ARTIST: Creeping Weeds
TITLE: We Are All Part of a Dream You're Having
LABEL: Hot Horse!
GENRE: Indie
BITRATE: 195kbps avg
PLAYTIME: 0h 47m total
RELEASE DATE: 2007-01-26
RIP DATE: 2007-02-20
Track List
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1. Part Of A Dream 2:09
2. Billy Pilgrim 4:49
3. Eternity Is A Long Time 4:05
4. Keystone 3:39
5. I Wanted To Live (Die) 3:52
6. Time-Lapse 2:41
7. Derelict 7:12
8. Our Country Home 5:43
9. The Desert 3:53
10. Waits 4:21
11. Nightmares 0:55
12. Wired Shut 3:51
Release Notes:
These days it pays not to think too much about the state of modern America. But,
occasionally (and given the right blessed guitar hook), the picture shifts to a
sunny suburban street û the kind that that Fred Savage used to ride his chopper
down in The Wonder Years; the kind of place where bands such as Built to Spill
and Sebadoh would create life-affirming sounds from inside a dusty garage.
Romantic, yes, but thereÆs something about American indie that can still knock
blocks off what we produce over here and PhiladelphiaÆs Creeping Weeds are more
than aware of the power of understated pop hooks.
Approaching their debut as if it is a cohesive body of work rather than a chance
to splurge all their favourite tricks in one go, it makes sense that they open
with delicate vocal harmonies and a bare piano, thereby introducing us gently to
their unsettling world. The wonderful æBilly PilgrimÆ begins with a Frank
Black-inspired acoustic strum, chopped up by stabs of electric guitar. A sense
of entrapment drives Pete StewartÆs words but the music is so dense that his
non-linear storytelling is secondary.
ThereÆs a heroic pop sensibility to the musicianship, like the way drummer Chris
Wirtalla bookends the chords changes on æI Wanted To Live (Die)Æ with a simple
punch of his toms. At times, their lo-fi folk will draw comparisons to Broken
Social Scene, but thereÆs something more compact and focused in the way that
Creeping Weeds construct their songs. æOur Country HouseÆ manages to combine the
two normally mutually exclusive qualities of humour and ambition as it swishes
from simple folk to a stomp where, frankly, Stewart sounds as though heÆs
singing in the toilet.
But hereÆs hoping it was the downstairs toilet, next to the garage where, in my
imagination, they rehearse, hang out and watch The Year Punk Broke on repeat.