Cocoanut Groove. Some Single plus bonus tracks! Close your eyes, conjure a vision of Rodney Allen had he grown up and joined the Clientele. He would have released this record. We are still waiting for the debut release of the Rodney Allen Experience are we not? I believe, yes, we are. Cocoanut Groove is someone from Sweden, obviously, in the romanticist realm of Montt Mardie and Moto Boy. Solo crooners with passion and disgust for the mundane sterility of indiepop. Or so I imagine it. Idealistically. There are genuine performances here, depserate and romantic and intrigued. Whereas the Clientele fancy themself far too erudite to really let it cut loose there exists a smooth little groove here, not only in the name, but in the music. This first song, The End of Summer on Bookbinder Road even sounds a bit like Bookshop Casanova but whereas Alasdair can't quite shake free from his academician roots here Cocoanut Groove/Olov sounds delightfully effervescent and charming. Second song, has a bit of Morissey in it, circa Yes I am Blind without the murderous Christians and kegs of powder between his legs and it is also a bit Mccartney and slightly Billy Bragg. It's marvelous. The album must come soon. When does the album come to save us all? Here is beauty on display, effortless and graceful. It seems filled with fallen tears. Was there anything concerning truth or beauty or truth as beauty about the Pas/Cal album? No. There were not even tiny moments of wonder. Pas/Cal was all a mess, florida noise and cleverness and wit and surely chock full of musical puns and inside jokes that I don't understand but which sophisticates will chortle over endlessly but the music still won;tt cause them to move a bone in their spine or a muscle in their heart and it won't save us from the coming Depression either. Delicate violin, now, Swedish English pop songs, he uses the word 'firmament', that seems a very Clientele word. I have the new Clientele ep, I've not listened to it. I could append an entry about it onto the back of this. Next song. Walking to Madeleine Street. is this the title track from the album that is months too late for our salvation from capitalism. Have you heard that new Moto Boy song about his bed having a memory, it's devastating. The indiepop slayers. There are photos of the Pocketbooks on the indie-mp3 site. I've not heard the Pocketbooks but they look odious. All indiepop bands have dreadful band photos these days. The pseudoserious glances, the faux beards, the thrift shop clothes and the 300 dollar shoes as they prepare to unleash another song about Audrey Hepburn's haircut. I long to download the Smittens album and do rude things to its contents but I am terrified that I might then teeter over the edge. I had a bit of a meltdown at work last weekend. I quit my job. I was coaxed into returning but I am not doing so happily or with my heart in tact, I do not love my job these days. Next song, very sophisticated, there is some Edwin Collins here as well. But his voice has that Rodney Allen hopeful fire of earnestness. Is he young? Rodney is only a few years older than I am. Does he still make Blue Aeroplanes records? There was Careful Boy always along as companion on my ride to university. The mornings when I would sit on the quiet street in my auto with the engine running with the Blue Aeroplanes on the stereo and my notebook in my hands searching for a future among the notes taken with the relativistic effects of the age, the increasingly foreshortened distance between my silly conundrums of indecision and my future. My future arrived unwrapped flickering and uneventful. I can't see any further into the future than the end of this pop song now. Perhaps I can reach back to the past and rewrite it. I don't know. Cocoanut Groove have made this a partially marvelous week though, even as we head into Depression. I walk in the evenings, long walks into the darkness. On the Cherry Creek trail when I stare into the west I search the horizon with my cataract imparied visions and see visions of leopards and canines and large rodents bearing towards me from the mountain side in a pant inducing race for the center of my existence. I close my eyes there are visions of fairy lights and actors with impeccable hairdos not feeling disappointed by their own mediocrity. Every decade has a poster boy for mediocrity George Segal, Tom Berenger, Edward Burns, Mark Ruffalo. At least Geaorge Segal had opportnity to kiss Senta Berger. I would die for a kiss from Senta Berger. Midsummer Dreaming nearly over. There is some Riachrd Davies in this as well. But its the youth that serves Cocoanut Groove so terrifically. It's youth that revives the clever boys from their cocoon of erudition and inhumanity. Richard Davies, attorney at law, silenced. We miss your black heart. Lovely trumpets, these guitars were lifted from the last Clientele album. Right? Will they call Richard Davies, attorney at law, to begin litigation? His voice, softer, more naturally acclimated to the pop surroundings. Has he a desirable young violinist in the ranks as well? Unknown. I search for the album as I pine for the winter to chill the movements of the day, grind the machinery to a halt with the viscosity of bleakness. Swedish pop stars sem so accustomed to expressing themselves in English, is it because they can intuit moments in English rather than in their native tongue? I know no such ability. But has an American or Brit ever successfully translated their heart's contents into Swish? Unlikely. We're such bastards, native english speakers, that is. The economist, shortly before endorsing Joebama, is lamenting the death of languages that no one speaks and lamenting the placement of the environment aside while we attemt to avert global financial calamity. A neighbour has purchased a smart car, it looks preposterous. Gasoline prices are in the midst of a severe plummeting, all she would be left with then is a definitive smugness about reducing her emissions in an attempt to save her more gluttonous counterparts in this heartless society if only the earth had warmed since 1998 and if only there hadn't been as much cooling in the past 12 months as there was warming for the previous 2 decades. Thank goodness for Lehman Brothers then. There is a Russell Yates insouciance to his manner, the tender words, the gentle hum of his tones, it's a delightful afternoon drama in technicolour. I have updated to Leopard. I was forced to since my old OS X decided to stop working. Planned Obsolescence? Best Buy was out of Leopard. I was forced into an Apple store. I loathe the Apple store. I know someone whose boyfriend works at the Apple store but it is so pretentious it makes my skin crawl, just imagine my horror of life mimicking the ambience of an Apple store. Joebama!