“Skit I Allt is about a certain feeling: you’re with your friends and mates, all hanging out till 6 in the morning. You’re the last one left at the party and you call this person that you want to be with. They’re asleep, but they still say, ‘Ah, fuck it, come over.’ It’s that feeling.”
via Mexican Summer
Picture yourself waking up late on a Sunday morning. Your apartment is cramped, but your bedroom is sunny, especially today. The bustling cymbal work of "Vara Snabb" accompanies your fluttering eyes as you wipe the crust away. As Louis CK would say, you're slowly rebooting the computer. The calm flute quickly transforms into a rumble of guitar, bass and toms as you try to process the night before. All abruptly stops when you realize, "Why remember? Look forward. It's a nice day."
Picture yourself in that suburban summer of '76. A teenager, a hi-fi in the basement living room and a stack of LPs. Cue "Högdalstoppen" as you make your daily trek down those steps. The drums break in at double-time, but the guitar moves to your slow motion scan of the familiar pastels and browns, velour and shag. The bass is working the upper register as you settle into the couch. That couch! So soft it swallows you whole. Facing a television that you have yet to outgrow. The guitar skronk is getting more complicated. Why is your hair so straight? Why are your corduroy bellbottoms so straight? Why are the stripes on your bodytight top so straight? Bass, drums and delayed organ loops -- what is that smell? Is that the room? Is that the factory-fresh LP sleeve? Is that the slightly sweat-stained canister headphones now pressed snugly against your ears? Is that fresh sweat slowly dripping down your pits as you air drum furiously to this increasingly godhead solo? Is that you?
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