Kate I Wait
Don't Talk to Strangers
Getting High in the Morning
Bright Light Blue Skies
Ariel Pink is my main man. He just makes music. It spews from somewhere else.
His distorted, unintelligible lyrics from his earlier recordings make for easy disappearing while surfing on a LA wave. The latest record forms a digestible pop sound while still clutching to the creepy and nauseating smell of pancake makeup in a carnival funhouse.
Ariel Pink has the ability to write songs that bring me in, rub a pink boa across my face, give me a cheap lipstick smeared kiss while fondling the memories of some life I've never lived. He can tap into the past and remain heavily steeped in today's digital access. Simultaneously comfortable with nostalgia and the future, he has never left me feeling guilty for dwelling in one place for too long.
