Brazilian Money

Hey, you over there. Brazilian Money is back didn’t cha know? Led by bespectacled teen heartthrob Garrett Johnson and a new backing trio of friendly and familiar faces, these boys on the bus are back to what they do: making artfully warm and warbly pop wormholes. Their latest release Doug Nasty asks questions: “What do ya do when a guy comes and shits on your floor?” and ponders the simple things: “Nothing is free, some things are cheap.” Maybe it was the product of several late night acid parties; maybe it was just the people. Maybe it’s for the dance floor slackers, burned out, thinking about the incomprehensible. Either way, it’s fuuuuuuuuun! Glad to see Johnson still shuckin’ and jivin’ in yer minds, giving you reason to think. - Weird Canada

In this fifth release from our beloved Garrett Johnson, he proves that he has a knack for this thing, whatever it is. Doug Nasty starts off with what seems like a total U-turn, a sample of digital synth cheese that, after it melts into a tasty cup of “Ovaltine in the Morning”, gives us that reassuring jolt. We are safely in the hands of the Brazilian Money we know and love. Jangly guitars, counterintuitive chord progressions, slamming drums, quirky bass bits, and that characteristic mix of dry acoustic guitars and over-fuzzed electrics. Garrett has a real gift for writing pop hooks that hold together the most cacophonous messes without making it sound neither too messy nor too neat. Each of these little albums could last you five years on re-listens, but you never have to wait more than a few months. I love this fucking band. - Argue Job

Some pictures these guys took at pop montreal - Brooklyn Vegan

Intentionally or not, Brazilian Money’s anxiously awaited follow up to Friendly Neighbour brings to mind the timeless words of Gabriel Garcia Lorca: “Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!” And if you were sleeping, you will surely be awoken by the lead jam on This Is Not A Dream, “Give Up That Dog,” a schizophrenic flurry of instructions: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH IS ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! IT’S HERE IF YOU WANT IT! Beautiful. Garrett Johnson’s song writing effortlessly buzzes with a constant surging energy. And believe me, the live show carries that over. - Argue Job

Intentionally or not, Brazilian Money’s anxiously awaited follow up to Friendly Neighbour brings to mind the timeless words of Gabriel Garcia Lorca: “Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!” And if you were sleeping, you will surely be awoken by the lead jam on This Is Not A Dream, “Give Up That Dog,” a schizophrenic flurry of instructions: ENOUGH IS ENOUGH IS ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! IT’S HERE IF YOU WANT IT! Beautiful. Garrett Johnson’s song writing effortlessly buzzes with a constant surging energy. And believe me, the live show carries that over. - Argue Job

Brazilian Money’s This Is Not A Dream pisses me off because I think I like it but I wish I didn’t. There’s this growing trend in rock music where making weird music has somehow become synonymous with making cool music, and I don’t think that’s right. Bands have taken to trying to do as much as possible on songs, over-layering with random sounds and effects in order to disguise the fact they don’t know how to put a song together. On first listen This Is Not A Dream seemed like one of those albums, and I was all ready to make Garrett Johnson my catalyst to talk about everything I hate about music ever.

The problem is, there are moments throughout this album that sort of touch on real brilliance. There were too many times when I was thinking about something negative to write when I hard something and thought, “damn, that was sort of ok.” Then again I’d hear something and think, “ah fuck, that’s a pretty catchy line”. As much I wanted to burn Garrett at the stake for playing into every modern indie rock cliché that I hate, I just couldn’t. He seemed to make them work most of the time. Even throughout some of the messy stuff that I found really grating there was enough cool shit to sort of hold my attention.

Don’t get me wrong, there are still a few turds on here. Why Did I Come Here At All? Is an apt title for Track 6, because that’s how I felt listening to it, and Put Out That Cigarette has maybe thirty seconds of something good for it’s whole three minutes. But you have songs like Give Up That Dog and Nobody’s Coming, that are different on every level but incredible all the same.

I’m sure I wouldn’t get along with Garrett Johnson if we ever met each other, or who knows, maybe we’d be those kind of friends that beat each other up and fuck each other’s girlfriends but can still get piss loaded together and wind up laying in a field singing Mr Jones, when the time was right. I sure wish he had made a shittier album, because I was all fired up. I guess I’ll just have to wait for the new Animal Collective to get all of that out. - Noisography

Brazilian Money’s This Is Not A Dream pisses me off because I think I like it but I wish I didn’t. There’s this growing trend in rock music where making weird music has somehow become synonymous with making cool music, and I don’t think that’s right. Bands have taken to trying to do as much as possible on songs, over-layering with random sounds and effects in order to disguise the fact they don’t know how to put a song together. On first listen This Is Not A Dream seemed like one of those albums, and I was all ready to make Garrett Johnson my catalyst to talk about everything I hate about music ever.

