A band that blew me away when I listened for the second time, only because the first time I was distraught. She, Sir‘s music seems to rise from subterranean aquatic myths and turn into a heavy haven of smoke.
The music really seems to float above and around you while you lend your ears to it. It’s the kind of sound that simply clicks without delay, disheveled over-exposed guitars and droning drums with just the right amount of pastel-toned angst. My Bloody Valentine meets a less distorted version of The Jesus and Mary Chain, Darklands-era. And less dreary and suicidal. With one ear and chord twisted around a despondent tome (there’s an underlying layer of sad), and another few ears scratching at the gates of major keys and happiness. She, Sir are from Austin, Texas, but this reflects landscapes of black-sanded beaches of Iceland.
It makes me think of so many things, like all good music. It brings back memories I didn’t know I had, awkward feelings I didn’t know I was supposed to have. What they inspire to me is a state of a priori. As in preemptive. Music you knew should be, even though you hadn’t heard it before. Like Plato’s world of immuable ideas. Where what we associate with things are ideas in fact – the idea of a chair for instance, is eternal (ok, bad example). She, Sir engraved the idea of happy, sad, snow globes, rainy windows, children running on a deserted beach, smoke and tunnels, a collage of slow motion that comes to full effect when the songs are done and you want to hear them all over again. I’ve come to long for their music when it’s not there. But I hit play again when I’m sure I can take it all in. I am in awe.
Think of that state of elevated drowsiness right before you go to sleep, when music comes to you, but then you forget about it the next day. She, Sir nailed that. Instant classic that will drive me merrily insane.
As such, I strongly recommend a purchase (their self released LP)