only way to retrieve the delicious coins of pork.

JE Sunde's music is the shit that makes me remember when I went to family gatherings where actuall balls of cheese cheese balls were served. I remember being a kid and being allowed to play with darts with metal fucking tips bro. That potential danger, for myself and those around me, is sort of that slightly morbid sense of nostalgia that JE Sunde stands watch over.

Does any of that make sense?

I don't want to talk about Sunde's songs individually because I would get overly wordy.

Does the above brevity make me look fat?

JE Sunde is the plaid shirted guy holding the bunch of beets that resembles the potential love child of Ed Begley, Jr. and Anthony Rapp from Dazed & Confused and all I want to do with him is know everything about him, I love him so much.

There.

I've said it.