The problem is, there are moments throughout this album that sort of touch on real brilliance. There were too many times when I was thinking about something negative to write when I hard something and thought, “damn, that was sort of ok.” Then again I’d hear something and think, “ah fuck, that’s a pretty catchy line”. As much I wanted to burn Garrett at the stake for playing into every modern indie rock cliché that I hate, I just couldn’t. He seemed to make them work most of the time. Even throughout some of the messy stuff that I found really grating there was enough cool shit to sort of hold my attention.

Don’t get me wrong, there are still a few turds on here. Why Did I Come Here At All? Is an apt title for Track 6, because that’s how I felt listening to it, and Put Out That Cigarette has maybe thirty seconds of something good for it’s whole three minutes. But you have songs like Give Up That Dog and Nobody’s Coming, that are different on every level but incredible all the same.

I’m sure I wouldn’t get along with Garrett Johnson if we ever met each other, or who knows, maybe we’d be those kind of friends that beat each other up and fuck each other’s girlfriends but can still get piss loaded together and wind up laying in a field singing Mr Jones, when the time was right. I sure wish he had made a shittier album, because I was all fired up. I guess I’ll just have to wait for the new Animal Collective to get all of that out. - Noisography

Garrett Johnson started his band Brazilian Money in Edmonton, Alberta, after his last band (The Wicked Awesomes!) broke up for a time. Being the kind of guy to not let something like a lack of musicians hold him back, Johnson set to work making new music on his own, recording everything himself at home. His new album, This Is Not a dream certainly sounds like it was recorded at home, and that’s part and parcel of it’s freaky charms. Admittedly, when I first started listening to the record, I thought it was just going to be another disjointed lo-fi pop-exploding collection of cast offs that clogs my inbox everyday, but but the time I got down to “Party Til I’m Dead”–a highlight of this record–I realized that Brazilian Money were heads and tails above those other bands. I don’t want to name names, but I find that a lot of musicians who’s style and sound is similar to Brazilian Money end up making records that feel forced, as if they’re trying way to hard to sound spontaneous. What I like about This Is Not a Dream is the sense you get that what you’re hearing is not trying to be passed off as anything but what it is–a rough-around-the-edges, classic-pop inspired bedroom record. - Quick Before It Melts

Garrett Johnson started his band Brazilian Money in Edmonton, Alberta, after his last band (The Wicked Awesomes!) broke up for a time. Being the kind of guy to not let something like a lack of musicians hold him back, Johnson set to work making new music on his own, recording everything himself at home. His new album, This Is Not a dream certainly sounds like it was recorded at home, and that’s part and parcel of it’s freaky charms. Admittedly, when I first started listening to the record, I thought it was just going to be another disjointed lo-fi pop-exploding collection of cast offs that clogs my inbox everyday, but but the time I got down to “Party Til I’m Dead”–a highlight of this record–I realized that Brazilian Money were heads and tails above those other bands. I don’t want to name names, but I find that a lot of musicians who’s style and sound is similar to Brazilian Money end up making records that feel forced, as if they’re trying way to hard to sound spontaneous. What I like about This Is Not a Dream is the sense you get that what you’re hearing is not trying to be passed off as anything but what it is–a rough-around-the-edges, classic-pop inspired bedroom record. - Quick Before It Melts

Garrett Johnson started his band Brazilian Money in Edmonton, Alberta, after his last band (The Wicked Awesomes!) broke up for a time. Being the kind of guy to not let something like a lack of musicians hold him back, Johnson set to work making new music on his own, recording everything himself at home. His new album, This Is Not a dream certainly sounds like it was recorded at home, and that’s part and parcel of it’s freaky charms. Admittedly, when I first started listening to the record, I thought it was just going to be another disjointed lo-fi pop-exploding collection of cast offs that clogs my inbox everyday, but but the time I got down to “Party Til I’m Dead”–a highlight of this record–I realized that Brazilian Money were heads and tails above those other bands. I don’t want to name names, but I find that a lot of musicians who’s style and sound is similar to Brazilian Money end up making records that feel forced, as if they’re trying way to hard to sound spontaneous. What I like about This Is Not a Dream is the sense you get that what you’re hearing is not trying to be passed off as anything but what it is–a rough-around-the-edges, classic-pop inspired bedroom record. - Quick Before It Melts

