Living in the city. It's a Friday night. What to do? Go out? Nah. Phone a friend? No. Sit with my thoughts? Unavoidable, maybe. But it won't be my whole evening. Jam on some jams? Yes! Big City has the sauce. They are the spark in the bulb. The glow of the moon. The feeling between your first shot and the one you order next. A cold bolt of courage and rush of blood down your spine. Out of Vancouver, their debut EP Liquid Times is a cool bed of boiling, fresh dynamics that plunges through the keyhole of Thatcher-era psyched-out and dissociative post-punk, plummeting through time and eventually seeping up through the sidewalk cracks on a rainy night in LA to bleed up through soles of Butch Vig's feet, griming around his toes, infecting his blood with a variety of intoxicating lubricants as he ponders how some of those old Spooner riffs might sound remixed into Cyrstal Method outtakes. Big City's sound is like a fine wine and your soul is the chalice. Opener "Vicious" saturates the brain with ecstasy- a sudsy guggle of carbonated electronics and head-spinning washes. "Feather Light" sounds like the Cocteau Twins pinned to the ceiling by a geyser of coco cola and gratifying catharsis rising out of Shaun Ryder's open, acclivous mouth. The whirly haste of "Zero Gasoline" could power a whole squadron of Propellerheads and "Popcorn" winds up the tension for a hip-tripping and foggy stumble down a slope of oily sax croons and boney, snapping beats. It's your night, seize it by the collar as it spreads its wings. Big City is waiting for you to join them in the neon cloud kingdom beyond the hum of the street lights and below the collision of the stars above.
