Dark Horses are cultish rock noir at its lowest-fi. Actually, their production is pretty solid, and the druggy brit-trash vibe only seems partially contrived.
I imagine listening to “Traps” at a Portland bar in the early 90s, on my dad’s shoulders with his leather jacket draped over the both of us. A distinct lack of color and moist concrete.
So many ponytails.
This is the first Dark Horses song I’ve heard and I’m having trouble assigning it/them a genre. Blah Blah Science says it’s experimentally progressive psych-rock, which sounds fairly accurate to me. If I didn’t have other music blogs to cheat off of I’d probably call it black french press coffee with Tapatia smothered eggs. If you don’t understand that label, it’s cool, I don’t either, it’s just what I’m eating right now; Brunch with Dark Horses.