JJ - JJ N 3
With the naive swagger of youth, JJ have already completed their next full-length. If no 2 was (as it was to many) the quintessential summer 2009 album, no 3 is destined to be the quintessential winter 2010 album, a soft, red smear of blood on a field of fresh snow. JJ create R&B and Balearic dub from the ghosts of lost lovers; pop as delicate as a fawn's nose across blades of frosted grass. It is the soundtrack for friends packed into the town square's tiniest tavern, their moon tanned, apple-cheeked faces glowing, their dilated pupils filled with all the meaning and meaninglessness of a magic 8-ball. Their music is both carefree without carelessness, and self-aware without being self-conscious. With it, they build an ice bridge arching from Gothenburg into the heart of middle America, and everywhere in between.
JJ - JJ N 3
With the naive swagger of youth, JJ have already completed their next full-length. If no 2 was (as it was to many) the quintessential summer 2009 album, no 3 is destined to be the quintessential winter 2010 album, a soft, red smear of blood on a field of fresh snow. JJ create R&B and Balearic dub from the ghosts of lost lovers; pop as delicate as a fawn's nose across blades of frosted grass. It is the soundtrack for friends packed into the town square's tiniest tavern, their moon tanned, apple-cheeked faces glowing, their dilated pupils filled with all the meaning and meaninglessness of a magic 8-ball. Their music is both carefree without carelessness, and self-aware without being self-conscious. With it, they build an ice bridge arching from Gothenburg into the heart of middle America, and everywhere in between.
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Description
With the naive swagger of youth, JJ have already completed their next full-length. If no 2 was (as it was to many) the quintessential summer 2009 album, no 3 is destined to be the quintessential winter 2010 album, a soft, red smear of blood on a field of fresh snow. JJ create R&B and Balearic dub from the ghosts of lost lovers; pop as delicate as a fawn's nose across blades of frosted grass. It is the soundtrack for friends packed into the town square's tiniest tavern, their moon tanned, apple-cheeked faces glowing, their dilated pupils filled with all the meaning and meaninglessness of a magic 8-ball. Their music is both carefree without carelessness, and self-aware without being self-conscious. With it, they build an ice bridge arching from Gothenburg into the heart of middle America, and everywhere in between.
