Every album has a certain sound to it, a theatrical sense, some aspect that conjures a specific set of visual images. For Beijing, their accompanying visual aesthetic can most easily be described as riding through an empty city, alone, with the windows down, right at the edge of autumn. It’s warm outside and just humid enough to feel it when you breathe. There are sweat rings under your eyes and you are tired, but long suffering. You’ve just gotten off a long shift at a shitty job and now you’re finally heading home, enjoying a stale cigarette, exhausted and at peace.
Of course, it’s entirely possible that I’m projecting.
To read the full review, and to hear the band, go HERE.