Girl with Basket of Fruit
“…now my heart is as green as weeds, grown to outlive their season.”
– Neko Case
What now: A despondent juvenile mindset-friendly space for well-curated wor(l)d gurglin’ self-indulgence. You’re the girl. You’re the basket. You’re sentience. Well on your well aware way. You’re a well. Depths or depressions, time’s deciding. Your adventure here isn’t yours for choosing, only freedom from it. A litany stumbling out to breakfast. A speed bag motorboat, buff and rebuff, snapping back at a blurry blinding rate. Beared-up slashing gusts, collecting welts in the hail. Staining remembrance with smeary adolescent poetics (see: J.S.-cited item of inspiration, Get In The Van), shy, defeatist gesticulation on public transportation to whoever’s not looking, confidence de-mythologizing itself for a cheap edge, red eyes and hunched over, hermetic, water resisting. Won’t… make… even a… little… splash… But still soaking you to the bone — silent, silty, and inscrutably gradual.
What? Hey, no dodgy proposition review of a dodgy proposition album here — namely when the proposition’s very dodginess is likely, in part, what you were hoping for. Xiu Xiu’s eleventh is not only a masterful work of art on its own, but a fine reward for those who’ve been keeping up with this maniacal confection since 2002. Jamie Stewart and his collaborators have been steadily prolific since then, and the breadth of vision and expert honing of their signature noise-pop blend have stayed remarkably consistent. Be it from Xiu Xiu or a side project, one is usually hasty to call