Tunesday: Dusty Brown

I’ve realized that I’m a musical schizophrenic–or worse.  My favorite music is probably either from that transition to “college alternative” via New Wave via Punk (if you can’t guess my age from that, shame on you) or old school country western, and the modern “Americana” music that draws so much spirit from it, but I also like blues and, increasingly, I respect electronica–or whatever the hell the over-reaching genre name is for the variety of synth-drenched mellow raver music that makes me realize that, if they’d had raves when I was young, and ecstasy, I would have been very intrigued…..

Tonight, while writing, I got hooked onto a bunch of songs by DJ-based Dusty Brown, and his/their mesmerizing syth-drenched guitars intertwining with singer Jessica Brown’s (Dusty’s sister) sumptuous tones. It starts out like same old same old mournful hipster gauze until, at  point, it goes all transcendental…

I can’t seem to find live videos, so you just have to listen–if anyone but me is still riding the web on a PC I’d recommend rounding up a few more from these kids in a new window and letting them ride.  You can get the EP free at Dusty Brown’s website.  It ain’t Portishead, but it ain’t half bad.  (Okay–totally doing Portishead next week).

By JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels, growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.

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