Garrett Johnson started his band Brazilian Money in Edmonton, Alberta, after his last band (The Wicked Awesomes!) broke up for a time. Being the kind of guy to not let something like a lack of musicians hold him back, Johnson set to work making new music on his own, recording everything himself at home. His new album, This Is Not a dream certainly sounds like it was recorded at home, and that’s part and parcel of it’s freaky charms. Admittedly, when I first started listening to the record, I thought it was just going to be another disjointed lo-fi pop-exploding collection of cast offs that clogs my inbox everyday, but but the time I got down to “Party Til I’m Dead”–a highlight of this record–I realized that Brazilian Money were heads and tails above those other bands. I don’t want to name names, but I find that a lot of musicians who’s style and sound is similar to Brazilian Money end up making records that feel forced, as if they’re trying way to hard to sound spontaneous. What I like about This Is Not a Dream is the sense you get that what you’re hearing is not trying to be passed off as anything but what it is–a rough-around-the-edges, classic-pop inspired bedroom record. - Quick Before It Melts

“Jive With The Killer Instinct” by Brazilian Money, an EP that dropped way back in July, is one of them: it’s probably not going to be anyone’s number 1, but heck, it features one of my favourite tracks of the year and I think something would be amiss if I didn’t at least tell you a little about it.

“Jive With The Killer Instinct” is actually Brazilian Money’s second release of the year, coming just three months after the release of “This Is Not A Dream”. I dug that album, but this EP makes it obvious that Brazilian Money really suit a shorter form factor. “This Is Not A Dream” wasn’t long by any stretch of the imagination, but its abrasive, fuzzy guitars lines got wearisome by the album’s close nonetheless. There’s just no time for that to happen on this 15 minute release.

It’s not just length that makes a difference though: Brazilian Money’s sound is still scrappy as heck, but some of the tracks here manage to be super-chilled too. Take “Slowly Soaking Up Some Rays On A Sofa”. It starts off simple, catchy and rowdy, but hit the bridge and suddenly the song becomes as laidback as its title suggests it should be, all reverberating beach guitars and baked lyrics, backed by a chorus of “ba badah bas” that just screams of nostalgia. “Aliens Will Arrive” provides a similar nostalgia hit with an opening that could pass for an instrumental from Brian Wilson’s “Smile”. There’s a gorgeous song in there behind the hissing production.
- Listen Before You Buy

“Jive With The Killer Instinct” by Brazilian Money, an EP that dropped way back in July, is one of them: it’s probably not going to be anyone’s number 1, but heck, it features one of my favourite tracks of the year and I think something would be amiss if I didn’t at least tell you a little about it.

“Jive With The Killer Instinct” is actually Brazilian Money’s second release of the year, coming just three months after the release of “This Is Not A Dream”. I dug that album, but this EP makes it obvious that Brazilian Money really suit a shorter form factor. “This Is Not A Dream” wasn’t long by any stretch of the imagination, but its abrasive, fuzzy guitars lines got wearisome by the album’s close nonetheless. There’s just no time for that to happen on this 15 minute release.

It’s not just length that makes a difference though: Brazilian Money’s sound is still scrappy as heck, but some of the tracks here manage to be super-chilled too. Take “Slowly Soaking Up Some Rays On A Sofa”. It starts off simple, catchy and rowdy, but hit the bridge and suddenly the song becomes as laidback as its title suggests it should be, all reverberating beach guitars and baked lyrics, backed by a chorus of “ba badah bas” that just screams of nostalgia. “Aliens Will Arrive” provides a similar nostalgia hit with an opening that could pass for an instrumental from Brian Wilson’s “Smile”. There’s a gorgeous song in there behind the hissing production.
- Listen Before You Buy

The boys from Brazil (ian Money) throw it all at the wall on their latest c32 dispatch, and — surprise, surprise — everything sticks. Like an overheated Pizza Pop™, This Is Not A Dream bursts at the seams with genre-blurring gunk rockers, bellyaching’ bummer folk and falsetto piss ‘n’ vinegar. Guitars warble and strum with hand-bleeding repetition, horns squeal like a second line and frontman Garrett Johnson hog hollers in a variety of voices. Wake up and grip with the sweaty-palmed quickness. - Weird Canada

