Is it a bird? Is it a plane? An cadaver crashing into the sea? Frankly, I have no idea what this cover art is and am getting lost in it Magic Eye-style, but that matters about ten thousand times less than the four gumdrops of perfection that are on Pacific Air's new record.
Long Live Koko — a big ups to their former trademark nightmare of a name, Ko Ko — is the only thing I have been listening to, am listening to, and will continue to listen to for the next weeks and months on end. I can honestly say more time has been spent in my casa listening to "Roses" and boogying like Elaine Benes by-way-of-Brooklyn than eating food products. And, for anyone who has been on this blog for more than seven seconds knows: that's a big deal, and about fourteen thousand flatbread pizzas worth of time.
Speaking of chow, the brotherly duo comprising the band talk about overeating in every single interview they did, which either means they're hungry (get these homies a cheeseburger!) or we're kindrid spirits. I'd be lying if I said I haven't decided how I felt about people based simply on their cheese preference, and for these Californian brosefs to have spot on knowledge of New York's authentic Spanish delis and my favorite Haloumi-serving spot of all makes them top-notch in my book of life.
You know how at dad shows (i.e. guitars featured prominently, everyone knows who Susan Tedeschi is, Clapton is somehow involved) everyone's all "Oooh, check out that stanky bass!" and rocking out as though they're not, like, dads? That's how I feel about this entire EP. So, may I suggest you stop reading through my sleepy, Birchbox bonus black tea-powered words, and just mosey on over to MTV Hive to get your PacAir fill. Everyone I love has been a part of this project, which means now we all can be, too.