Say what you will, but we here at MoJaMa spot some trends. A few weeks ago we crowded into some basement in Bushwick to watch a girl with a pixie haircut play acoustic guitar and croon aimlessly over it. Then a chick brought out her harmonium and growled some. Buddy next to me had just come in second to an R&B chick who belted some generic tune about love at a church coffeehouse and summed up the artiface of this whole indie music thing pretty well. “You learn three chords on a crazy instrument and you just yell over it,” he said. Yeah, sounds pretty right on. The music never matters. All that matters is how many bloggers hop on your bandwagon and declare you the next big thing.
So now it’s our turn. As I sat there watching these cats perform unplugged in this basement bar with carpet and mounted deer domes, it became pretty clear that the next big thing is just a dude plugging in his Tex Mex sunburned strat into a 16 watt Peavy and yelling nonsense. Not like Jeff Buckley. As me and Sadman know from a set we attended at the Living Room a few months ago, you can’t have Jeff Buckley as an influence without sounding like you have Jeff Buckley as an influence. I’m talking about skinny weirdos with a single guitar crooning in a way that’s so perposterous that you have no other choice but to wonder if he’s serious. He is, and so are we when we say shit’s gonna be big. Take what we say, add six months, and it’s like you’re talking to yourself in the future. Which is why when we say buy Adam Duritz boots right now, you should listen.