I Was a Skim Milk Kid - Teen heartthrobs don't listen to lofi

Welcome to the fuzzy, lo-fi indie sound of I Was a Skim Milk Kid, the heart-rending tune you thought up once in a dream but forgot immediately as you woke up, left with nothing but a new hole in your heart. Yeah, we found it, in Connecticut no less, and its here with five minutes and forty-eight seconds of the memory you lost in the dissonant void where all of your best dreamland discoveries go, the elusive bastards. I know, you want to thank us, but that can wait. First, your memories.
Teenheart throbs don’t listen to lo-fi: the title of the haunting EP, and not so coincidentally, the first song we have graced you to remember. It starts us out with a calm acoustic intro and a few strange and half-human barking sounds, and immediately springs us into the poppy and super lo-fi singing that walks beside, or maybe more accurately behind, us during this unfortunately but necessarily short EP. I say necessarily because I wouldn't have it any other way, and definitely think they’d be bat-shit crazy to change it, but damn I want more. They remind me of a younger Deerhunter, with a little more energy and obviously lower fidelity; or maybe a poppier Horrible Present. I love it.

With no further ado, the second song you forgot you were in love with is even stranger, thank the ancient lo-fi gods, adding weird bass melodies and a simple percussion track, and ending suddenly. I’m a sucker for sudden cut-offs. A real sucker, it gets the black butterflies of suspense all jittery and happy. They need that; it gets dark and lonely in my stomach. There’s not much to do in there. Anyways, fizzickslaws is a solid track sits in your chest long after you’ve heard it, waiting for some kind of resolution you know will never come. Its fantastic, you can’t help but love the feeling, an addiction you keep coming back to.

In the last track you remember to kick the distortion pedal, change up the percussion a bit and voila, it’s a damn good time. All your best dreamland animal friends are drinking wine around the campfire, a couple of jackals freaking it by the old oak log, sending you a high flying thumbs up for a sweet jam. It keeps you on the edge of your seat, right where you should be when the EP ends suddenly, just like in fizzickslaws: not quite on the cushion, not quite falling off of it. Right in the awful place halfway between sleep and awake, a lot like that feeling of dread right as you start to fall. Cherish it, its not easy to hold on to.

Right, now you can thank us. You’re welcome. Eat up, kids. http://iwasaskimmilkkid.bandcamp.com/.