Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Matt Oliver, Mastered by Sam Patlove
The Acrylics make me feel the way I'm going to feel tomorrow. You see, it seems like this is going to be one of the last truly unseasonably warm days of the year before things take a complete nosedive into uncertain hands. There's always that chance that a freakishly good day can pop off still before everything gets hard and frozen until the thaw, but you don't bet on such things when you're just a few days away from the month of November. We're starting to take our last bike rides and eating our final ice cream cones of the year. It will be on to hearty stews, soups and teas from here on out, until we're sure that it's safe to come out of our hibernations. Today here, it was almost 80 degrees, just a few days short of Halloween and the high temperature tomorrow will be 30 degrees lower. It's strikes us as such a sadder thing when there's no variant, when there's just no ease into it. We've peaked and we're going to get shoved right into those gloomy daylight savings time months, when the sun's already setting before your lunch has even been digested. Molly Shea and Jason Klauber write the kind of music that makes us happy that we've packed on something of a winter coat that we then get to shiver off. We're bound to feel as if we're feeling the New York group's characters moving through their lives having not remembered to prepare for the conditions that they were going to encounter. They weren't ready for the weather that they were going to run into, mostly because they couldn't have planned for the plummet. They couldn't have possibly been ready to deal with air 30 degrees colder from one day to the next. The people in these songs, from the group's latest album, "Lives and Treasure," don't seem to have the luxury of checked and double-checked forecasts. They have nothing to look at that would lead them to deduce that tomorrow is going to be so much different from today, so they aren't really taking chances, but they're not able to brace for what's going to happen next either. They're just out there flapping in the wind and they stroll through these stories observing things in slow motion, feeling the prickly goose bumps on their arms as they walk. There are many parts to these loping words that remind you of dream phases and the entrancing phrasing that Shea gives her lines is that of a misty harvest of things that we might not be able to remember when we make up, even if we really want to remember them, even if we try mightily to retrieve them from the clutches of the bygone.