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| 4.0 excellent | TheManMachine | July 4th 18 |
The sorta-scuzzy lo-fi production can be a hindrance or not be quite befitting for the tunes, but for this approaching-sixty seasoned amateur it discloses a dreamy-n-rough-n-rowdy charm. Standing tall tho are the songs themselves, fine a fusion of folk and garage rock as one could ask for; and of course Rigby. Want anthemic? See the opening duo in which alone-with-a-pen in-his-underwear Philip Roth mocks podium-poised Bob Dylan via email and she relives her thirties in the nineties. Want touching? "Back From Amarillo" and an appropriately precise mergence of "happy/sad" in memoriam of Bob. Cities to blame low self-esteem on or call insignificant? Pittsburgh and Cleveland respectively. And when her calmness finally cracks, she sees herself as a trio of TV crime lords.
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