Friday, February 16, 2007

Southpaw. SweetSexy.

Sexy. Simple. Southpaw.

Watch that lefty
while you're shmoozing to their irrisistably funky flow
they're not all soft-focus sex appeal...

Sweating in a concrete cube underground at the noYetSoUnderground MOPPP opening (Month of Peoples' Photography, poeopols! get widdit and support the emergence of lowbrow Artttt even if it is a little middleoftheroad to start with) a dreadless Fletcher smiles, “the thing with a boy band is not which one you want to sleep with, but how to choose between them!” his eyes twinkle, and we laugh, because we know that we know no better than anybody else the power of the punani and the peter...

but i digress. we're talking about Southpaw : a clutch of pretty boys who make some meanEasy noise.

There’s a reason the girls know the words to all their songs. I’ve only seen them once before, and I remembered words too. They’re catchy. Infectious, even. They’re a danceable-singable-jiggable fourboyband. lots of booty there. And they have great hair.

It’s a filial affair – brothers, cousins with a bunch of good genes (visual and musical!) The sound is funkysoulpop. And it rocks. They’ll get radio time if they play their cards right, but you’ll be proud that they’re also conquering commercial ears rather than bummed that they sold out. They haven’t. They won’t. Their sound is too squeaky, squelchy sexy, too mmmmmmelodic to be anything but dirtyclean. Their damn fine funk and thump and riddim are so smoothly stitched into ultra emo harmonies (but only for a quick mo) that their trademark crescendos spin sweetness into the air and sink into the tingly bits down there. The bass takes care of the rest. it's like being chatted up by music. professionally.

Try not to smile.

Southpaw. TKO.

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