He twists his voice genielike into seductive vocal apparitions; light, sighing falsettos, Beatlesesque midrange harmonics, and fuzzy, garbled funk psychedelia.
A trip through the enchanted fairyland of synthed-out babydoll vocals over moody stirrings of bass and the opiated euphoria of meandering guitar lines.
The Bassholes are reportedly attempting to track down the skeletal double helix strand of DNA that’s gonna resolve rock’n’roll’s disputed parentage for good.
Jordy Birch’s voice is not nearly as aerobic as the instruments he splays his lazy sound across, and Pure’s lyrics do not strain toward philosophical esoterica.