Slippy – ‘my heart is in the little trees of the hudson river valley’
A cherished collaborator once told me, upon my gentle interrogation of how external descriptions of their music being “lo-fi” resonated with them, an extremely beautiful and most aptly eloquent metaphor for their conceptualization of this aesthetically capitalized yet viscerally rooted phenomenon.
“You know when a punk singer who’s really feelin’ it throws so much emotion at the mike such that the sound system quite literally can’t take it?” they prompted. “That’s what lo-fi is to me—an overflowing outpour of emotion that can’t be reckoned with by meager [digital and/or analog man-made yet squarely mechanical] audio equipment.”
Slippy’s brisk new fall release, ‘my heart is in the little trees of the hudson river valley’ resonates ever so strongly (its centerpieced room noise fuzzily applauding in agreement) with this sentiment.
In mhiitltothrv, Slippy’s fingers strain against the paralyzing agonists of surpassed serotonin spikes, each string-pluck its own battle within the ongoing tug-of-war between the talcum of human emotion (organically scented yet extremely commercially viable) and the mediocrely-gustatedly rated yet ever-soothing booze of woke disillusionment. Stretching against the tinny confines of my princess’s pea laptop speakers, Slippy’s vocals press triple-fold on their SM57 grill, squeezing ASMR-like anti-Christ sadness into secondhand fog of forgotten glee.