{"id":12075,"date":"2015-09-30T12:55:40","date_gmt":"2015-09-30T16:55:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.audiofemme.com\/?p=12075"},"modified":"2018-08-09T17:12:12","modified_gmt":"2018-08-09T21:12:12","slug":"playing-detroit-jamaican-queens-wormfood","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.audiofemme.com\/playing-detroit-jamaican-queens-wormfood\/","title":{"rendered":"PLAYING DETROIT: Jamaican Queens “Wormfood”"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"a1406902372_10\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I\u2019m in denial and am disruptively nostalgic at 3am on a Tuesday. While I struggle to retire my sundresses to the back of the closet, this seasonal transition has me hungry for that time a few months ago when I had\u00a0tan lines and bite marks and could keep my windows open without complaint. My time machine of choice is Jamaican Queens<\/a>‘ 2013 release, Wormfood<\/i>. I\u2019ve always considered Jamaican Queens as the \u201ccool\u201d band from Detroit (and what makes them cooler is the fact that I think they would hate that I said that). Ryan Spencer, Adam Pressley, and Ryan Clancy are Jamaican Queens: the band you wish you were in.<\/p>\n

Wormfood<\/i> captures, though paradoxically, a recklessly hazy lethargy that is exclusive to summer. There is an element of irresponsibility lyrically and in the squeezed and strained arrangements, like taking someone else’s prescription pills or having indiscreet public sex that makes the listener squirm with reflection. Honest and almost self deprecating, Wormfood<\/i> is pleasantly shameless in its ability to wrestle with love, intimacy, and confessionary party fouls. Reminiscent of MGMT or sometimes Animal Collective, Jamaican Queens take the popular, palatable fuzzy, synth pop\/rock aesthetic and knocks it over in slow motion, leaving a sweetly apologetic yet selfish collection of messy songs\/feelings in its wake. In the opening track\u00a0\u201c<\/i>Water,\u201d Spencer admits: \u201cI don\u2019t want to spend time with her friends\/I don\u2019t wanna do things for her\/I don\u2019t wanna go down on her\/I don\u2019t wanna tell you it\u2019s the end\/ain\u2019t love a trap\/aren\u2019t you a mess\/you wear it well.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

There is something achingly personal about Wormfood<\/i>. It\u2019s that conversation you don\u2019t want to have (but have had). It\u2019s driving drunk, wishing you were straight. There is a hidden sadness that speaks to the strange social pool that Detroit kids find themselves flailing in (and maybe it has nothing to do with geography). It\u2019s like pretending you\u2019re drowning to get\u00a0attention, even though you can stand comfortably flat footed on the lake floor, head above water. Wormfood<\/i> represents a bleeding dichotomy between wanting to change and knowing you can\u2019t (or knowing you can but will wait a few years until you get your shit together).\u00a0Wormfood<\/i> is a party, start to finish. But not like a \u201890s teen movie house party, rather a party where that girl you sort of know sort of almost died, and where you give yourself a pep talk in a toothpaste splattered bathroom mirror convincing yourself out loud that you\u2019re okay, as demonstrated by the chorus of the closing track \u201cCaitlyn.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m sorry about the earth around you caving in\/I\u2019m sorry about the earth around you caving in\/I\u2019m sorry.\u201d <\/em>This sincere phrasing comes after the line \u201cI\u2019ve begun to think of love as an impossibility\/do you agree?\u201d <\/em>A\u00a0perfectly apt pairing of sympathy and complacency, which is what makes this particular collection strangely suited for feeling pieced together carelessly with chewing gum and being unabashedly intoxicated on summer, or in my case, autumnal dreams of the latter.<\/p>\n