Islands
Deceivingly incredible
I will never forget the day I tasted straight carrot juice.
I had mercilessly egged my mother to buy some as a child. I guess part of the infatuation I had with it was related to Bugs Bunny occasionally ordering up a glass of it, looking sumptuous and refreshing, complete with veiled alcoholic reference (”A straight shot of carrot juice, over the rocks”). And whenever I’d go grocery shopping with mom, I’d spot it in the aisle and be entranced by its bright, vivid orange colour.
My mother would simply respond to my nagging with a soft maternal “You mostly use carrot juice for cooking, not drinking.”
But she eventually caved in, and one day returned from the market with a bottle of the dazzling stuff. I enthusiastically poured myself a brim-filled glass and proceeded to take two large, vigorous gulps of the stuff. When my tastebuds kicked in, about a fraction of a second after my second swallow poured down my oesophagus, what was left in my mouth was an unpleasant, bitter pastyness which still pangs to this day. Eyes wide and nose forcefully wrinkled, I grabbed a new glass and filled it with Kool-Aid, hoping it would wash away that unpleasant, unexpected taste.
But just because something doesn’t end up being what it seems doesn’t mean it’s a surefire ticket to disappointment. Let me give you an example, courtesy of Montreal-based Islands. It’s with a decidedly dancefloor-craving drum beat that their song Creeper pulses off, complete with super hooky winding guitar which carries us into the poweriest of power-pop territory from the start. But just as you’re getting the feel for the song, just as you’re shaking yourself giddily in best slave-to-the-sound fashion, Nick Thorburn’s vocals slide in to endow the song with that trademark Islands eccentricity. But there’s something unusual to it. “Right from the start/I was stabbed in the heart,” sings Thorburn in sentiments most literal. No metaphor for dispossessed love here, murder most foul has occurred in this peppy number, and the victim confusingly attempts to piece the whole thing together. That’s when it dawns on you; that’s when you realise why the guitar felt insidiously aggressive, why the beat had a chill about it, why the discreet backing vocals were unnervingly haunting; it all comes full circle in your mind, and next thing you know, you’re looking over your shoulder as you dance. It’s incredibly thrilling, though.
MP3: Islands - Creeper
www.islandsareforever.com
myspace.com/islandsareforever
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