Transplanted from Michigan, City Center was born in the headphone space of a Brooklyn bedroom, shelved between boredom, loneliness, and every available corner of the audible spectrum. Fred Thomas (Saturday Looks Good to Me, Swimsuit, The Hive Dwellers) and Ryan Howard keep continually unraveling into an ever-expanding landscape of warmly washed-out psychedelia, where splintered samples and chillingly desolate drones somehow emerge in the form of soft summery pop songs.
Existing only in recordings and the occasional loftspace performance for much of it’s first year, the band became a duo and started touring more frequently in the beginning of 2009. Playing shows coast to coast with like-minded sound-collectors such as Grouper, Silk Flowers, Deerhoof, Gang Gang Dance and many others. While the band has only one official album, a self-titled treasure trove released on UK ambient-heavy label Type Records, their constant output has included several immediately sold-out 7″s, now eBay/Termbo fodder. Add to this their numerous CD-R’s, a handful of tapes, and hundreds of free songs shared on their blog, and one gets an idea of their prolific level of productivity.
Ultimately two friends constantly open to exploring new sounds together, City Center creates a world of images that run the gamut from an endless sun — bleaching killer whale bones on the beach — to that almost always Halloween teen feeling; a lavish, diamond-encrusted tattoo across the chest, to the pure and bodiless acceptance of all things. This world of sounds is vast and detailed, and no participation in it goes unrewarded.
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From City Center’s full length album, Redeemer [KLP231], an attempt to retroactively understand growing up, with underwater thoughts about high school tortures, stoned spring days listening to headphones for the microscopic elements of beauty, true love in a way that knows no age or era and the next generation of all these things already projecting themselves into the future at an alarming rate…City Center - Redeemer
From City Center’s dub narcotic disco plate, Zen Kids [DBN117], which splinters guitars and chillingly desolate drones until it forms as a soft summery pop song…City Center - Zen Kids