Album Review, “Club Nocturne” by Yellowjackets
Yellowjackets recommend automats and lots of struggle. Of course, there’s still time to get into music along lines between shades of conduct for jazzing around. Enough makes the case heard, and listened to, on temporary notes which hang in the eternal wind upon us towards serendipity and bullish doubts, as likened on key to pursuit where thoughts matter under scope instead of ignorant rhymes, or fast lullabies, or something excessively sweet. I’m saying this album is more about fashion in disinterest rather than a fool’s wisdom on demanding beauty. Love is poison if we hate it though, so the Yellowjackets have some tinkering to do as far as the eye can see into moral righteousness since obligations aren’t forced in to where vision leaks into power. I’ll say this once- “You must leave power to feeling or there’ll be no feeling on power”. The band isn’t saying that. I am. Eating food often revolves on conduct because privilege can be realized until no further questioning is needed and Yellowjackets appear to purport to declarations on Paris rain and demanding beauty from the nature of poetry on jazzing lines; that is, vision of theirs only melts into power when focus isn’t harnessed by feeling, true colors, visionary pleasure; it’s as if their whole world on the album takes command on roughness rather than pressure for the liking whether it’s under God or anybody else. Perhaps they mean things better than what my judgement gets at, but there’s confusion and sadness in my heart for what their craft plays at in terms of bittersweet romance. Just pain in of itself ought to be part of the rectification process of faith no matter how love fits into the picture. “Club Nocturne” has tired philosophy, world-weary poetry, and self-defeating causes. How can any reference to an automat end on a high note when love isn’t ordered around people who receive each other’s conduct? Besides, junk food includes fault. People can really lose their teeth if we continue to “chew slowly” over the matter. In fact there’s lots to be concerned about: events, problems, issues, episodes, moments, seconds, hours, calendars, and more days on end upon the overreaching heavens across the board of eternity and despair, as oppression can only be known if freedoms are looked on or vision is shaken by bleeding, healing hands among the hilling bends. So, what’s love in their eyes? It’s like they’re mopey, otherwise in questionable condition, where sensation replaces ideology completely and dreams are ignored for immediate effects in their stead.
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