The boys from Brazil (ian Money) throw it all at the wall on their latest c32 dispatch, and — surprise, surprise — everything sticks. Like an overheated Pizza Pop™, This Is Not A Dream bursts at the seams with genre-blurring gunk rockers, bellyaching’ bummer folk and falsetto piss ‘n’ vinegar. Guitars warble and strum with hand-bleeding repetition, horns squeal like a second line and frontman Garrett Johnson hog hollers in a variety of voices. Wake up and grip with the sweaty-palmed quickness. - Weird Canada

The boys from Brazil (ian Money) throw it all at the wall on their latest c32 dispatch, and — surprise, surprise — everything sticks. Like an overheated Pizza Pop™, This Is Not A Dream bursts at the seams with genre-blurring gunk rockers, bellyaching’ bummer folk and falsetto piss ‘n’ vinegar. Guitars warble and strum with hand-bleeding repetition, horns squeal like a second line and frontman Garrett Johnson hog hollers in a variety of voices. Wake up and grip with the sweaty-palmed quickness. - Weird Canada

The boys from Brazil (ian Money) throw it all at the wall on their latest c32 dispatch, and — surprise, surprise — everything sticks. Like an overheated Pizza Pop™, This Is Not A Dream bursts at the seams with genre-blurring gunk rockers, bellyaching’ bummer folk and falsetto piss ‘n’ vinegar. Guitars warble and strum with hand-bleeding repetition, horns squeal like a second line and frontman Garrett Johnson hog hollers in a variety of voices. Wake up and grip with the sweaty-palmed quickness. - Weird Canada

For their inaugural platter, Edmonton’s newest 7” slingers dish up this piping hot four song EP from the boys in Brazilian Money. Former Mitts/Wicked Awesomes! bassist Garrett Johnson is the focal point of these friendly neighbours’ seam-splitting double-drumming skronk squall, driven by hooky holler-along choruses, sassy cackling multi-tracked vocals and even a chug-a-lug acoustic shanty in closer “Bones.” 300 copies, and worth its weight in reais. - Weird Canada

For their inaugural platter, Edmonton’s newest 7” slingers dish up this piping hot four song EP from the boys in Brazilian Money. Former Mitts/Wicked Awesomes! bassist Garrett Johnson is the focal point of these friendly neighbours’ seam-splitting double-drumming skronk squall, driven by hooky holler-along choruses, sassy cackling multi-tracked vocals and even a chug-a-lug acoustic shanty in closer “Bones.” 300 copies, and worth its weight in reais. - Weird Canada

For their inaugural platter, Edmonton’s newest 7” slingers dish up this piping hot four song EP from the boys in Brazilian Money. Former Mitts/Wicked Awesomes! bassist Garrett Johnson is the focal point of these friendly neighbours’ seam-splitting double-drumming skronk squall, driven by hooky holler-along choruses, sassy cackling multi-tracked vocals and even a chug-a-lug acoustic shanty in closer “Bones.” 300 copies, and worth its weight in reais. - Weird Canada

The immense planning that entailed Wyrd Fest resulted in a deep, sexual relationship between myself and Wicked Awesomes! guitar-player Tyler. During one of our many Magic-ticket-making missives, he looked in my eyes and whispered: “Aaron, have you heard our bass player’s solo project?” That was my first foray into the wildly contagious world of Brazilian Money. Fast-forward a month and I finally have some “official” recordings. It was sudden impact: vocalist-and-everything-else-as-well Garret’s grizzled nasal, his omnifarious pop-filtrations, and the swampy sensations ensnaring every ear-movement. I was knocked-out, surprised and excited by the EP’s stranglehold. Thankfully, with every listen came newly rewarding energies. A recommended soundtrack for the shower (replacing my current shower favorite: Mobb Deep’s Tha Infamous). Sing along and get clean, mayne. - Weird Canada

The immense planning that entailed Wyrd Fest resulted in a deep, sexual relationship between myself and Wicked Awesomes! guitar-player Tyler. During one of our many Magic-ticket-making missives, he looked in my eyes and whispered: “Aaron, have you heard our bass player’s solo project?” That was my first foray into the wildly contagious world of Brazilian Money. Fast-forward a month and I finally have some “official” recordings. It was sudden impact: vocalist-and-everything-else-as-well Garret’s grizzled nasal, his omnifarious pop-filtrations, and the swampy sensations ensnaring every ear-movement. I was knocked-out, surprised and excited by the EP’s stranglehold. Thankfully, with every listen came newly rewarding energies. A recommended soundtrack for the shower (replacing my current shower favorite: Mobb Deep’s Tha Infamous). Sing along and get clean, mayne. - Weird Canada

