Tag: Daddy Long Legs

With a name like The Giant Robots and an origin country like Switzerland, it would be easy to make a play on their precision, but the truth is that completely misses the point of their particular type of rave-up.

I am proud to bring you KNOWER, despite the fact that I constantly stumble over how to announce the name of the band, trying to tease out the magical diphtong that distinguishes it from “nowhere” to the listener. I love them so much I will even respect their penchant to spell their name in all-caps. Led by Louis Cole and Genevieve Artadi and often spiced with cameos, their take on modern jazz funk / funk jazz is always on tap to fix a day going wrong.

I haven’t decided if Bully is a great name or a terrible name, but it certainly fits their melodic bludgeoning.

“You missed the white crocodile,” the chipa vendor told them. The mycologist and the munitions expert gave the expected sounds of disappointment, the same as any tourist drawn to Paraguay’s Ojo de Mar would. One of them spread a blanket by the lake side while the other one got busy with entering the passcodes and unlatching the efficient-looking metal case they had extracted from the moped. Opening it once the blanket was ready, they began taking out the 3D-printed pieces from the foam molding with quick, efficient movements as the Easy Star All-Stars blared out a David Bowie song from the vendor’s portable radio.

They call it Hotlanta for a good reason, but I’m sure The Black Lips have enough bad attitude to have way more colorful names for their hometown.

Straight outta Staten Island, the Budos Band has enough energy to power a nuclear submarine for seven months, allowing it to circumnavigate the globe three and a half times.

There wasn’t enough room on the narrow boat for the botanist to take out a handkerchief and wipe their brow. The square head vessel, slicing through the water on its way to the Phong Dien Floating Market, looked to be laden with mangos, but that was a ruse. The pyramids that piled the boat only a had a skin a single mango deep. Underneath were piles of something with about the same density as mangos, but much much more valuable. The captain twisted the knob on the cabin radio on hearing some narcopolka, the device’s limited capacity making the sound increase not in volume, only in distortion. The sun sparkled off the water, a thousand heat lasers evading the shade thrown by the wide straw hats they wore.

The archivist’s breath misted in the freezing vault as gloved hands lifted the metal canister off the shelf. Getting to Greenland had not been trivial, driving the snowcats to Nuuk undetected had been a challenge, and breaking into the Katuaq Cultural Centre’s secret collection room, dug out of the permafrost, could be described as difficult. Now, locating the footage was close to impossible, given the hundreds of linear meters of shelving that were visible. The producer unspooled the first few feet off the reel, peering up through the film to the overhead light. The muffled sound of Persian hip-hop could be heard from the theater above. Maybe it was not so impossible.

The earth rumbled into an appropriate angle of repose as the bucket wheel ground to a halt. On the ground, the sapper raised an arm to signal to the operator, sitting high above in an air-conditioned cab as disproportionately tiny as a brontosaurus brain. The sounds of Taiwanese ragtime could be heard on the earpiece now that the excavator had stopped digging into the hard Upper Peninsula soil. This machine was capable of extracting tons of copper ore in a single hour, but now it was digging for something far more valuable.

Having the word “daddy” in your band’s name is a tough bar to clear, and these guys have just the type of delta blues sleaze to make it over easy.