He Poos Clouds - Final Fantasy

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I hereby announce He Poos Clouds the greatest ever album (with a name that bad at least). Presumably out of jest, it’s meant to denote that their ‘shit don’t stink’, so to speak. In one fell swoop, Final Fantasy (or Owen Pallett – a former strings arranger for Arcade Fire amongst other accolades), has restored my waning, largely non-existent, faith in pop music. Did I say it’s a great album?

How infrequently I fee the need to play albums over and over, but how equally infrequently fantastic melodies are sung with such a sweet voice, such variety of instrumentation, and such tight, tight, track selection. There’s no room for weakness, as Pallett’s second full length album walks the line between happy go lucky hippy ramblings, through to emotive and seductive songs to die for. It’s all the most singable shit you could ever ask for, topped off with great lyrics. Ranging from downright silliness on ‘This Lamb Sells Condos’ (“No hope for the village, no hope for the village”), to tales of people-watching on the amusing opener ‘The Artic Circle’ (“She drives a little white car to the semi-in-ar, on Mod-ern Rom-ance”, umm, what the fuck?), with glorious strings behind his soaring voice.

Strings, harpsichord, pianos, tympanis and all sorts provide the canvas, Pallett’s voice provide the masterstrokes. A very, very, good album.


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