Posts Tagged ‘Padang Food Tigers’

Andrew Tuttle with Padang Food Tigers – “Three Thousand, Four Hundred and Fifty-Six”

Both artists in this pairing have crossed the RSTB path at one time or another, and as they joke, the ambient banjo channel is pretty narrow so it was only inevitable that they one day collaborate. The collaboration happened miles apart with Tuttle in Australia and Padang Food Tigers in the UK, both with suddenly clear schedules mid-lockdown. Sending tracks to one another over a period of time that, incidentally adds up to the title of “Three Thousand, Four Hundred and Fifty-Six” (hours that would be) the resulting album is a glorious wash in the froth. Quivering synths bloom underneath the patient pick of banjo, rising like the sun through mists in hues of pale pink that softens to a resplendent golden dawn. The album, A Cassowary Apart is the fifth album in Bedroom Suck’s Private Eyes Series, which has focused on meditative music with entries from Monica Brooks, Matthew Hayes & Charlie Perry, Low Flung, and Blue Divers. The record arrives February 12th, just in time to soundtrack the frigid expanse of mid-winter’s reach.



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Padang Food Tigers

Its been a few long years since London duo Padang Food Tigers’ last outing, the sorely underrated album Bumblin’ Creed on Northern Spy in 2016, but they’re wafting back into view with a new record for Texan enclave Blue Hole Recordings. As ever, the works of PFT are hushed and delicate, built on their patient acoustic assemblages and the soft lap of field recordings nipping at the elbows of each track. Spencer Grady and Stephen Lewis are steeped in the traditions of Takoma, while showing equal reverence for the Jewelled Antler Collective’s crumbling vision of four track folk. The songs ache with life, cracking awake, wincing and weaving through the background buzz of life until the gorgeous moments peek through. For the rushed and ragged, these moments are likely lost. No time to wait through full minutes of hiss and hum, the harried listener would miss out on the slow opening of Padang’s songs. They lie in wait, as if so connected to the fragility of nature that they show themselves only to the gentle warming of the sun’s rays.

The band blends the wisdom of predecessors like Scott Tuma, Steven R. Smith, Kemialliset Ystävät, and the Blithe Sons into a record that’s spun like silk. It feels like even the gentlest nudge might upset these songs but breathing in the the rarified air around them bolsters the spirit and reaffirms the rightness of life. Each of the duo’s songs works like a vignette of bittersweet simplicity brought to sparkling life—like the whole-hearted whims of children presented in innocence but laid heavy with the promise of age, angst, and the alchemical loss of that whimsy. There’s sadness here, but also joy and in many moments they’re one and the same. Much of the befuddlingly titled Wake Up, Mr. Pancake feels like smiling and crying all at once—a heart breaking and mending on an endless loop, but the pair pull it off like the most accomplished aural artists. They paint delicate strokes on a complimentary field, but finding joy among the ridges and textures is endlessly engrossing. The album was worth the wait, but don’t let it slip by. This one won’t kick up a lot of dust, but once found it doesn’t let go.




Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

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