Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Chris Johnson at Good Danny's, Austin, Texas
There are sunny days that are nothing but weather and weather doesn't go very far. Then there are those that actually mean something -- that actually feel the way they look, that cascade out in a splendorous spectrum. They are the days that feel endless. They are the days that make you take stock of the oft-ignored bounty of the good parts of life that you might actually have going for you. They are the days that you duck out of work extra early to go find a rope swing hanging over a quiet, but inviting lagoon and you just shed clothing and splash on in. They are the days that you never knew were coming, that just surprised the hell out of you with their textures. They are days where you are surrounded by more great friends and loves than you ever thought you deserved. It's an embarrassment of riches that you don't have to feel embarrassed by, more humbled by and thankful for - usually finding you just when you need them the most, when hopes have been fading and dying off.
Youngblood Hawke, the Los Angeles-based band of friends, has thrown an anchor into the brightest and most welcoming sunshine that's ever shown. They keep pulling it into embraces, bringing it down for every single happy hour they can squeeze out of it. They are about putting another drink in your hand, when the other is finishing. They are about joining in for group choruses. They are into wearing sunglasses at all hours of the day and just forgetting about anything too bothersome or depressing. It's delaying any of those thoughts and just working with the stuff that makes you feel most alive. These days are mighty. They are affirming and majestic.
The songs seem to have been culled from an epic cross-country journey where strays were picked up, where every stone was overturned, where every night was run down and into the ground, where we woke when we felt like it, where the photographs are awe-inspiring, but could never do any justice to what was actually seen. It's all boiled down into these glorious bursts of white-hot energy.