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Ride Hard For Myth

by American Cream Band

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wild.gif 04:33
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Shiny Beach 02:43

about

Colin Johnson - Vocals, Bass & Guitar
Joe Berns - Saxophone
Adam Patterson - Drums
Nathan Nelson - Farfisa

Flexing its inexorable huh, The American Cream Band's new album RIDE HARD FOR MYTH taunts the overly muscular syntax of trad-rock chronologies. Here, the past is a mirror poked with an index finger: the glass dimples, warps your shitty visage, but refuses to budge much beyond this. Equally vexing is the record's blasé refusal of contemporary predictions about post-apocalyptic music: instruments were plugged into walls; computers used that both did and did not fit conveniently on one's lap. The record is pure surface folding helplessly inward, and with serious regret — just like anxiously fingering the receipt for a lunch you can't afford, bought for the boss you really want to impress.

Good news: every boss will be dead someday, but RIDE HARD FOR MYTH was never really alive. If the inflatable coffin has room for only one vampire, who gets it — Dracula or Bryan Ferry? Certainly the latter. He and his old band's bat drone around the record's claustrophobic arrangements like an Aus-Rotten ass-flap. Does this make it crust-glam, posthumous punk, or post-pomp? Doesn't matter. These options are just The American Cream Band's way of asking how best to get inside the unutterable space beneath whatever it is currently sprouting out of the Now™.

Entangled the fecund-rot of the eternally profitable Then™, songs like 'Astral Weakness' and 'wild.gif' sound parodic, titles tonguing the cheek of works that are — depending on whose blog you read — semi-canonical. The hallmark of every failed escape act is an out-of-reach key, and this one’s no exception. Harsh in its gauziness, cottony in its scree, RIDE HARD FOR MYTH isn’t really looking for a way out or a what’s left behind, so much as it’s imagining a what’s underneath.

credits

released February 14, 2015

Recorded at Blue Bell Knoll in Minneapolis by Neil Weir.
Mastered at Abbey Road Studios in London by Alex Wharton.

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American Cream Band Saint Paul, Minnesota

American Cream Band is a love letter to existence posted as the Universe's yelp review. A walk in the garden blanketed in discarded whippet canisters. Melodies act as lonely pieces of plastic scanning the ocean in search of the floating islands where all their friends are at. Eternal trash that longs to be useful again. Dracula's cape is a Dasani label. ... more

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