Whatever Will Happen

I was walking to the post office a few months ago when I saw five road-dishevelled figures heading my way. As they got closer, I thought, I recognize these guys. They played at our gallery last month, fogged the windows up good and activated the crowd with their impossibly balanced creation of modern and classic, a blend of Steely Dan cool and General Public pop, Squeezish hooks and Aztec Camera guitar flair. It was like a crash course in 60s pop, 70s avant-garde, 80s new wave, and 90s pop kid charm, with that unmistakeable Puget Sound flavor. They were iji. I asked them what they were doing back in town. Apparently, after the Team Love show, the band had decided to go night swimming. Oblivious to the magical, secluded, moonlit refuges where the river bends wide or the lake meets the shallow cliff, iji wound up breaking into the local community pool, immediately getting apprehended by the local community cops, and spending the night in the local community clink.