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Verbal Cabbage by Dunes...No Shame, Blowin' Up Like Propane

On Verbal Cabbage by Dunes, a collab between beatmaker Sweeps and lyricist Bill Grease, Grease raps about "blowing up the spot, shit's propane", the record cover's neon blue and mustard hues looking like a propane flame itself. Like synesthesia, you can hear these colors in Sweeps' beats, while Bill Grease cuts thru the sunset soft shades with slightly saturated vocals and dense flow in nicely asymmetric patterns.

Grease states "you think I'm doberman but lately baby I be puggin' on velvet pillows". Sweeps' beat is that soft texture: ghostly flute on "Cold Game", cinematic strings and keys sprinkled later, soft synth pads omnipresent, seductive horns making appearances throughout. And yes, as Bill Grease sums up well, "this is nice init".

"Billy Grease got the beats that make your speakers melt metal", "more retarded than the President", and in "Cold Game" Bill Grease states "I'll be slicker this year", a simple statement amid his his surrounding cerebral imagery. While Sweeps and Grease bump their latest of two EPs, and others start to record to catch up, let's hope Dunes close out the year with another slicker, even greasier, sweeping record.

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Welcome

If I was good at baseball, I'd be down in the Florida minor leagues talking arm slots, traveling off to needs-work fall leagues, an eye to the international youth with wild sliders and blazing fastballs.

But I kept striking out through Little League, so I bought a Fender Squire at age 12, took music theory classes, and supplemented a college education with creative writing poetry classes.

As an independent musician, I grew deterred by the lack of local and low-profile music critics. Now, it’s my mission to scout and highlight musicians unheard and present my voice as one of the many scaffolds that musicians might use to make their art grow.

Cycle of disillusionment and inspiration

I dislike sites that simply stop posting without explanation. Brotherly Fuzz was a fun experiment. I have lost steam. A week went by without a post, now six weeks. Not abnormal, of course, for amateur bloggers to fizzle quickly. Simultaneously, I am caught in a depressed funk, where it becomes hard to conjure words, think thoughts, move limbs.

I may return here, place less pressure on frequent updates. Hell, maybe even soon, since I have trouble predicting my actions from hour to hour, even. When the negativity fades and nostalgia remains, perhaps I'll return. Perhaps this project will restart perpetually in a cycle of disillusionment and inspiration.

Ultimately, I have little faith in music blogs, which are knowingly endangered. I feel like I'm doing bands a disservice; I only provide them with one person's feedback, I am unable to find them a wider audience. Perhaps time will bring more listeners, but I'm doubtful. Moreover, it feels weird linking people to my analys…