Lou Barlow once demanded “Gimme Indie Rock!” He delivered. (To himself, really.) Exactly twenty years from the release of that 7-inch comes the totally awesome, totally indie tape This Is Not a Dream, via Totally Disconnected, from Brazilian Money, totally the brainchild of Garrett Johnson, sole full-time member (and a Canadian, not a Brazilian). The indie rock revitalization is truly upon us, I say! Johnson dredges up the best of the mid-1990s scene, clearly nostalgic for the not-too-distant past, and crams it into this quick-paced release, filling what could very well be a tired genre exercise with excitement, wit, and amiability, while not forgetting to slack just enough so as not to come off as serious or self-serving or even pretentious. He drills it on the sweet spot. Good for him.

And let me be clear – this record came out of nowhere this year and blew me away. I had so much fun listening to it that I didn’t mind it repeating over and over again on my way to work and back over the past couple days. There’s a freshness to it that has lacked in traditional indie rock (whatever that means, but I’ll have comparisons in a minute) since its heyday during my college years, and that sameness has sort of turned me off to the genre itself, or at least made me more wary of those trafficking in it. What the heck, I could never truly abandon it – it was the bread and butter of my collection for years. I mean, sheesh, Pavement’s my favorite band of all time. Not much left to the imagination, is there?

Pavement’s a good comp for Brazilian Money, at least a good starting point. Their songs have a similar wink-nod smart-mouthed-ness to them that projects an I-could-care-less attitude at the core; however, the songwriting is strong and the playing is tight, so there’s a post-punk-ish vibe that seeps through, in kind of a Joggers sort of way. But the attitude is spot on, and renders possibly goofy tunes like “Give Up That Dog,” whose lyrics mostly go “Give up that dog / it’s got no bite / enough is enough is enough is enough / whoa-oh,” in a quirky yet poignant atmosphere. Bass and guitar bounce, the drums kick up a racket, and the dual vocals sing/shout like they’re having the time of their lives, in whatever basement or garage in which they’re recording to 4-track. Similarly, “Then You’ll Know” plays dumb, with its rhyming of “night,” “fight,” “light,” etc., almost ad nauseum, reinforcing that Johnson’s smarter and, er, ironic-er than you think, as it’s all played with bratty punk energy – a quick burst of “screw it, whatever,” but you know they’re smarter than they’re letting on.

Johnson and crew continue to play stylistic dress-up, and look no further than each end of the Dig! spectrum for inspiration, laying on equal layers of Brian Jonestown Massacre druggy grit and hustle and Dandy Warhols half-assed genre vamping. This is the fun part – Brazilian Money switches it up throughout the album and has so much obvious fun that you can’t help but be swept up by the weirdness. In “Put Out That Cigarette,” Johnson wails in falsetto while marrying the dickish qualities of Courtney Taylor-Taylor and Anton Newcombe, predicting the first collaboration of their two bands, which unfortunately will likely never happen. (The song features one of the most surprising and inspired slides from verse to WTF-chorus I’ve heard in a while.) He does Taylor-Taylor again, this time in low register mode, on the perfectly Dandy-titled “Party ’Til I’m Dead,” a fast-driving rave up wherein Johnson sounds lit and ready for more. It begins, fittingly enough, with a kind of half-speed tribute to Komeda’s trifle of a party anthem “Boogie Woogie/Rock’n’Roll” – whether it’s intentional or not, it’s a nice touch before Johnson staggers into the song. “Nobody’s Coming” has that ramshackle acoustic Dandies vibe – think “Country Leaver” or “Minnesoter” – and although it lasts less than two minutes and is probably an afterthought to the band, it’s oddly one of my favorite moments on This Is Not a Dream. (And admittedly, it’s littered with favorite moments.)

As if out to prove the post-punky rock chops hinted at earlier in the record were not a fluke, late-album cuts “Not a Dream” and “Lost All Sense of Time” lurch around in rhythm and synth for a couple minutes each, both hard-charging and fiery, and filled with melody despite the initial skronk. They simply add to the fun, and do nothing to predict album closer “Oscar Finds Me.” This song completely drives me crazy, because it reminds me of another song that I can’t think of. Maybe I’ll figure it out at some point. Until then, it’s a shuffly, faux-country stumbler that would fit nicely as a transitional number on a Man Man album, or possibly as a Coxon-led Blur larf. I love it. Have I mentioned I love Brazilian Money? I’m smiling like a goon while listening right now. Even the almost interminable four minutes of interlude material halfway through the album is worth getting through once you r - Critial Masses

