"When I say War, you say Hol. War!.........c'mooon". Pop songs. Danced to, kissed to, jesus some people even make babies to these things. No matter how 'existencial' and 'enlightening' your brothers post-rock-brit-electronica-indie-progressive-punk band is, there is something endearing, nay, essencial about a good pop song. Even better however, are those pop songs that harbour the very spirit of that dancing, that kissing, and that....baby making. From common people to another girl another planet, pop songs are the soundtrack to one million jilted dances, lonley kisses and...you get it. Lapels are a terrifying and beautiful collage of passive nihalism and slakerdom. Pop culture is raped, mutated, then tucked between the verbs, song by song. Lapels write songs about intergalatic pink panzer troopes hunting dead pop artists. Odes to lost time travellers. Nods to beat poets, and hymns for bus stops. Lapels write songs about love and time travel. And really, what else is there?
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