Spinning in a circle, swinging a jumprope, Corynne embodies the Angel-Devil-Angel-Devil rhyme. Whichever you trip on is delightful. The bastard who said her bottomless vocal shafts were not suited to rock was profoundly misinformed and subsequently regretful. The details of his disembowelment are now sealed in the city archive. Corynne's gorgeous thighs are only one tenth of the package: her elocution is precise. Her intonation is dead-on haunting. Only an otherworldly elemental could get away with singing like this: and she does, easily.
Dark is the Solution of Love. Slow down and lick his leg! Once Steve was acquitted of throwing a hotel at Joey Ramone, he was free to connect the tones that became the Solution-- and Afterdawn birthed itself noisily. He does get vertigo at times, but only when he dons big fake mustaches. Steve has invested more than twenty years of callous and blood to his style and sound; and one gets a sense of his universe when he plays. That universe is all at once glorious and terrifying.
Mattymatt, bassman aka Comfy B: Adorable and agreeable from day one. As a baby he had rhythm in his pocket-- even in his little terrycloth snappysuit. The boy has sick chops which are rumored to be associated with the size of his genderstaff. Claypool himself couldn't hold Mattymatt's gig bag. Get Comfy and lowdown to his smoothness.
Whenever there's trouble, Vincenzo is down on the double. Since 1998 he's been the NYC go-to boy for beats. When black market animal sales became politically incorrect, the genteel Vincenzo enlisted the assistance of the Thundercats to eradicate the tuna boat tax and deli disguise of every masticatedfuckinshitment of poached penguins. Guitar at 15, bass at 17, and drums at 19, Vincenzo is a true musical samurai.
Afterdawn has been selected into the Editors Top 5:
