Discontinued Perfume

CARIBBEAN (Artist) Format: Audio CD

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Track Listings

1	Lands & Grooves
2	Mr. Let's Find Out
3	The Clock Tower
4	Collapsitarians
5	Thank You For Talking To Me About Israel
6	Outskirts
7	Supply Lines
8	Artists In Exile
9	Municipal Stadium
10	Discontinued Perfume
11	The Declarative

Editorial Reviews

Who are The Caribbean? Search Pitchfork and find reviews (good ones) of every one of their records. Time travel back three years and read about their day jobs on Stereogum; a civil litigation attorney, an English teacher, and a US Dept. of Transportation librarian have been writing, recording, and performing music together for over a decade in Washington, DC.The Caribbean have always hidden behind something. Lyrics, unorthodox chord progressions, iconic-but-abstract visual art, humor and satire, and even their own normal-guy appearance. The Caribbean are a secret hiding in plain sight.

Product details

Language ‏ : ‎ English
Product Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.5 x 5 x 0.15 inches; 2.35 Ounces
Manufacturer ‏ : ‎ Hometapes
Date First Available ‏ : ‎ December 17, 2010
Label ‏ : ‎ Hometapes
ASIN ‏ : ‎ B004GHYCIO
Number of discs ‏ : ‎ 1

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Top review from the United States

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Carlos Diaz

The Caribbean: Wonderful dotted lines

Reviewed in the United States on May 5, 2011

Discontinued perfume - as in every classical novel, the title says it all. The music of The Caribbean (certainly one of the best band names ever) flows, then it twists, reaches out, then folds. It is a poetic snake. Brutally peaceful. Underground lives, double personalities. Whispered secrets always lie below the surface, and acoustic arpeggios are seemingly violated by afterworld echoes. Similarly, a full sentence (haiku?) connects (recollects?) the missing words, the surprising statements, the half-truths into a single fully meaningful concept. One song. A flair, a promise. The perfume of a woman passing by; expectations will never be fulfilled.

Fragmentation has always been a part of the band's sound. Mid-life crisis has done good, though: a mosaic has arisen. Suburban middle class heroes secretly banging telecasters. 4 a.m.: everything silent outside, and our brains tirelessly spitting out plans. Matt Johnson on valium? Hum. More like Radiohead on caipirinhas.

I must confess that my faith in music as an art has been restored. And if this exquisite, collective ouvre can be conceived as a continuum, it also melts with your listening space, the space between us, body and soul. The record finishes, and the delicate balance of dry snares, elastic slides and diagonal bass lines rings in your ears, vanishes and shakes hands with silence. Fill the cracks in the asphalt with after shave lotion; a revolution.

Naturally, you can only look for another Caribbean dose in your library.

And yes, where David Grubbs (almost) never managed to get rid of the cold intellect, the Caribbean is all about the reflection on the waves. Watch out, though: sharks patrol these waters.

Oh, Michael. You did it again.

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