Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Shawn Biggs at Studio Paradiso, San Francisco, California
There's a transient nature to Rademacher songs that's only mildly hard to place. It's not deceptive, but it's puzzling in that it suggests less attachment than one might expect to be there, in characters who have been around for some time. Everywhere you turn in one of lead singer Malcolm Sosa's works is another drowsy dream sequence that's a reflection of life getting paused. It's a result of a reaction to what's happened thus far, how things are going and what the forecast is like for the next few years, for the next decade and if there's anything good in the mix on on-deck at all. One of these involves someone who's really wondering hard if there was any way to get back to some of those younger days, when his or her problems were solved before they ever really occurred. It's an illusion of being able to screw themselves back into simpler days, when they didn't pay the grocery bill and the fuel in the gas tank of the car that they drove never dwindled to the bottom.
They have a dream, where they wake up in their old room, in their old bed, with a closet full of all the old clothes that they left behind but no longer seem to fit them and with a clothes dresser filled with the "same notes that you left in your top dresser drawer." It's as if this person's is just looking for that blankie that they used to tote around - throwing a fat lip out until someone places that ragged old plush bear back in the only other free hand and then they start getting their back scratched and their hair petted. It's not a pouty song, but one that comes from a place that's been the site of too much heartache, already, and those times of blissfulness don't seem like they were all that long ago. Instead of those times, this person's now dealing with a complete overhaul of a life, like the one that happens in "I've Rearranged Everything," where love's taken a horrible turn for the worse and our protagonist has been forced into the unenviable position of having to throw a former lover's belongings out onto the lawn because they just can't deal with the life as they're living it any longer. It's not that they've stopped loving each other, it's just that they don't work together and they just can't, for the life of themselves, understand how such a situation could exist. But there it fucking is, right there. It's evidenced by those shoes on the grass.
Sosa writes characters who seem a little luckless, even characters who seem like they can't even be helped, when he sings, "Your lucky cigarette fucked me up/I lit it the wrong way/I smoked the filter by mistake cause I was drunk/And dumb/It's cool/I'm through for the night." Maybe they should all just cash it in for the night and give it another go in the morning.