I'm just gonna cut to the chase. Neon Indian
's new release Vega Intl. Night School
f**ing rocks. Alan Palomo (Neon Indian frontman/composer) has the funkiest, ambient-ist, poppy-ist genes of all time. He doesn't just create music, he creates dimensions. I mean, Neon Indian should just patent the genre "chillwave." Their music is sensory, and aural, and it's the left ventricle pumping our hearts full of 80s inspired blood.
Now, I find with this type of music, it's hard to really go track by track and pick specifics. There's so many instruments, or sounds I should say, that are multi-dimensional (which, are so damn good,) it's sort of just like, where do I even start? So, instead, with help from Neon Indian, I'm going to create mini-scenes inspired by a few tracks off this, excuse my French, f**king awesome album, Vega Intl. Night School
. (P.s. Every track is awesome. I'm being selective here for creative purposes, and skipping over some gems. So, I'm forcing you to give the record a listen yourself.)
"Smut!" - Select a car. Get ready to race! Ferrari 458? Nice choice. You pull up to the starting line, you know the drill. Rev the engine, blow some of that charcoal out your pipes; cause a bit of friction under the hood. The light goes from red, to yellow, to green and in the fraction of whatever millisecond it takes for your eyelashes to briefly tap the bottom of your eyelids, the gear is shifted and you're off. Nothing but green fields and open roads. Double yellow lines mean nothing in Neon Indian: Speedy Times
the groovy, electronic-pop racing video game.
"Slumlord"- It's like 1981 or something, and you and your friends go to hit the arcade. It's early October, the sun just went down, your boy has on his varsity jacket -- everything's set in place. You show up to the arcade, laugh a little and say hi to all the kids from school you know. You go outside to crush a 40 oz. or two, then throw it in the street to smash, just to let 'em know who's boss. Once inside the arcade again, you make your way over the the one thing you've been thinking about since you left the house: the pinball game "Neon Indian's Arcade Extravaganza." Coins in, game on. The small silver speck begins to juke across all the obstacles, making sharp ting
noises as it hits them. A small crowd forms around you, but play it cool -- you've already beat your high score. The crowd gets bigger, and girls with fountain ponytails are clacking their gum in your ear, but you don't hear it because it's just you and those flick-y things that resemble the gate you will not allow any small silver speck to get through. The more people there is, the more your score goes up. Ting
. So close to beating the all time high score....
"Slumlord's Re-lease"- Okay you've had enough. You've been pushed in the hallways into one too many lockers. You can't tell mom and your friends are in the same boat. There's only one thing you can do: train to take out the one guy who's been picking on you. The one they call "Neon Indian." You start out slow; running, doing push ups. You find a gym and you get a little stronger. But when Neon Indian tries to step to you again, the push ups and dumbbells fail you, leaving you with another black eye. You find this boxing gym on the corner, and walk in, hood up, looking for the owner. "I can't help you here, son," says Mr. Old-legend-boxing-guy, "I'm not going to help you get revenge." But he does, and oh man do you get revenge. You slip a jab, and hit Neon Indian with the sharpest jab followed by a crushing hook. Think Daniel's crane-kick type thing after the whole "Get 'em a body bag, Johnny!"
"Techno Clique"- Club Neon: Indian
has a longer line than you've ever seen tonight. But you walk up to the doorman then give him a handshake, and go inside. Lights splatter the walls in uneven patterns that could make the normal person dizzy, but you -- you're used to it. You move through the tightly packed floor of moving bodies towards the bar. A glass of vodka followed by another to wash down to pill you just swallowed. You comb your hands through your slicked back hair and move towards the dance floor. Suddenly, you see this girl dancing in the middle and it's as if those splattered lights have focused themselves and glued themselves to her. You're not sure if it's the vodka or the pill, but you slick your hair back again and go towards her. The lucidity of the music takes the two of you over. The music is fun, and pulsing. So are your bodies. The repetition of the words "Just you and I" catch the air like bubbles around you and this woman with unbearable appeal. She looks at you, smiling, opening her mouth to show her tongue ring and she twirls; her hair begins to look like strands from a fiber optic wand. All the colors, and her body, and the music and. You know what happens after.