Calico = Vincent Gallo + Valley of the Giants + Vetiver
Oh Calico, how do you infatuate me? Let me recount our days. Just as your opening song begins- silently we grew stronger and my heart beat loud like the ringing of a triangle. Vibrations from your percussion and low keys transcended me into a great high. There the sounds steadied as we lay next to one another, “In the Sun.” Naked, not holding hands, for our “Hands are Sand” and as useless as our hearts. We listened while birds chirped and flapped around a “Black Pyramid.” My heart and ears pulsed with Calico’s psychedelic tones staggering through the sky, where we spent most of our time-nine erotic minutes-only to be forced into the spaciousness of “Heaven” by soft chords from an acoustic guitar and relaxing rhythms of a keyboard. Your quickening pace increased my “Bloodflow” with your Thom Yorke vocals. Like stolen, shining “Diamonds,” I am impressed by such a luminous performance of troubadours who generate heat to such musical endeavors (Brownham, Chanticleer the Clever Cowboy). Sadly, Calico, you do not love me in return. I should feel alone, but your bleak honesty fills any empty space.