So if the gag is that Jacob Smigel is the chief crooner we know, then you might gag (with pleasure) upon hearing Mr. Rob Kieswetter a.k.a. Bobby Birdman. His stats and powers are legendary: there’s his ability battle-sing unruly hecklers into humble silence, his swank recording sessions in the Hamptons, his Andrew WK-esque posi-white jeans, his absolute maestro-like ownership of the indian-style sitting position, the correlation between his last name and the word “sweater,” and his hypnotizing bedroom eyes. When he says things like “That’s just her trip, I guess,” and explains how totally optimistic about computer music he is you start to understand just why he’s so crucial and why this EP is so necessary. Transparent pink vinyl housed in chipboard sleeves awesomely silkscreened with glitter-traced giraffe/jackal calligraphy art, plus an insert. Edition of 300. CD edition released by States Rights Records.

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