Songs For Imaginative People
I still can’t believe Darwin Deez – the cultivated stink of looking grubby while having a trust fund-sponsored delousing between tours and albums seems obvious and odious; it’s like the guy figured his take on frenetic nearly-earworms in the Sufjan Stevens style would work better if he dresses up like someone who failed the audition to be Napoleon Dynamite.
And that bugs me.
It bugs me almost as much as when I saw the band perform on the back of the also almost-there debut and every three or four songs they downed tools and did silly interpretive dance, mock-ballet with shuffling feet and smug-look-how-ironic-we’re-being looks as some shitty thing like Orinoco Flow played underneath. It was ironic – because any song they attempted to send up featured more here-today-not-gone-tomorrow craft than Darwin and deez guys could ever summon.
So, there’s not really much of an evolution between albums for Darwin – here’s the second record and though it is, arguably, better, it attempts to not be quite so smug and half-arsed, its rocks out a little (Free) and it has songs that (almost) groove (Redshift) it’s still unlikely to ever mean anything beyond a bunch of over-stimulated liberal arts students grabbing on to it for a month or two.
Natural selection says we won’t hear a whole lot more from Darwin Deez – you can bet he won’t send his fans a postcard from the Hamptons; he’ll probably disappear there for two concurrent summers sometime soon on the family’s credit card, write a book, sniff some roses. And peyote.
Fuck this guy.