LLAMA FARMERS Dead Letter Chorus

It’s tough being young. Take the Llama Farmers: first they have to deal with the heartbreaking pain of all those puppy loves going wrong – and write songs about it – and then everyone goes and lumps them into the teen ghetto. Llama Farmers don’t bounce in the time-honoured fashion of young punksters everywhere, they yearn. Mostly to be American. From Seattle. And called Kurt. Hopefully it’s an infatuation they’ll grow out of, because while they do the quiet/loud bit on “When We Were Friends”, they can’t do it with any conviction or originality. In their world guitars are big, fuzzboxes more loyal than lovers and everything is filtered through a perpetual sense of summer slipping into autumn. Accordingly, “Forgot To Breathe” is a fragile REM jangle, “Jessica” is both dumb-ass and poignant, and “Always Echoes” towers above everything else as a growling paean to their Nirvana heroes. You wish they’d explore such simple pleasures more often. Because sometimes you’d be excused for forgetting that Llama Farmers are young at all.

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