1. X is the core rotational structure of a thunderstorm, which can produce a tornado.
This was not my interpretation of a commentary on age, X turned: hair flying, throat open, poorly secured be damned. X’s cyclone is best– except youth, aging, Marriage, Death. Stuff you run over. Nature and violence: the sky drops marbles on X’s characters. Painted with all types of trouble: one, a “Man Eater”, eats a heart of a shark like a cheap cigarette. It breaks apart the world with the same feel as albums that emerged from the eighties nest of punk, steeped in older self-indulgences held in check by a quick pulse.
2. Wide-open spaces and narrow hopes come from any of the many stages of X’s life. X spent youth leaving home, playing punk– Defunct animal, not all that metaphorical, apparently, if you cant tell how far X is throwing his voice as a writer (cue vengeance): “I’m not the man you think I am.” X was like a bunch of kids trying to reproduce magic. X describes himself as “breathing through a fire-hose”, and never really listened to my voice– Gone, a quality instrument that’s good and fucking loud.
3. Without X, Boyfriends would have been fairly unremarkable.
4. It is ironic that X, of all people, would be so fond of an effect whose metallic curve can sometimes obscure. X’s tone has the bruised glint of the well handled, his pitch merciless. When the throttle is open, he is more than mere. X is an event, a force that sets off things around it. X has worked with the energetic knack for twisting melodies which recall squeezes.
5. Destroyer, the laws have changed.
6. X’s family (ancient rulers) does not peak fully until X enters, singing, in chorus with his own voice. You can’t help cheering along.
7. As the new grew, so did X: With the boyfriend-less record of a blacklisted best middle ground, the attraction to mid-century music goes a-waltzing makes sense.
Like Nashville ballads, X’s long, luxiourious phrases suit people precisely as coping little mountain goats, just hopping up the cliffs.
8. X’s tigers have spoken: The traditional rated X, obscure nervous eaters, and time signatures he leans upon heavily. Longer, stranger, and the themes more X’s own, but only in a dream. The release that brings the flood is, in some ways: X.
9. Dialed back, X’ s words are like passages from novels, and like country lyrics.
It does not hurt that X’s mood is intense but cool: Stately, bravery mistaken for thrashing in the lake. Savvy about bizarre transitions, or how to shift from one time to another.
10. X, this tornado loves you. Moving steadily forward quickly echoing a quieter figure. Blending and building steadily, something that has to happen soon. Wilder and heavier, a captured assassin, or maybe unimpressed, you wont remember me.
11. X fuses personal and natural. My love, I am left dangling inside out, it is never enough: I want you
12. X, I love your long shadows. Switching among the human, animal and physical worlds, it seems fair to remain, even when the light moves.