Mel Howard | February, 24 2016
Sooo my amazingly talented friend Terry moonlights as a great many things. But one of my favourite projects of his is the maximalist musical stylings of Coach Bombay. His music brings joy to joyful. Really. Try to be sad while listening to it. I dare ya.
He has a new EP launching song by song over the coming weeks on Soundcloud. Get around it.
The following was a response to a very important* sense check* during the final stages of editing.
*By very important I mean not at all and *by sense check I mean I listened to it.
This afternoon, as I finished my as-stressful-as-Byron-can-be working day, I found myself wandering the streets with a punnet of reduced blueberries that were still plump, cold and slightly sour (winning) and my ears buds in my ears, because that’s where they belong.
I was unimpressively clammy and a little sleep deprived when the Orinoco Flow beat made me detour back to the beach. I sat nibbling my berries and imagined wearing a pineapple headdress and balloon print off-the-shoulder flare skirt two-piece ensemble a la Tina Sparkle and neck danced under a shady tree. I’d love to hear a James Blake-esque take on the ‘turn it up’ slow it down bit (like I said, I know nothing about musical lingo). That bit could definitely be bassier in its next life. But to be clear, I very much liked all the bits.
I let my heart sail off and closed my eyes. All That She Wants had me at the whisper intro.
Also, before that, at Hugh Gurney. Annnndd it made me want to quit my life and make a career in full-time beaching, then I remembered I now live in Byron. I simply opened my eyes and continued to pondered whether in fact she wants an actual infant child or just a beach beau. Jury’s still out.
Then the sexiness started. I had to put my blueberries politely to the side because the bass I wanted in Orinoco was suddenly there, drawing my attention to the lusty fruit exploding over my lips and in my mouth. Still embracing the calypso theme The Rhythm of the Night had me yearning for a calippo to suck on.
I’m a genuine All Saints fan. Like, used to only-wear-spaghetti-strapped-midriff-halter-tops-and-nothing-else kinda fan. With pants though, obviously. By this point I’d started to walk home and when the first line of Pure Shores kicked in I stopped in my tracks and cracked a gigantic smile. Really. I hear what you hear mate and it’s bloody beautiful.
Wishing that I will one day be a doo-wop girl.