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Thursday, December 9, 2010

Retroactive Rebuttal: Loney, dear. — Loney, Noir.

You know how sometimes you look back on an older review and think, "That sh*t still hurts." And three years later you still want to say something about it? Boom, the Retroactive Rebuttal category is born thusly.

I don't know what inspired me to buy Loney, Noir in the first place (besides all the most benevolent and beautiful forces of the universe), since the review was mostly composed of hilarious little jokes by one of Pitchfork's cleverer writers, peppered with a few backhanded compliments and punctuated by a big stinky 6.6 rating. The "review" ended with this gem: "After all, even the comfiest blanket chafes if someone's giving you an Indian burn with it." (As opposed to the ending I had hoped for, in which the reviewer gets his fixed gear bike shoved up his ass wheel-first.)

Loney, Noir is lots of fun. But not just the kind of fun that you smile and bob your head to as it jangles along, glockenspiels a-ringing. It's the kind of fun that makes you smile, fills you with hope and makes you wonder if you might start crying at any moment. It's simply gorgeous. Heartbreakingly so. I still get lumps in my throat sometimes when I listen to it. Loney, Noir just slays me.

I might be crazy, but there are some records that I am very, very careful how much I listen. Because I don't want them to lose their specialness. Loney, Noir is one of those. But sitting here listening to it again as I write this (and am gleefully distracted from writing this), I can tell you that it's still magic for me. And unless you're made of wood or something, I imagine it will be for you too.

Loney, dear. — I Am John
Loney, dear. — Hard Days 1.2.3.4

And now that I'm posting this, I'm remembering what made me buy the record. It was this video:



And this one (it's a two-video post!):



BUY IT:

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