Why does it seem like the easiest thing to lose sight of is what's really important? There are all of those self-help books out there reminding us to not sweat the small things and then get yourself ready to see how much happier you will find yourself. It's a simple thing to do, to just forget that if we have our family, our health, a roof over our heads and food on the table for at least two squares a day, things really aren't ever all that bad. Some of the happiest people in the world have just that or less and some of the unhappiest people in the world have a thousand times more than that. It's all a matter of perspective and when we're forced to take stock in what we need to care about, we get set appropriately. Brooklyn band Little Gold is a three-piece that writes music that passes through us like the movies suggest a ghost would, having us believe that nothing might be happening, but then we feel a warm rush and a tickle as the phantom-like body takes that short cut through our torsos. It's music that affects us without much trying. It just does. A song like "Half The Time," is a hit song if there ever was one and it opens up to us the way many of the trio's songs do: as examples of sharp bursts of garage pop that remind us that dreaming or getting out of our minds sometimes is a perfectly acceptable thing to do. It might even be our lone salvation. They spend a lot of their time in bed, or imaging themselves in a bed, all cozy and insulated, far away from the heavier burdens, the heavier blues, left to imagine their treasures and the parrots that repeat their every word. It's sung on "Half The Time, "Which was my baby/Which was my money/Which one do I feel like saving tonight/I've got a mind to decide almost half of the time," and we think that what Christian De Roeck, Brian Markham and pat Proderick (or Christ of Smoke, Ham and Primitive Man) are getting at is that we should just pack a picnic basket and blow off all of our plans for the day because it's only money we're working for. Or, they might be saying that there's no need to choose between our diamonds and our children, so forget about it, it's alright to let the mind wander, to just experience what the weather has in store that particular day. These three men are daydreamers, and admit so themselves, and they often refer to the importance of doing so on the band's last album, "On The Knife." It takes the edge off and makes for a softer, more tolerable soul - something that acts as a worked in couch that provides a great sit. We can just sit around with ourselves, those lonely in a crowd, and keep our eyes closed, see what we can feel.