Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Patrick Stolley
The songs that take us to the very edges of the night are the ones that resonate so much more. They're the songs that remind us that we're going to have to be making some decisions fairly soon: how we're getting home, should I have another before I do so, who will I be going home with, who don't I want to go home with and where are we? The ends of the night also force us to account for the internal query of, "Will I be paying for tonight tomorrow or in the days ahead?" The question and its various possible innuendos or incarnations of ways to answer such a thing are what sober us up a little, even if we're far from sober. It lets us think semi-clearly, even in the slobbery mess that we've put into our bodies. This thought is the one that cannot be posed any earlier than when we've got one foot out the door, out on that loud and chaotic sidewalk, where the lights are just getting started. Brooklyn band, The Hundred In The Hands, a duo made up of former Boggs members, Eleanore Everdell and Jason Friedman, makes the music that reminds us of gloomy days and nights, along with heat lighting and the moments that it makes in the still of a night. There are the sudden flashes of strobe light that catch those moving around in the dark, it seems, in a frozen state, contemplating where they are and what's happening next. In their synthy and heavy backbeats, they don't deviate too much from this murky palace of maneuvering and chatter, of shifty and slow eyes, of clumsy and wayward hands and gazes, the social night out on the town when nothing and everything is entirely possible. People are always willing to give another night a chance, even after countless disappointments and embarrassments. They just slap some cologne, a tight skirt and a different expression on and get back out there to see if they can get it by the tip of the tail just once. The songs on the self-titled album hit with blunt force, directly into the chest. They are the moans and the sighs of a youthful generation of kids quickly understanding that they're going to have to figure out how they're going to get theirs soon enough. They've got insurance to pay for and it's dawning on them that there are endless opportunities to get out of here, if only they were able to figure out how to attract them. It's all just a big game of attraction catch and when anything gets close to the net, the harder task of not scaring it away is at hand. There's love that Everdell sings about, mentioning that, "It, it, it. It rips into me," but it's seen and felt more as that extra baggage that often just makes everything else around it harder to deal with, or get better handling. When this happens, the ends of our nights just become our days and the ditch gets deeper.