• Kip Wingerschmidt


Maybe I smoked one too many spliffs laced with Old Bay (Adella Place Summer ’97 what what), but very early during my second listen-through of Between the Buried and Me’s new album The Great Misdirect, I couldn’t help but make the comparison to that old jam band who used to dork out onstage in the form of soloing whilst bouncing on trampolines……or, if you will, tramapolines.

Some might make other comparisons, but please allow me to explain.

Both bands have insanely choreographed suite-like songs that ebb and flow, wax (on) and wane (off).

Both bands are musical equivalents of a heaping plate of spaghetti bolognese — a shit-ton of noodles with almost enough meat (but you always want more).

Both bands are silly.

Both bands make thinly veiled attempts to mimic country grooves, and neither succeed very well (although the novelty seems appreciated by fans).

Both bands display both a formidable sense of musical prowess and unfortunate lack of SOUL. For further explanation on the latter, feel free to consult my man BP.

Both bands LOVE ham n cheesing it up (not unlike John C. Reilly in Boogie Nights).

Both bands seem like they’d be equally crazy and annoying to trip out to.

Both bands suffer from adult ADD.

Both bands get a leel too big for their britches sometimes.

Both bands are capable of inducing musical orgasm if the listener has an open mind.

Am I wrong?!? Remember, you’re definitely wrong, so how off could I be?


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