Searching Past Buckets: ok vancouver ok

Constantly picking the teeth of innovative music, artistry and outputs, blogging, listening and reviewing the progression from track 2, through track 3 and track 4 of an EP called Houses, released in February 2011 by a 3-piece band from Vancouver.

Life is a, Life is a – according to Ok Vancouver Ok – beach, life is a beach

By the sea, sure,  by the sea. By the seashore, I’m happy.

Things waver in this folky song. Progressive, psychemotional, surging ends, beginning the guitar strings that surge underneath like the hitch in God’s long distant cliff’s grass-banked cords. Deep and water-filled footprints, made by my 5 year old’s expedition, her neglected buckets and kites, the thin plastic formative handles, clenched and swung, held onto for dear life. Opt in, yep, apt: the form of expression casts and creates a host of human waves tied/tide to the many high-low moments that help sure us up.

Help us be sure and exclaim – Ok Vancouver Ok, the conductors – The Universe is Fucking Real

I can’t help but feel, four new children.

Things fit with laughter through these indie speakers. Delivered bluntly and with open mouths and gloopy wit over a meticulous pointy layer of brainy beeps – the inverse of a broken shell discovered and extracted from a bucket full of slopping dark brown sand, the son’s dry mouth, open wide. Swearing on our lives, something real, not really myth, the faraway castles printed on the neglected b-side of every one’s mind. Worth the fleeting interaction; something worth time spent.

Breakdown, break down, breakdown, breakdown, breakdown – again Ok Vancouver Ok, breakdown

But just ours before that, you see me smiling

On the promenade, there’s a choice between candy and rock. In the sea, there’s a choice between Eastward and Westward. Near the town centre, there are wards filling up with a dreadful cough and wrecked memory vessels. The short termers survey, the offspring run around in opposition, excitedly, in a dance of activity. The song sympathises, oscillates upon an emergent nose of Autumn sea air, still wound up from a few tracks before. The sun sets at some point, as foretold, the drum loop continues rooflessly, a trance in the exposed . The sun completely breaks down, the clouded view and the seasick starless night.

The chronology I just discovered and extracted from an archive, sea shelf, is something to listen yourself. This band, with much music since and with all network options self-evident, might capture the waves of your imagination like mine.


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