Farma
Last Day Saloon
Arpril 2, 2004

Review by Shannon Coulter

FARMA's rock has laugh lines, even when it's not smiling. It's music that wants to put its arm around you, buy you a whiskey, and tell you that every thing's gonna be alright, child, and what's more–for a moment or two, you may believe it, while possibly wondering—as I did—whether or not they're old enough to be displaying such worldly sympathy just yet. But don't waste your time wondering such cynical things, ye crusty bastard. Just enjoy the music, for theirs is a clever, slightly tripped-out Americana that adds a little tarnish to its own twinkle, and such worthwhile quest for character should only ever be encouraged. Plus, there are moments in songs like Mao/Marilyn when the music achieves something larger than itself—a rare kind of starry tenderness along the lines of John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask. So, pour yourself some brown liquor and go along for the ride. You can always trust the navigator who reminds you that "foxy is as foxy does."



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