The amber intoxication of Mild Horses is a spell of diverse landslides and automatons heaving a weight of dramatics an almost cinematic experience that collides with sublime and disastrous effect.
We follow a grim path from whence we came collecting ingots of shimmering sliver and jade to retrace the memory of nostalgia and somehow we see the eclipsing beauty of youth so sempiternal as though tragedy had transpired only just yesterday.
With a sound that may recollect the chimera of The Pastels and other songs in “Ignorance to Enlightenment and Back Again” give off a Butthole Surfers vibe, we wander scarcely surprised at what next Mild Horses will do.
Their flitting around from room to room in a sanctuary of different sounds, their at once alt-country sensibilities and indie weirdness is textured with a starry maelstrom of thoughtful intrigue that behooves us to celebrate. Each tendency to touch and perform a gyration where death is at the crux of its meandering, it’s meaningful gait, we rearrange the world around us to let the spindly legs of women and knobby knees of men to communicate the modest Morse code of endless vacuum like vernacular where there is only freedom in silences and absence, where we let go of sallow hands to grieve in the azure crystalline pools holding memories of our past.
“Suited” is a dusty song that has an opening that reminds us of shoe-gaze and in another instance they turn the tide to a more sobering alt-country dry delivery that may remind some of Smog, only with more clashing of music.
Written by Hari Palacio
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