“Inevitably, at some point in late summer, the landscape becomes vaguely obscene: August air gets thick and throbbing, heavy with a richness that's almost menacing. The sun hovers, uncomfortably plump. Lawn crickets yawn and twitter in double speed, their collective whispers slowly spinning into a single, disembodied howl. Everything else turns way too green.
Listening to Califone's sweaty, blues-”
