This is dance music that scrapes along and basses-up your brain rather than offering a silky-smooth progression of highs and lows, occasionally stopping to refuel and tossing out loops. Future Blondes twitch with the witch and aren’t afraid of the occasional glitch, which presents the problem of classification: Exactly where do they belong? As with Vapor Gourds, half the fun is figuring that out. FB are willing to dispense with rhythm altogether to explore a shadow-y vocal sample, stuttered for that modern effect, and their complex synth patches wouldn’t sound out of place on an eMego installation. Not getting any warmer, in other words. Plus there’s that high gloss, that treble-y snap, not to mention the drone that ramps up “Fehe’r A Tuz (Finom A Ve’red)” and launches it into your gaping ear. It’s like doing drugs with a gas mask, I imagine. Visit Coldwave Canyon, then time-travel to the future, say, 10 years ahead, and you’ll land smack in the middle. White vinyl (special 50-run of black, as well), limited copies, urgency advised.
More about: Future Blondes
