If Sammich's comment was actually arbitrary and not based on some rumor, then it's probably the funniest thing I've read on this website. The review of this song from jamisonlikewhat.com:
"In the race to call Clap the new band to like/name check/whatever-- behind all the gun-jumping to wait in line for their tickets and find their records and download their early demos and Bogart whatever lo-fi live takes are lying around-- outside all that commotion, I think a lot of people forgot or just never noticed that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah make better music than you or I have ever heard. I promised myself I was going to start talking more trash in these things, but I listen to this song, and their whole record, and every artist who has ever put tone to tempo, and I come to realize that I just like music a lot more than I don’t like music, and that maybe that’s all there is to it.
'In This Home On Ice' borders on the spiritual, if you just let it in: Congealed, it's a journey less about guitars, bass and drums and more about a sort of sound-as-coalescence amalgam, dulcet elements bursting into a corporate alloy and expanding in all directions. The home that Clap erect is one of singular splendor and majesty, but hey, ice is thin! It breaks, people-- and maybe it even breaks people? Rickety relationships are by no means unusual fare for bands of the indie rock persuasion, but is there more to it than that? Out-of-body, maybe Alec Ounsworth’s nasal tenor is attempting to explore certain depths and heights that you and I have never even dreamt of? 'Hell, I never knew, was what we made it/ Let’s just take it slow in this home on ice,' he vibrates, right before everything falls apart (or, perhaps, into place) and he can’t do anything but repeat himself. 'Hell is what we made it'-- is this not staggering to we as mortals? Does it not buckle floorboards, and humble the soul? Does it not wash away idea and body and spirit and leave only Heaven-knows-what? These days, on this Earth, in this life, where people spend a lot more time trying to be cool than trying to be people, it’s hard to admit to such things. But I will admit, however loud and clear and jubilant and anything, that it does all those things and much, much more, and I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it. This song is perfect."
If Sammich's comment was actually arbitrary and not based on some rumor, then it's probably the funniest thing I've read on this website. The review of this song from jamisonlikewhat.com:
"In the race to call Clap the new band to like/name check/whatever-- behind all the gun-jumping to wait in line for their tickets and find their records and download their early demos and Bogart whatever lo-fi live takes are lying around-- outside all that commotion, I think a lot of people forgot or just never noticed that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah make better music than you or I have ever heard. I promised myself I was going to start talking more trash in these things, but I listen to this song, and their whole record, and every artist who has ever put tone to tempo, and I come to realize that I just like music a lot more than I don’t like music, and that maybe that’s all there is to it.
'In This Home On Ice' borders on the spiritual, if you just let it in: Congealed, it's a journey less about guitars, bass and drums and more about a sort of sound-as-coalescence amalgam, dulcet elements bursting into a corporate alloy and expanding in all directions. The home that Clap erect is one of singular splendor and majesty, but hey, ice is thin! It breaks, people-- and maybe it even breaks people? Rickety relationships are by no means unusual fare for bands of the indie rock persuasion, but is there more to it than that? Out-of-body, maybe Alec Ounsworth’s nasal tenor is attempting to explore certain depths and heights that you and I have never even dreamt of? 'Hell, I never knew, was what we made it/ Let’s just take it slow in this home on ice,' he vibrates, right before everything falls apart (or, perhaps, into place) and he can’t do anything but repeat himself. 'Hell is what we made it'-- is this not staggering to we as mortals? Does it not buckle floorboards, and humble the soul? Does it not wash away idea and body and spirit and leave only Heaven-knows-what? These days, on this Earth, in this life, where people spend a lot more time trying to be cool than trying to be people, it’s hard to admit to such things. But I will admit, however loud and clear and jubilant and anything, that it does all those things and much, much more, and I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it. This song is perfect."
That's got to be the greatest explanation for Alec Ounsworth's music I've ever read. Thanks for sharing!
That's got to be the greatest explanation for Alec Ounsworth's music I've ever read. Thanks for sharing!