The first 16 seconds of "Sixteen" are everything you need to know about the Stitches. Mike Lohrman counts off, sounding oddly alone, the room echoing behind him. The song lurches: raw, ragged, as low and slow as a B-17 bomber. But before you can finish the thought, theyve jumped a beat ahead. "Sixteen" revs up and then doubles over itself. Its all those months of speed and strangling boredom; its a band fucked up on meth and boozeas they were every session, Lohrman saysjust pushing everything out as fast and hard as they can because for all they know, its going to disappear again into a black hole of white noise, just like the last time they tried to record. There isnt a shred of calculation or restraint in the entire song. Its nothing but instinctsoon to be a Stitches trademark. And when Lohrman counts off againdouble timehes got the entire band behind him, punching every syllable through the back wall. Johnny Sleepers crash cymbals bleed into every other instrument. Its not like hearing the Sex Pistols for the first time. Its like hearing the Germs "No God" for the first time. The same initial fake-out, the same lunge for the jugular, the same chaotic potential energy and the same subconscious implicationsit makes everything else sound sluggish and obsolete.
This product was added to our catalog on Tuesday 16 April, 2024.
