Let's start off the week with a laconic bunch of ice-cream dreams. Melbourne's Bored Nothing has taken to a lysergic sugar-rush take on the slow burn narcoleptic guitar pop that Kurt Vile has been making his own of late - except without the stoned extended wigouts. Fergus Miller doesn't exude cool as much as excrete dreams - a drifting melange of half-remembered fantasies, eyelids at half-mast, always on the border of waking life and the subconscious.
Bored Nothing's Some Songs comes out in October on Spunk.
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