“I like to think that my time toiling under buzzing fluorescent lighting in a giant sporting goods warehouse superstore during my teenage years helped me to understand pain and boredom a little better. I spent about a year at that particular pit stop, but it’s the summer days I remember most vividly—standing at my perch in the back in that gigantic refrigerated warehouse full of sneakers, exercise machines and spandex athletic wear, just able to make out the intense light from the sun reflecting off the cars in the parking lot through the automatic glass doors as it scattered in the front of the store, those echoes of light the only hint that it was in fact summer at all (not counting the occasional sweaty jock looking for Nike dry-fit jogging pants).
Anyway, the point of that protracted ramble into my scarred adolescence is that though angry punk rock songs sound tracked my discontent in those days, I can’t help but think that Adam Wiltzie’s ethereal solo debut under the moniker the Dead Texan fits my memories of that monotonous summer far better. The lush, slow chord progressions that cycle and cycle and build and build seem like the perfect expression of a lost summer afternoon, just out of reach. The warm, near-death, barely conscious songs like “La Ballade D’Alain Georgee” lend a sad weight to anything, though for some reason the connection to that empty warehouse, a cold box in the hot summer sun keeps coming to mind…(read more here)“
TimeSpace Warps 