Riding straight on through from one thing (the irrefutably excellent La Luz) to a logical other, we wash up with Surf Club as we figuratively drift 800-odd miles down the West Coast ’til sanded and weary, we arrive at Stockton, California. An astonishingly youthful four-piece, their latest – Heaven – may be more lucidly associated with Reading’s very own Robert Smith than it may with much of the neoprene-slathered plasticised culture of their native state, though who’s to say Californians misspend every waking moment of every day frazzling in a never setting sun? This one was recorded in a living room, and we can but imagine the quartet to have done so with the lights dimmed, if not extinguished altogether. And although we may be more accustomed to seeking out glimpses of light even in the darkest of spaces, this one proves an invigorating darkness lingering in the blinding light.
Dot Dot Dot
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