2 results for Source Victoria
Black Luck, Black Label
In nearly four years of Crumbler I’ve posted about a friend’s band exactly once, in 2009, when “Black Luck, Black Label” emerged as a demo. Even in its early stages I loved it; through the steady repetition of a few key phrases, Brendan Murphy evokes a tired old world where hopes of reconciliation fade inside a fog of whiskey.
Happily, “Black Luck, Black Label” emerged last month in finished format, the centerpiece of Source Victoria’s solid new album Slow Luck. The years of work have been kind to it: Murphy sings the track like his life depends on it, and the backing band has transformed from polite accompanists to a mad gang playing to the rafters. This is a song that will be loved easily by anyone who fell for Band of Horses’ “Funeral”; its surges of pianos and power chords arrest the ears in a fashion similar to the Band’s best song. But there’s much more here to enjoy — the martial drums, a pensive bridge, and a twinkling outro that hints at peace.
It sucks, being in a band: Almost no one cares about what you’re doing; even those who do care aren’t likely to pay for the privilege of listening to you; and as the years go by it only gets harder to convince yourself to keep going. What sustains you, I imagine, is the hope of a moment like this: one brilliant song, produced to perfection, committed to record in 4:23 of concentrated fury. One of the year’s best.
Slow Luck is out now on iTunes.
SV-black luck, black label-badmixNoBass
“Black Luck, Black Label,” Source Victoria. And while I’m pimping people I like, I want you guys to listen to this song. It’s a great piano-driven ballad by Source Victoria, whose frontman and principal songwriter is personal acquaintance Brendan (brother of So Much Silence frontman and principal blogger Kevin).
The thing is, this track hasn’t been released. Officially, it’s not even finished; the bass part is missing. But Kevin sent it to me because he loved it, and I do too. Source Victoria has a really good album under their belt, but this song just got under my skin last year and stayed there. It starts slow but builds to a nice crescendo; it’s subtle and sophisticated and wonderfully melodic. The real hook starts around 2:10, when Brendan sings the hell out of a heartbroken passage you know came from experience: “When you said goodnight, I didn’t know you meant tonight.”
I hope you like this as much as I do.
