Some of the coldest winters I’ve spent have been in the South, where the temperature rarely drops below freezing. Southern punk houses are drafty. Heat is never included in the rent, so it stays off, and everyone wears long johns and knit hats to bed. The Taylor brothers from Pygmy Lush’s old band Pg. 99 used to practice in a shed on their mom’s property in Northern Virginia. There’s a photo of what I assume to be that shed on the back cover of this album, and it looks like the type of decaying structure that would barely shelter some punks in January. And Old Friends perfectly captures that feeling, of it being too cold on the couch for you to take off your sticky socks, of warming your hands over the pot of macaroni as it boils, of wishing you could meet someone to keep you warm at night. In the past, I’ve come down on Pygmy Lush for sounding too much like their influences, namely Black Heart Procession and Three Mile Pilot. Now, they sound like their own band. They play creepy, atmospheric, acoustic rock that occasionally swells with its chaotic hardcore past. Good shit. Night music.
–CT Terry (Lovitt)