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The Torch
Marauder: Boxers, Painters, & Snappers
Man, talk about catching you at the beginning of the album. We got some pop stuff, subtle and catchy, and then we got some sudden bursts of noise. Wait! Hello?! Is that a bit of the free jazz saxophone? And yes, its just the first track, complete with woohoos and screaming. And then please, yes, keep my attention with some catchy, rolly, punchy guitar pieces. This is another one of those albums that, every once in a while, comes across your reviewing desk and completely catches you off guard. You give it the first listen with your roommates and you throw it in the okay, but Ill wait until the last minute to listen to it and review it pile. Then you come home a little over the weather after a weird show, throw it in your CD player downstairs and you accidentally start cranking it and rocking out to it instead of writing about it like you are supposed to be doing. Oops, then your review becomes late for your poor editor. Bad thing for the editor, but I guess theres a compliment in there for the band, or the Torch Marauder himself, because he pretty much seems to be the only half-crazed member. Alright, so the Partridge Family has thrown their sweet, innocent mom from their moving van after deciding she never really did fit in; then its off to the closest, darkest alley where the sketchiest cats hang and the best pills can be bought. David Cassidy spins into a world of laughter and insanity; kicking everyone else out of the van; putting down red shag carpeting, lava lamps and a disco ball; stops shaving and cutting his hair and ordains himself the Torch Marauder. Frying his brain on acid and sedatives, he decides he can still make the music just as poppy and happy, but as crazy as the best of the psychedelic family down the street, The Heads, who still have their mom in the band. He sits down at his little four-track powered by the vans cigarette lighter and starts recording beautiful messes of music in between moments of staring at the melting roof of the van or simply just passing out. Somehow he fits keyboards, organs, guitars, amps, crunchy pedals, drum kits, saxophones, French horns, clapping hands, violins and a few friends into this little Econoline tripped out van. Oh, wonderful craziness, how Ive missed you. This is where the Torch Marauder is coming from. I really cant think of anything to compare his music to, which is great; its very unique. Hes got his own little brand of brilliant, moving, train-of-thought music. This guy is having fun and hes got me having fun with him, he really draws you into his music, lightens you up a bit, convinces you to come out and play.
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