We climbed to the top of Los Angeles yesterday. It almost cost us our lives. In an unrelated story, we didn't see any celebrities. The climb was brutal at times, in part owing to our off-the-map route but, as always, no regrets. But standing on top of the city - a place we have (I'll paraphrase) come to know - was nothing short of powerful. The scope is shocking. This place is enormous.
Today, we head east to tackle Joshua Tree. We're going to avoid any cheap U2 comments. But as we burn into the high desert and assault natural beauty with our natural disaster, we'll need a good soundtrack. The Blakes are from the northwest, but sound like unrelenting sunshine shot through a twitchy guitar with a recreational opiate habit. Like a post-Dandy Warhols with guts, they don't reveal themselves until the post-chorus when an insistent guitar back-beat becomes the moment of their single, "Basket." Otherwise, they sound like pavement consumed and dry heat with a blue canopy of no relief. Highs of 105? Like a lot of things, it's a dry heat.
Listen :: The Blakes - "Basket"
