Nice Shoes, Wanna Funk? Pt. 3

I'm sure you're busy Amanda, but I'm fairly confident you knew exactly what I would write about today if you checked my last.fm page this morning. I'm also pretty sure that regardless, you're pretty excited that Fink is back in the blog, more svelte than ever. This is what I wrote about him last time:

"Fink is a smooth operator. He knows the subtle art of the steady string slap. His voice is like 10000 thread count Egyptian cotton. He's velvet dipped in melted white chocolate. He's like Citizen Cope with less hip-hop/dub/marijuana smoke. He's got flow. He's got ebb. He has the keys the closet where you keep your slow-dancing shoes. He knows where you hide your head-nodding-hat box. Are you picking up what I'm putting down?"

Probably one of my favorite blurbs ever as well as one of the most accurate. His throat must be lined with WD-40 and cotton. He probably starts his day with a smoothie made of satin, newborn baby skin, and de-boned goose down. You think? I'm out of soft and/or smooth analogies, which is going to blow the next time I find a new artist with a similar voice and I don't want to repeat myself. Oh well. Just listen.

Listen:
Trouble is What You're In
If Only
[from Distance and Time|buy]