I’ve always wanted to go to a beatnik club. The omnipresent smoke, the sunglasses, the barrettes, the bongos. If it’s anything like it’s portrayed in The Goofy Movie, the overwrought hipster community should go back to their roots and occupy the basement of some Portland pastry shop and start investing in (even more) vests and Charlie Parker records.
You’d think that the Association of American Beatniks (AAB) lost their shit when “Ritual Union” came out. That they immediately sent out notices to their basement-bound affiliates to play the track on repeat for the rest of ever. Dignified women with excellent posture would discuss egalitarian feminism with men with pencil-thin mustaches, sipping Sauvignon Blanc while progressive couples self-consciously pivoted around each other to Yukimi Nagano’s fluffy croon and Fredrik Wallen’s supple bass line forever more. The only thing I can think of that would be a better fit from this point forward would be the entire Ritual Union album, but I’m told that beatniks are quite poor spending all their cash for these aforementioned signifiers, so I suppose this track will just have to do.