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Damn them! They are letting their instruments do the talking and that’s almost not fair. This is just sound sustenance. Notes hanging in the air. Reverberating in the invisibility of sound. And therefore, the credit for the success of A Small Turn of Human Kindness must go to nature and physics (perhaps) but not to the members of Harvey Milk. Who certainly, had a grand ol’ time recording this rude piece of slumber.
Talk about being laid back. Guys, guys, you are just resting on your laurels. Or like, dry leaves. But you get the idea. You are resting on the thought, because you ain’t doing much here. Muscles might be getting atrophy; palms may be getting sweaty pressed against the back of your heads, knuckles might be bloody from laying for hours against a wooden reclyner and heels may get bruised from resting on decks with a view of the swamps. It’s all time well-spent, drinking, smoking, shooting the shit, all around waiting for the next note to emerge. And voila! There you have the new Harvey Milk album.
Some will argue that it is about the preciousness of each stroked note. About the harshness of 'em. That it is about the whole picture, which imbibed in one sitting is intoxicating. I beg to differ. Intoxicating it is, but with sleep. This recording literally had me dreaming about dark long corridors with pitch black end. I ran and ran to the end, but there was no light, there was no getting anywhere. It was like walking in circles, except, the corridor was straight, no curves.
A Small Turn of Human Kindness is a one note borefest of putrid imagination and riffs that threaten you like laughing gas. Seven stale songs one of which was so considered by the band it doesn’t even have a title. And the piano ballad? Goofy shit. If there was any kindness to this, there would have been more than the one unimaginative sad note repeated mercilessly to no end. But a small turn it is. Very small. They got that right.
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