No more prairies. No more Wild West. No more "last frontier." Just pavement and steel, modernity, skyscrapers, cars and trucks hurrying themselves to nowhere, white painted stripes flashing by like stars at warp speed, each one a brief memory of the road behind, and a gentle reminder of the long road ahead. To nowhere. And the sun, creeping slowly behind the ocean in the distance, casting blood-orange ripples across the waves, the wind in our hair, our eyes softly watering, our lips parched. A glove compartment full of weed, a 20 dollar bill in your front pocket, waist-long blonde locks of your girlfriend's hair flapping in the breeze. Nature, culture, and industry swept up in distorted cacophony, and us, human-kind, hidden in the static, one hand on the wheel, the other ashing a cigarette out the window, in love, watching day turn to night, the street lamps flicker to life, on our way to nowhere.
Vehicle Blues sputters pollution and gleams bleeding passion. It's filthy and pristine, a red hot convertible spewing plumes of smog. The sweetly innocent, melancholic melodies of a Freshman year in high school; the natural exhaustion of a 65 year old who's been smoking a pack of cigarettes every day since. Swirling, bending guitars grappling for position, melodies swallowed whole, digested by the mix and sweated out in a viscous vapor only to be inhaled again. Vehicle Blues breathes—chords exhale, mixing with the air, molding into one another in a wash of color only to be consumed again in steady heaves. A remarkably full sound welled up with gorgeous, thick guitar tones and gritty, trotting drum beats, while also remarkably hollow. Apathy incarnate, not a care in the world, empty heads and slowly beating hearts. The more things change as life whizzes by, the more it'll stay the same. Vehicle Blues are on their way to no place at all, just like the rest of us. A conveyor belt band making music on a treadmill called the world.
Crawf
Vehicle Blues Official MySpace
Audio stream of "Winter Lamborghini" from Changer ::