THE ESKIMOS

I went to one of my favorite shops the other day. Great vintage stuff. There was a kick-ass dress there. It looked really cute on the hanger; I stared at it anticipating just which social functions I would wear it to. The fabric was striking-- white with yellow and green illustrated chickens all over it. Reminiscent of the buckets of roasted chicken from the grocery store back home that we\'d devour when I was a kid. It had a huge, butterfly collar that made a striking dip into a low \"v\" neckline, and fat buttons that bling-blinged up at me from the sleeves.
I slipped it over my head, and was soon disappointed as there was a small rip in one of the sleeves. Rats. I took a look in the mirror. I scowled. It wasn\'t meant to be for this dress and I. The social calendar was cleared. The dress went back on the rack.
Why am I telling you this? Well, because it\'s the best way I can relate to you my listening of The Eskimos sophomore album, Something Must Be Transmitted Somewhere. It had some interesting details to it, but overall, it just didn\'t work for me. The jam-band flavored CD reminded me of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at times, as singer Drew Sinclair\'s voice gets a tad theatrical for the southern sound backing him. I did think the Air-like introductory track, \"Something Out Of Nothing\" transitioned well into \"Elliot\", a rather enjoyable tune. But it wasn\'t until the drunken dirge of \"Roaming Demon\" that I picked up any interest again. Well, other than the cowbell at the beginning of \"The Pills\", ‘cuz I gotta have more cowbell.
Sigh. Maybe next time.
VISIT THE ESKIMOS HERE.