Lincoln (London/Slash Records)
By: Brian Barry
For a long time I thought I was going deaf. My friends, relatives, the sound guys, the cat - they all had to repeat themselves in order for me to hear them. Well, I'm happy to report that my hearing has returned to full functioning capacity and the pop picture painted most beautifully has returned to brush away at my drums like a drunk and lonely old jazz slapper returning to that candlelit joint he smiled in as a 20 year old. I was feeling lonely in the music world until a friend approached me with a shiny CD. Lincoln. Lincoln restored my faith. Every song on their self titled debut is a photograph you stare at for a week; between commercials and sex capades you sneak into the linen closet and pull it out and laugh or cry because you miss your friends, you're trying to kick the drug habit, or the town you live in is a shithole waiting to disintegrate. This CD is a must hear. I can not do it justice. 12 of the most movin' slinky sampled every-topic tracks by Christopher Temple (vocals, guitar, keys, and producer of these disciples of melody). The word is "Relate" and you sure as hell can. Check out number 8, "Straight", a quiet little guitar diddy about a former drug addict returning to the neighborhood he used to get his kicks at, "I'll have to pass the liquor store and walk right past my dealer's door. I'll have to wear a thinking cap and suck on some lifesavers". He's strong, he's straight, but laments that he'll probably be stoned tomorrow. Check out "stop", about a relationship that doesn't work but sticks somehow, serenaded by a dirty fuzzoid bass, slow funk-make-love skins slappin', and Temple's tippy toe voice then jump to the jump-happy 5 track, "Basketball" and check out the portrait Temple painted as the catholic school across the street from his NYC apartment let out and the white adolescent uniformettes ran over to the courts, "There over on the corner. Quarter past..3 o'clock. Plaid skirts and knee socks. One suckin' on a Newport, one eyein' up the half court, one twirlin' her hair with her fingers." Rooted in quirky intelligento pop, pleasantly placed back up sweety-boy vocals, Temple's nerdy boy-next door talk/float vocal style, and a trademark guitar slide that'll twist your neck like a dog that's receivin' one of those just-in-the-right-spot scratchin's, Lincoln is the hook and you'll never turn them off. Ever. Let it play let it play let it play.
Sucker, blow, stop, unhappy, basketball, taller, wish that you were dead, straight, what up, carversville, to build a house, smashing.
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