this band is the music version of bill murray’s groundhog day, yet every fucking indie music discussion i’ve seen that mentions beach house devolves into a synthy arrpegiated furious group masturbation session. but like if a weird cult you found in the woods was doing the group masturbating, and anyone who stumbled in and didn’t join in on the massive jerk off sesh got sacrificed to the goddess of boring, breathy, echoey vocals.
it’s weird, one time i bought a single beach house album online and when i started the download, every beach house album ever released and also albums that they hadn’t even made yet queued up in my download folder. then i listened to them all at once and at the same time, i only heard one song.
that paragraph actually makes perfect sense if you have listened to any beach house song.
you start up the soft, shuffling electronic drum track, i’ll load a boopy diminished arrpeggio in this old synth i have and come in after a couple bars of your soft drum track. then we’ll both slam our faces onto our keyboards and you can whisper into a microphone about whatever bullshit comes to your mind, as long as it never causes you to express any emotion in your voice.
we’ll do this for 12 tracks, release it with some quirky artwork, and pitchfork will eat it up so fast for so long that their stomachs will run out of space and they’ll choke to death on our powerful electro-drone dong. but not before pitchfork tells all the indie kids that our 45 minute song is the album of the year and they must love it.
pete n' tony's internet adventure 