Blonde and brunette. Dog and cat. Lemon and onion. Friend and foam. The change has been made! You can scratch your seven-year itch freely now: TY SEGALL and WHITE FENCE are become one again, regrooving what we once called Hair into what is now Joy. Hair grew out of a simpler time, man! If, as the dyphrenic duo indeed affirm on Joy, rock in 2018 is dead, don’t come around here looking for no burial. Instead, find Joy caught up in the commencement of on-beyond rock; music made with the old tools, but emitted from a fresh new, single-celled organism. This time, the old “one and one make one” line does not apply. Hair had the quality of emulsion—drops of Segall suspended in Fence; a compound of White dispersed over sheets of Ty. With Joy, Tim and Ty arrive without traveling from the same place, occupy one single headspace, finishing the other’s phrases, pulling licks from each other’s places. Singing and thinking and laughing as one. Calling themselves from inside the house. C-c-c-creepy! Both these fellows have been known to trifle with tropic pasts and reactivate vintage visions within their new music. Not now. Now is the only time this time—Joy is their own sound of today, a shared individuality, prisming all possible stances into an unseamly metastasis that FLOWS for 15 ebbcentric tracks. Plus, since it ends at the beginning, it never has to stop. LOOP that shit!
“Cate Le Bon, born in West Wales, raised under the shadow of a woolen mill, dressed by the field and by the rain. Tim Presley (a.k.a. White Fence), from San Francisco, grew under and over the bridges and streets, combed by corners and by concrete.”
“As consummate musicians and students of pop, Le Bon and Presley aren’t able to revert to Shaggs-like naivete, but they’re able to suspend their aesthetes’ sensibility in order to embrace chaos, even silliness. There’s unmistakable precedent to the sound where they meet, the dub inflections and buzzing guitar welts. Hermits evokes the captivating disconnect of a late-’70s John Peel show, where the Slits and Delta 5 segued into Strictly Personal-era Beefheart’s blues-pop abstractions—you half expect to hear Ivor Cutler pop up to recite a poem in between tracks.” –Pitchfork 7.8/10