Yelephants

Sometimes I want to walk around the backyard barefoot, shorts on, my linen shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, with a smoke dangling from my lips and a cold one in my hand while hitting Wiffle balls for the dogs to chase. On these days my 5 o’clock shadow is probably the sexiest and most dangerous thing to ever happen on my quiet suburban block, just ask my nosey shut in of a neighbor, I caught you looking Ms. Wilkins, drink it the Fuck up you cat loving minx.

During these occasional lapses in judgment and hygiene there is a buzz that builds up in my head, usually low and soothing at the start and eventually turning into a full riot of energy, madness, spins, fainting, and sex; followed by shame, my dogs looking at me cross and needing to purchase new cushions for the lawn furniture.

Since I have become a dad I can no longer be the blight to good taste that I once was, but thankfully there are bands like New Orleans lofi surf rock giants Yelephants and their epically tasty EPTart. 

When this fucker landed in my inbox I thought to myself “who the Fuck are these assholes with their frat boy haircuts and Hawaiian shirts?” I figured them for goofy shitheads who like to take advantage of passed out college chicks while pretending that they were really into progressive politics. After listening to Tart I realize now that my judgyness has led me astray once more. Not only are these fucking dick-breathed assholes delightful, they make me feel that freedom that comes with spiraling out of control.

Semi-edgy, semi-dancy, and semi-heartfelt, filled with a buzzy speed that makes me want to park my car on sidewalk, throw the keys to a drifter type and tell him to keep it running while I pop in the market and grab a 30 pack of Stroh’s and some veggie franks for grilling.

Every time I throw on Tart am transported to the tail end of the best party I have ever been too, sure people are crying and there is a hint of violence in the air, but isn’t that how it always is right before it turns great?