Tag: The Limiñanas

Really, this review only needs five words: Francophone spaghetti western rock songs.

This collection of instrumentals is bewildering in its variety and intent, miniature symphonies with the tinkling plunk of a toy orchestra and a sharp whiff of sulfur from a struck match.

The pilot felt the glider’s control surfaces bite into the updraft. The craft smoothly pitched up and right as the surreal Eastern Washington terrain unfolded beneath them. The plucky strains of a Bolivian polka filled the small cockpit, the whistling of the wind no true competition. Facing backward, the specialist peered at the techmapper. Somewhere below, there was something messing with the surveillance satellite and downing any powered aircraft that dared approach. Up ahead, the clouds were bunched up in a way any seasoned traveler of the skies could tell was just. not. right.

The first mate adjusted the sails, letting out some wind to keep both skids on the sand. The sun shone down like a hole punched in a blast furnace someone painted blue, the radio broadcasting its gypsy salsa above the hiss of the sandmaran's travel. Leaning on the tiller, the captain let out a yell of warning as they crested a dune, gaining air for a brief moment. They still didn’t have a plan for replacing the statue, but they had a thousand miles of desert to work something out.

The guitarist for Big Thief has a solo outing, and it's truly stellar. "Maybe" is a nice groove to kick things off.

In times fraught with misinformation, Ty Richards implores you to seek the truth.