Over the past couple years, a handful of lo-fi garage bands have popped up, seemingly overtaken by a divine mission to flood the market with as much crackled psychedelia as we’re willing to stomach. It could be a defense mechanism, allowing them to hide, when the critics come knocking, behind a nice thick wall built from countless strawberry-sweet melodies. It’s probably much more innocent, but regardless, the ideas keep coming, and as long as they do the band’s keep writing, or sketching, and putting them to record. So, what happens when the spicket dries up? Are the Ty Segall’s of the world headed for a peak oil-type crisis when the juices of 60’s derivative tuneage fade away?
