Eamon the Destroyer rises again with the plenteous and petulant venture, We'll Be Piranhas.
As with Eamon the Destroyer's prior vehicle, A Small Blue Car ... , this one not only comes from the gut (as squeezed from a rough, soulful voice and crisscrossing computations), but begs for more ... much more ... as the culmination dares to bite (tee hee) into the best cannibalized emotions one can desire, let alone recycle.
Among the eight tracks, three in particular epitomize a crestfallen side: "A Call Coming" (a drunken reservoir of stomped hopes and lost abodes); "A Pewter Wolf" (a percussive prowl that occurs under a browbeating, rum-tum sun) and "Sonny Said" (a belittling, word-of-mouth sigh that anticipates the blissful roll of trolls with poles in a tiger-tree high).
For the side that bites back, there's the obvious, "We'll Be Piranhas," (an accordion-plugged, upside-down, punk invocation of Bowie and Eno's "Heroes"); "Rope" (a profane, harpsichord-soaked companion that references the cop-out called suicide); "My Stars" (a slow, strummed plea, bridged by a pregnant pause that resumes straight at the heart of dark heaven); and "Choirmaster" (an anodic canticle for praise-to-God, fearless feats and their forever, fated failures).
"Underscoring the Blues," however, covers the progressing pattern, chewing chunks from each portion. In it, a Dickens-esque "best of times ... worst of times" cartilage congeals, representing a lifetime of rebelling digestion.
Eamon the Destroyer's We'll Be Piranhas is a behavioral, self-devouring opus that neither resigns nor recedes.
Take a self-serving nibble at
https://bearsuitrecords.bandcamp.com/album/well-be-piranhas
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