It all seems in vogue, a return to the great Rock bands of the Midlands in which a generation pinned their hopes and aspirations upon, in which the past has become very much part of the future and to which The Dead Agents can be seen to be held deeply within this new and beguiling renaissance.
They say New York City never sleeps, that it must be suffering from a kind of metropolis induced insomnia, the bright lights of Broadway constantly ablaze with show information, Time Square pumping out electricity, eye catching news and the simple off 77th Street and 3rd Avenue bar which stays open all night, all the collected lights and glow of the neighbourhood, and yet it can still be to the lonely, the thoughtful and the heartbroken, a place where songs are written about the Big Dark City.
Honesty is a virtue, not many people can pull it off with sincerity or without the guilt riding along on its coat tails, pulling back the emotions and looking openness in the eye; for many, honesty is bordering on cruel, they wrap it up in sentiments of the well worn phrase “I don’t sugar coat my words” or “I tell it how it is”, without even giving a thought to how the other person might react. Honesty is a virtue, but being unkind and purposely vicious in the same sentence is the most despicable of acts.
The act of yearning is one that can never be ignored completely, you can try to shut it out, you can dampen the effects, mask them with other issues in your life, however the ache to experience whatever set your heart aflame in the beginning will always find a way to sneak back in an unguarded moment and take the craving on further, deeper and become more entrenched in the psyche.
Dylan Luster might not be a name that the public instantly recognises but the music he has created for his self titled E.P. is one that should catch on quicker than a salesman carrying a suitcase full of Mayonnaise finding a remote village that only has ever tried salt and pepper on its fish and chips.
The exposure to certain musical influences are keenly felt throughout the four songs that make up the Los Angeles musician’s E.P., there is no audible escape from the beauty that resides in the songs and more importantly in the vocals that the young man is able to deliver without impunity, without resignation of the soul and without ever straying from the line he has created.
That voodoo that they do so well really does set the feet tapping beyond the expectation of what the ears demand when asking to be stimulated and encouraged to try something new.
It is in the art of the story teller that such songs come bouncing out of the cage like a pent up fighter seeking to land the first punch but to whom the necessity of doing so causes grief, much better that the tussle between mind and ear be mutual and one of understanding and it is to this that the four track self titled E.P. by Mama Roux really gives its life and respect too.
It is remembered as a point in time in which Humanity gained a little perspective in a world that had gone completely and utterly insane. The leap of faith in which hundreds of soldiers, who only hours before had been shooting at each other in a conflict that none of them truly understood the reason for which it was being fought, met in the middle of a scrap of Earth called No-Man’s Land and declared a truce that would have lasting repercussions and the small smile of peace installed in the hearts of generations to come. The Truce was the moment in which peace broke out and man put down his weapon against all that had gone before him.
In a city that celebrates its music in much the same way it celebrates its sporting heroes, there are always going to be those that gets more press than others. It is the way of things, it perhaps cannot be helped but at times it might feel disingenuous to those that add so much important flavor to the world, regardless of where they play or for how long.
It may seem a strange affair to consider, perhaps even rum in some music lover’s eyes, but not every rock/R&B fan likes Led Zeppelin. It seems to be a permanent question that hangs on the mouths of the pop fan like a drip feed tube giving nutrients to a coma patient, you like rock, then you must like Led Zeppelin. Whilst the Midland’s band might not be everybody’s personal liking, there is a young band who has climbed the slippery slope out of Leeds and who tickles the taste buds of musical sincerity with their debut E.P. Cottonwoolf.
If the word division has been on people’s lips of late, it could be seen as understandable. Everywhere you care to look, no matter what side you feel you are either urged to take or come too of your own research and accord, division is everywhere. It is in every fabric of society and seems so deeply engrained that even if a nation or family votes in a majority in favour of something, the arguments it has caused are going to live long in the memory.