Magic City Hippies

I love EPs more than LPs for three reasons:

1. You get a quick snapshot into a band rather than having to attend their stupid fucking quinceanera. It's watching the Instagram feed pop up with just the awesome and none of the caterers putting out tepid vegan paté, the shitty keg of Busch Lite, and the fact that you had to park in a Burger King parking lot.

2. There isn't any fucking room for any fluff. An EP is all business. There's not physically any way to hide your filler fucking songs on a fucking EP, unless you're just regurgitating remixes and songs we've all heard before. Of course some people can pull off the remix insertions, but they have to be dopeballs bro.

3. Fifteen to twenty minutes later, you can either move on from the EP or start the fucker over. There's no hefty commitment involved. The EP is the one night stand of the music packaging world and you can piss through the crusty crust at the tip of your hole and bounce, or you can wash your hands, brush your teeth with your finger and whatever toothpaste you find and hop back in the sack for another slide through.

This EP from Magic City Hippies contains every sexual EP analogy I can whip out, and has penetrated all three of my reasons above, but also added a fourth reason why I fucking love EPs (like this one).

The EP is the perfect length to throw this fucker on repeat and still feel like you're hearing new songs because in the summer mindset, each pass through is only about one beer in length and short term memory and getting sick of something doesn't kick in when you're in a pool, drinking, and throwing kids until they puke from swallowing too much water.

So if it hasn't been obviously stated yet, I'll just fucking say it then: The Hippie Castle EP from Magic City Hippies is fucking sunshine balls ass perfection. Their brand of R&B steals from floral patterned Hawaiian shirts and shorts, corporate sponsored cocktail umbrellas, effervescing salts in the hot tub, handjobs under the picnic table, the never-emptying cooler in the corner filled to the brim with perfectly shaped ice cubes that never melt. This dream world that the Magic City Hippies paint for us is forever fresh, forever funky, and everyone gets fucking laid bro.

While my personal preference for favorite song is the lead track "Fanfare", I have no issues with the rest of the EP and I have yet to skip a track, regardless of how many pants I'm wearing. "Fanfare" just has this swank shit in spades bruh. It's like I'm tuckin' my junk straight up to avoid showin' the entire BBQ me money maker, and rather than going shirtless, I've decided to go unbuttoned short sleeve police uniform shirt and I have it tucked behind the penis that's in my waistband. So not only am I comfy and confusin' folks, I've also ensured my erection will stay at least partially visible to those daring enough to look south of the bro-quator (that's my bro-equator, aka my belly button bro). But seriously, from 1:56 and onward, I'm on a whole nother fucking level of comf. There isn't enough sandpaper in the fucking world to make something this smooth ever again, so I suggest we all strip down and rub ourselves upon its smoo smoo fownk.

BUT THEN AT 3:21 I'M HOLDING BOTH FISTS IN A CLENCH WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY CRYING MOJITO-SCENTED TEARS AS I GOOSE PIMPLE THE HELL OUT AS I CONVULSE IN THE MOST PLEASANT OF CONVULSIONS.

People, people, people, please buy this.

You're about to have a new favorite band and it'll bring a little slice of summer humidity to your loins as often as you need it. I love these assholes for all of the potential pregnancies they assist with, cause this here is fuckin' music bros.