Call them CREW-ANG-BIN

One band I cannot get enough of right now is Khruangbin.

Here’s my phonetic spelling: CREW-ANG-BIN.

My former boss told me to check out their appearance on NPR Music’s Tiny Desk Concert. I got hooked. I added both of their albums to my Spotify queue. I went to June Records and requested a copy of their latest album, Con Todo El Mundo. While I paid, the clerk told the store owner the album was selling. And it was actually good he said, implying that most of the records people bought were not. “OK,” said the owner. “Order ten more copies.”

I brought the LP home and let it blare from my speakers. A few weeks later I was taking out the garbage and thought I heard my neighbours playing it. Then I confirmed it. Wow, I thought. They must have heard me playing the album, Shazamed it and become fans. That’s what I told my wife, touting my self-appointed status as a music influencer. I later learned I was wrong. They had discovered the album without me. But I recovered and mentioned that I had tickets to their upcoming show. That news convinced them to get tickets so my influencer status soared.

Last week we all saw them play at the Danforth Music Hall. I was wowed again. Khruangbin plays instrumental psychedelic soul rock. They find grooves, lock in and put you in a trance. But the icing on their live concert was their covers.

At some point, I leaned over and told my wife that we were hearing hip-hop beats. I started naming artists. Geto Boys, A Tribe Called Quest, Ice Cube. She didn’t believe me. She’s not a big hip-hop fan.

Then they played the Michael McDonald riff from Regulators, Warren G’s G-Funk classic. I accepted her apology and started singing, “It was a clear black night, a clear white moon …

“Khruangbin makes music that you need to consume.”

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