Ever feel like crying, smiling, laughing, and yelling along at the same time to a band? That’s what the Future Virgins do to me. It’s sort of beautifully unnerving how many overlapping layers there are in their musical onion. When taken as a whole, as complete, it seems so simple, so natural. When looked at closely or unfurled: they’re employing these closely interlocking veins; this complex fleshy forgiveness. When it’s cut and examined, they emit a sweet, sharp, poetic juiciness. The Future Virgins have that intangible band magic that is as much human DNA, life experience, the alchemy of electrical currents going through musical instruments, long-range, beyond-”progressive” thinking, and the collective thought of a supportive region (Chattanooga). The thirteen-year-old, isolated me would hold this aloft like an amulet, wishing for it to take me to a better place. The thirty-nine-year-old me is glad that it’s currently doing just that, that we’re not just standing around, waiting for the past or for nostalgia to collapse over us like a concrete tidal wave. That there is a future dawning every morning and we’re an integral part of it. The Future Virgins have made some of the best ramshackle-gold DIY punk in the past ten years, bar none. Fuck, man, I’ve still got a lump in my throat at how beautiful this record is. Definitely a top ten of 2011.
–todd (Plan-It-X South, planetxsouth@hotmail / Starcleaner, starcleaner.com / [email protected])