Has anyone ever tried to count the many indie soft rock playlists Greg Gonzalez’ band is in? Or how many kids were conceived in the past years while Greg whispered “Got the music in you, baby, tell me why” from the speakers? Or how many of you will spend half of the band’s show at Melt snogging each other? It’s astonishing how effortless, honest, sensitive, empathic and lascivious their idea of pop sounds, considering that writing songs about sex is a delicate art form in itself, a task many have miserably failed at.
Cigarettes After Sex, however, don’t need anything else but sparse instrumentation comprising echoing guitars and Gonzalez’ voice; a voice that leaves you wondering whether it’s a man or a woman trying to charm you. Ultimately that’s irrelevant anyway, right?