Frankie Rose, Dirty Beaches, Magic Milk | Empty Bottle | Rock, Pop, Etc | Chicago Reader

Frankie Rose, Dirty Beaches, Magic Milk Early Warnings (Music) Recommended Soundboard

When: Tue., Sept. 27, 9:30 p.m. 2011

When I hear Frankie Rose & the Outs, I want to slow dance with a log. Or better yet, with Sherilyn Fenn as Audrey Horne, circa 1990. Yes, the music's rather Lynchian, like those Julee Cruise songs in Twin Peaks—except replace the spacey Badalamenti vibe-jazz sundae with Kennedy-era girl-pop sponge cake covered in H.W. Bush-era alterna-pop frosting. Every music blogger who gives a shit about these things from here to East Timor has pointed out the Vivian Girls connection, but while I've really tried to like Vivian Girls, I don't really gotta try to like Frankie Rose. The way last year's self-titled album ended, with the boom, boom-boom clap beat of "Save Me" floating into feedback scree; the oh-so-dreamy harmonies in "Hollow Life," the album's opening cut; the jolting delirium of Margot Bianca's fuzz-toned guitar in "That's What People Told Me"—the whole album is like a drug dream where a freelance music writer of humble peasant stock who's trying to survive the post-­Craigslist apocalypse can feel transformed into a stouthearted FBI agent with a fondness for cherry pie and black coffee. —Brian Costello See also Wednesday. Dirty Beaches and Magic Milk open.

Price: $8

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