Amps For Christ � Old Palm Tree

I like to think L.A. and Miami Beach (my home town) have little in common aside from pleasant weather and an annoying abundance of palm trees. Also attractive people; there�s an annoying abundance of those as well. After two decades ensconced in each of the aforementioned, I decided it was time for change. So: how better to ditch sunshine, pointy foliage, and a plethora of sexiness than spending Christmas in merry olde England?

Now that I�m back so are the palm trees, and so is this song. It�s not hard to deduce its appeal. Staccato strumming and acoustic riffs rife with pull-offs make fine beds for lazy, undistorted electric noodling. This is a sunset song, a track for pi�a coladas�not mimosas. Every instrument drips and descends into an occasional wink at the now sunburned man who fell asleep in the hammock. The tiki torches are lit, and the skies bleed red and bruise purple. No one cares about the sand in his or her hair as the track comes to a close; they�re laughing and counting the stars as note blends into note upon the balmy breeze.

I don�t know what I was thinking when I left. Palm trees mean home. Here I�d wanted to run away, and for what? To see whether the grass was greener on the other side (which, for the record, it literally was)? I wanted to escape from my reflection, from flora that didn�t change color, whose only shades were green and dead. But that�s not home, and that�s not me. There�s more to this place than binaries, enjoyable weather and physically stunning people aside. There�s no word for it, but with this song Amps For Christ ringleader Henry Barnes is kind enough to give it a sound.

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