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(Drive-In, 1998)
Nice reverb and mixed-gender harmony on here, but, like the band’s first single, I still find it too professionally adult-contempo for comfort… even the reasonably straightlaced likes of Damon & Naomi outshine stuff such as this with some degree of homespun warmth and off-kilter charm. Boring post-Brit-folk Terrastockers who are into the, I dunno, Tom Rapp scene, say, might dig the Imaginary Friend alongside chin-beards and shows where you really listen, but all others should just stick with beer and having fun. That’s my deal, and look how far I’ve gotten.
(Drive-In, 1997)
NO NO NO. There’s something about the skilled, over-emotive lady-sing here that reminds me of every mediocre local band that I, cross-armed and expressionless, suffered through in the coffeeshops and bars of high school and college. Oy. I admit: insane or not, I tend to be horrified by “technically-nice” voices, perhaps because they, almost always lacking the essential quality of EARNESTNESS, sound so out of place when set against the rudimentary/ugly/braindead musics I prefer. And, yeah, sure, there are some fine, spacey, post-Gal500 moozikmoods on this disc (“Hear From You,” especially), but this record achieves a spectacular blandness most noteworthy for its inability to impress itself upon your earholes in any way; the needle lifts and you’ve already forgotten what you’ve heard. Just as coffee races through the urinary tract, so does the Imaginary Friend scamper through the skull. Mentally flush it.
(Drive-In, 1998)
