Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Brian Thorn at The Magic Shop, New York City
It's autumn here. It started two days ago, it feels like. We all could see our breaths for the first time in months the other night and nothing seems to sound as good as a hot cider every time we sit down afterhours. We are starting to feel the slow down. We're starting to tuck ourselves in a bit. We're throwing our meals into crock pots in the mornings - a stew or a soup or a roast - and just letting it go all day long, filling the house with a hot, savory smell.
The start of this Lee Bannon song, featuring Slum Village, is for all intents and purposes, feels just like the way the beginning of autumn starts, just before we start hearing the hard tale of getting fucked over by the powers that be, of people out there struggling to just make ends meet.
Within the confines of this street song are the trappings of libido that need to be there. The promise of beaver and the qualified servicing of it sounds oddly fall-like in this context. It sounds like something that you can just ease into, with a flannelled confidence. When it's mentioned here that a big ass staring someone right in the face provides all the motivation that's needed for them to operate, it feels less cocksure and more justifiable, as if he was talking about a swath of foliage.