And here’s Bare Pale, blindly, lazily feeling their way around, proving that their lethargic grope in the darkness is paying sweet dividends.
What I love most about Bare Pale (the song) is the moment 10 seconds in: when the dragged-through-a-hedge, worn-to-a-nubbin, beyond-fuzzy drums lollop into the mix, a quarter of a beat out but catching up fast; a perfect introduction to Bare Pale (the band’s) methodology and reasoning.
Why re-record or re-edit the take to make it work perfectly? Why not make it sounds as it is – human, erring, confused?
There is a focus in Bare Pale’s songs, but you’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise. They’re a band working on feeling not calculation, the gut not the head; and the result is a morass of mollasses-sticky, fluffily-padded pop-mess.
Bare Pale oozes charm, self-inflicted joy and casual cleverness. Maybe they don’t even know. Maybe they don’t even care. Great.