The return of Everett True | 97. Twerps
I’m more familiar with this type of music than I ought to be, but that’s hardly Twerps fault.
Which leaves me in somewhat of a quandary. How should I describe this, without resorting to a list of names that would bore even me? (Some way too obvious, some The Pastels, one Twelve Cubic Feet.) That doesn’t help explain why I immediately fell for the new Twerps album Range Anxiety.
The reason I immediately fell for the new Twerps album Range Anxiety is because Guy sent me a CD. A CD turned up for me in the post! I mean, how quaint is that? I wasn’t even sure such things existed these days… cassettes yes, vinyl yes, but CDs? And I definitely didn’t realise I was still on anyone’s radar. So I listened and I fell for it. Of course I listened and fell for it. This music is hidden treasure: far more delicate and fragile than I remember. Those long lists of names I didn’t want to mention just a few dozen words ago? These were all going to feature bands that were special, defiantly so, to me and me alone. (Oh, go on then. To you as well, possibly.) These were all bands that tapped into the heart of melancholy. Plaintive. Calling. Calling to me. Calling to me down through the years and out through 2015. There’s a bubbling keyboard that burbles bittersweet-happily through this song that reminds me of the way – poor naive me! – I once upon a time thought all keyboards sounded. There’s a vocal that sounds (in texture) like most the guitars that were associated with The Legend! in the mid-80s. The lyrics are mildly envious. There’s a killer key change on the centre that just whispers Dunedin.
I didn’t want to write anything tonight. But I still feel the desire to share, the urge, whenever I hear music as beautiful as this.
So I do.
