Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Matt Oliver, Mastered by Sam Patlove
The master plan, for most, is joy and fun, isn't it? It's for health and companionship, to be followed closely by joy and fun. It's specifically for the chance to rip right through the years you're given, to get to the end of them and suddenly look at yourself and find - for the first time ever - that you've whittled away. You're gray and you've lost weight and height. You're nothing but an old man or woman and you've not known where all the time has evaporated off to. It was here at one time, you could feel it, but it's nowhere to bee found now, but it's of little concern because you spent it all wisely.
The people throughout the songs of Austin, Texas, band Little Lo seem to be committed to reaching that kind of finish, where there's nothing much in the regret category. They're about catching that tailwind and seeing where it carries them off to. They're up for some midnight swimming. They're up for ice cream. They're up for extended hugs and they're up for talking it out. They're up for putting some voices together for a chorus. They're up for just lying down in the middle of the yard and staring at that big, hulking tree in the front yard for hours, watching the branches bend slightly like rubber, creaking like bones and rusty hinges, the leaves rattling. Lead singer Ryan James McGill doesn't leave all of the melancholy out, but it's mostly pushed off to the perimeters and happier thoughts are encouraged. It's not always attainable, but striving for it's not a bad way to go.