It gets your attention because it's new, sometimes even strange, but it draws you in with its intimacy. The lyrics are written in the same streetcorner preacher poetry-style of Jeff Lewis, Doug Martsch, or Turner Cody, and they've been getting better each coming year. What were once youthful skate-park one-liners have become oddly prescient soliloquoys that sound like they were scribbled in a journal at dawn, then rearranged the next night as the first round of drinks started to kick in. Before, Mac's tunes would show you around his dirty-ass bedroom or lock you in a magic bus, hurtling towards the hooty-who-knows-what.
Now you're more likely to end up in a graveyard, or hot sidewalk at noon, or some bar, with some lady, who makes a stiff drink, for being so damn nice. Too many songwriters try to pawn off their own particular experiences as universal, and in the end, hardly anyone cares -- Mac takes universal sentiments and tries to pass them off as wholly his own, and the world inside his head just probably isn't much at all like yours, damn it. So come and take a listen, and let Big White rub your face in the furry beard of his grooves. Because you won't know, at the outset, what you're gonna get, and that's kind of the point.
Plus it's just a fucking good time. Read more on Last.fm. User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply..
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