Review Summary: "Being into graffiti you look at words as the letters, so I'd look at the aesthetics of a word and if it looked nice written down then I'd want to sing it" - Archy Marshall.1 of 1 thought this review was well written
King Krule AKA Zoo Kid AKA Archy Marshall. He has this way with words, I'd say before an instrumentalist he's a poet at heart. His words are vivid. When I listen to music, I see colors. Zoo Kid's words are like bleak crayons, constantly painting portraits in my mind. He's liken his music to Bukowksi and has taken influences from the poet W.H. Jordan and the late great Franz Kafka.
This EP is excellent. It flows well, it doesn't have many flaws. The only flaw I'd say is the length of the tracks. That's it.
I'm not going to rate each track out of five as I believe doing that would influence the readers opinion of the album subconsciously before they've heard the album. Instead, picture this.
It's raining outside. Your room is stuffy, it's a mess, everything is in shambles, and the alarm clock is worse than the sound of your room-mates constant yammering. It's been a week since you were dumped by your supposed dream girl. You rub your face and as you do so are reminded of the painful and meaningless Ecclesiastical existence that is your life.
"Wouldn't wake up this morning, believe me." You somehow yank yourself out of bed with the tow-truck that is your work deadline time. You stroll down the street, the wind beating off your face and freezing your lips. The city buildings all look like tall, shady workhouses for the unfortunate. Everyone else around you in their suits just seem like they're in straight-jackets, with smiles to keep the questions away. "Well time never gave me a chance, I should've been there." She crosses your mind. She ripped a hole through your chest. She's moved on, you're trapped in that state. You've always been attracted to the thought of self-destruction. You whip out a ciggy and start to slowly linger into someone empty room covered in pictures of her, your mind, which takes you into a trapped, pencil existance. A lead existance. "I haven't cried for you, I don't prize myself or my ill health."
Slowly you fall out of thoughts of her as you approach the bridge and your soul feels lost. You cross this bridge each day, without any sort of memory or acknowledgement of it, it's just always been there. You stand still. Hate flows through your veins. Everyone hears what you're saying, but not everyone is listening. You feel suffocated in this concrete, water couldn't do much. You climb on top of the ledge. You strain to try and feel the same as before, before this loss of faith. "These walls grow taller, I start to lose a sense of life." The tides look more inviting. You jump. That headache you've been trapped in disappears, that despair is gone. Everything is gone. "They saw me fall from here, but not hit the ground."
This EP is a bleak poetic jazz influenced piece of brilliance.
Words only come to life when the artist who wrote them recites them.