Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Shawn Biggs at Studio Paradiso, San Francisco, California
One minute you can be backstroking across and through the brilliant blue waters of an infinity pool, hanging off the edge of the Hollywood Hills -- chilled drinks and fluffy towels awaiting you over on the patio table -- and the next moment you've been jumped by thugs and you've acquired a noticeable knot to the temple, a shiner and a knife to the kidney. They didn't necessarily say the above exactly, but it's what Babes mean to say when they're discussing love. The contrasts between the good parts and when it becomes a stalker or a tumor are incredible. They're graphic and disturbing, but that's the kind of shit you get with love sometimes.
Now, the Los Angeles band prefers mostly to stay on the side of love that's all about the infinity pools, rainbows and peacocks prowling around the front lawn, but there's that undercurrent that there's often no telling what they're feeling or what they're looking at. They've been fooled by the mirages and the thick, enchanting colognes and perfumes of love too many times before and they're not about to be the goat again. The people in Babes songs -- which suggest the dreamy hints of Tennis that we've grown fond to over the years -- are smitten with the thought that they're on the right path to those brilliant blue waters of love, but they're mostly asking the questions, skeptical as they've ever been, hoping that they won't get bit once again.