Lou Barlow once demanded “Gimme Indie Rock!” He delivered. (To himself, really.) Exactly twenty years from the release of that 7-inch comes the totally awesome, totally indie tape This Is Not a Dream, via Totally Disconnected, from Brazilian Money, totally the brainchild of Garrett Johnson, sole full-time member (and a Canadian, not a Brazilian). The indie rock revitalization is truly upon us, I say! Johnson dredges up the best of the mid-1990s scene, clearly nostalgic for the not-too-distant past, and crams it into this quick-paced release, filling what could very well be a tired genre exercise with excitement, wit, and amiability, while not forgetting to slack just enough so as not to come off as serious or self-serving or even pretentious. He drills it on the sweet spot. Good for him.

And let me be clear – this record came out of nowhere this year and blew me away. I had so much fun listening to it that I didn’t mind it repeating over and over again on my way to work and back over the past couple days. There’s a freshness to it that has lacked in traditional indie rock (whatever that means, but I’ll have comparisons in a minute) since its heyday during my college years, and that sameness has sort of turned me off to the genre itself, or at least made me more wary of those trafficking in it. What the heck, I could never truly abandon it – it was the bread and butter of my collection for years. I mean, sheesh, Pavement’s my favorite band of all time. Not much left to the imagination, is there?

Pavement’s a good comp for Brazilian Money, at least a good starting point. Their songs have a similar wink-nod smart-mouthed-ness to them that projects an I-could-care-less attitude at the core; however, the songwriting is strong and the playing is tight, so there’s a post-punk-ish vibe that seeps through, in kind of a Joggers sort of way. But the attitude is spot on, and renders possibly goofy tunes like “Give Up That Dog,” whose lyrics mostly go “Give up that dog / it’s got no bite / enough is enough is enough is enough / whoa-oh,” in a quirky yet poignant atmosphere. Bass and guitar bounce, the drums kick up a racket, and the dual vocals sing/shout like they’re having the time of their lives, in whatever basement or garage in which they’re recording to 4-track. Similarly, “Then You’ll Know” plays dumb, with its rhyming of “night,” “fight,” “light,” etc., almost ad nauseum, reinforcing that Johnson’s smarter and, er, ironic-er than you think, as it’s all played with bratty punk energy – a quick burst of “screw it, whatever,” but you know they’re smarter than they’re letting on.

Johnson and crew continue to play stylistic dress-up, and look no further than each end of the Dig! spectrum for inspiration, laying on equal layers of Brian Jonestown Massacre druggy grit and hustle and Dandy Warhols half-assed genre vamping. This is the fun part – Brazilian Money switches it up throughout the album and has so much obvious fun that you can’t help but be swept up by the weirdness. In “Put Out That Cigarette,” Johnson wails in falsetto while marrying the dickish qualities of Courtney Taylor-Taylor and Anton Newcombe, predicting the first collaboration of their two bands, which unfortunately will likely never happen. (The song features one of the most surprising and inspired slides from verse to WTF-chorus I’ve heard in a while.) He does Taylor-Taylor again, this time in low register mode, on the perfectly Dandy-titled “Party ’Til I’m Dead,” a fast-driving rave up wherein Johnson sounds lit and ready for more. It begins, fittingly enough, with a kind of half-speed tribute to Komeda’s trifle of a party anthem “Boogie Woogie/Rock’n’Roll” – whether it’s intentional or not, it’s a nice touch before Johnson staggers into the song. “Nobody’s Coming” has that ramshackle acoustic Dandies vibe – think “Country Leaver” or “Minnesoter” – and although it lasts less than two minutes and is probably an afterthought to the band, it’s oddly one of my favorite moments on This Is Not a Dream. (And admittedly, it’s littered with favorite moments.)

As if out to prove the post-punky rock chops hinted at earlier in the record were not a fluke, late-album cuts “Not a Dream” and “Lost All Sense of Time” lurch around in rhythm and synth for a couple minutes each, both hard-charging and fiery, and filled with melody despite the initial skronk. They simply add to the fun, and do nothing to predict album closer “Oscar Finds Me.” This song completely drives me crazy, because it reminds me of another song that I can’t think of. Maybe I’ll figure it out at some point. Until then, it’s a shuffly, faux-country stumbler that would fit nicely as a transitional number on a Man Man album, or possibly as a Coxon-led Blur larf. I love it. Have I mentioned I love Brazilian Money? I’m smiling like a goon while listening right now. Even the almost interminable four minutes of interlude material halfway through the album is worth getting through once you r - Critial Masses