You move across the room, floorboards creaking.
You become acutely aware of the space that surrounds; hallways, stairwells, a dimly lit kitchen, a sketchy balcony that could collapse at any moment, but never does. There’s a train platform in the near distance, you feel safe within the ageing abode you occupy, the carpet is worn and the fridge hums, all things remain inconsequential to you with 'Doghouse' blaring.
‘K.O’ rips the door open, almost tearing the hinges clean off. With raw, raucous guitars reverberating off the refrigerator. The bass line hums like the air con generator that’s hidden in the corner of the balcony. The drum machine sounds as ancient as the cracks in the walls, paint splintered from years of being lived in.
The record passes through space like your friends that come and go, one moment they are present in your apartment, the next they vanish, waiting and wanting to return at a later time.
‘Sry’ starts with that old trusty drum machine, with a muddy, metallic addition to the snare. It takes you back to simpler times, when rent wasn’t ridiculous and the city was liveable, back to the days of Newtown Social Club, simpler times.
‘Uncl Grl The Reprise’ distorts in cacophony, blurring the lines of each instrument. The speakers in your apartment can barely stand it, let alone the walls, more dried paint crackles, it splits.
The apartment you reside in has stood the test of time thus far. Much like the record ‘Doghouse’ it is free standing and worn in. Giving the facade of being new, but feeling lived in and timeless.
Words by Tommy Boutros