I’ve never bought into the whole “support your local (insert entertainment or creative media here) just because they’re local” mindset,particularly when it comes to journalistic, critical coverage/review/feature. If proximity was to be the dominant, or a least a major, deciding factor in wielding that ever-lovely binaural label of “good/bad”, every crappy New York band with red Lip Service ties and black Lip Service jackets (ordered together, from the online store, to save on shipping costs-you can bulk order for your band, you know…now THAT’s good B2B salesmanship) would be gushed upon by photocopied upstate undergrad attempts at newspapers.
Oh, wait…
Anyway. I’m probably an ass for saying so (probably?), but how close a band/artist/DJ/producer resides to me really is relatively little concern of mine. There are some, like, say, Deerhunter, that the Fork-Gum folks would kill more babies than they already do to have performing at the local Chuck-E-Cheese, and I basically refuse to *ever*, ever, engage a Deerhunter live show again. And I think in the next week I’d have four opportunities, if I desired. I just can’t find the beauty of their recorded stuff in the audience-punishing live show, but I digress and repeat myself. Then there are some local bands, like The Swear, that I just don’t get to see enough of-consistently rockin’ live, and with a disappointingly small recorded output, the only way to get the full force of Elizabeth and her band is to step into the realm in which they truly excel-live performance.
I am hoping my new local obsession, One Hand Loves The Other, ends up in the sort of category that bridges the cradled-to-my-chest headphoneloving I have for Deerhunter with the rabid desire to catch every show they every play in this area.

Seriously. Having just popped up on my radar, and making it a little cloudier yet crisper, One Hand Loves The Other’s self-titled debut album (the name, I assume, comes from a line in Bjork’s “Unison”), released this year by Atlanta indie stalwart Stickfigure (home to one of my favorite, and coincidentally local, bands of all time-the cathartic screamo collective with the greatest band name ever, I Would Set Myself On Fire For You), is the sort of emotional, orchestral, classical composition-infused glitch pop that doesn’t seem of this world. Too crystalline, too textured, too fragile and open, pumping with real blood augmented with chasmic, silver-electronic veins.
From One Hand Loves The Other’s myspace bio
Lou, the lyricist and voice, emerged from a background inspired by blues and soul artists of the twentieth century female persuasion. Nancy, the flautist and fingers of the synthesizer, blossomed out from classical piano and flute instruction. Mikey, the electronics engineer and composer, came from the pits of electronic haze with a clear idea of the ability to merge the organic and synthetic. Lastly, Mary, the cellist extraordinaire, picked up the bow where her precursor left it. She can make like the dickens on the strings of the cello.
Gotta love a band bio that sounds like Dave Eggers wrote it. More to love, though, than the quick-witted press material (or even the ramped-up pr push that’s building fans like Liza with a Z…we at Res sure as hell can’t compete with that, though My Chem can), are the actual songs on One Hand Loves The Other. Having shattered the windows of contemporary post-WARP glitch aesthetic, and re-assembling it with fragments of smart pop stained with sunset hues of opera and neo-classical composition, One Hand Loves The Other isn’t the Stupidisco that’s oozing from everyone’s musical pores right now-this is smart, pretty stuff.

One Hand Loves The Other: Don’t Know
As Lou’s vocals climax and soar, the rhythm rides, and strings wrap around each other, it’s possible to get lost in the sheer musical bliss of “Don’t Know”. The lyrics, though, providing a vocabulary and vocal exercise like Anthony Kiedis’ smarter brother who aced the verbal part of the SATs, need their own attenion:
complications evaporation
subtle stasis is all encased in you
subliminal lift the weights off my chains
no more days where i dream in blue
Poetry. Gorgeousness. Like a lucid, drunken dream, achingly clear at the moment but a warm blur immediately post-awakening, this is the sound of One Hand Loves The Other.
They’re playing a handful of shows in the Atlanta area and surrounding locations in the near future, and all that info can be snagged at their myspace. You can pick up the record on iTunes, or at Stickfigure’s site.
I have not been this excited about an Atlanta band in a long, long time. For an electronic music scene that’s just now discovered the last decade of German and French electro, One Hand Loves The Other sounds fresh, real, clear as water and cool as a fall day. This may be an autumn album, but you’re going to hear more from them here at Res very soon. Believe me.







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