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 Everett True

Spotlight – 8: The Bats

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Fuck it. I can’t stop listening to this album.

It creeps up on me, catches me unawares. It’s so gentle, deceptively unobtrusive. It’s so sweet and full of subtle magic and intricate guitar motifs and lines that never revel in their own cleverness, just melt. It doesn’t shout, no it never shouts. I have no idea what Mr Scott is singing about most the time: truth and distance, crimson and clover, communication and insomnia, and the way vapour rises from trees in the early morning in Brisbane, possibly.

I just know that it feels like such a perfect companion piece to The Friends Of Rachel Worth I don’t even need to get out my copy of The Friends Of Rachel Worth and feel embarrassed about bumping into Robert Forster in my local supermarket anymore.

It’s the sort of album those dickheads at Pitchfork would probably end up giving 7.5 to, because… um… because… um… well, it’s a nice safe sort of number, 7.5, isn’t it? And it’s not the new Animal Collective either. (Jesus, they gave that record 9.6? What do they do when a good album is released? Break out the linguistics? Start writing?)

Look. I know I already wrote about this here. I just thought it deserved a second write-up.

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