We forget where we've left ourselves sometimes. We aren't sure who we gave what. We offered up bites and souvenirs of ourselves and we never thought to ask for them back. That said, we find the drawer of miscellany in our homes and it's filled with all of the bits and pieces of others that we were granted or that we slipped from them like a pickpocket.
They roll around or shift as we open it up, bumping into the rubber bands, batteries and spare ink pens. Some of them we look at and we don't want to touch them and then others are embossed with little details and intricacies that we'd forgotten about, that we miss. We still derive fondness from them and they retain a sort of mystique. Life was once that way and now it's this way, with different faces surrounding it, with different addresses returned or stumbled to, with different mannerisms to keep working on.
Los Angeles band Sir Sly piledrives us into a ghostly ether where everything has that rushing back to you feel, where you're smitten once again with all of the things that you can't touch or hold onto. These are promises missed and chattered teeth. They are logs that have already been burned, offered up as bread crumbs back to former flames and grimy doorknobs to old entrances. Singer Landon Jacobs makes you feel welcome in mysterious, charming, watery stories that set up like half-victory laps and half funeral processions.
Sir Sly Official Site