Say what you like about hipsters (I always do), thanks to them we have bands like Little Hurricane: poets and musicians who you feel honest calling poets and musicians. All the intentional “Life should be opposite day,” philosophy of those mustache-wearing fiends found holes in the “right way to do rock and roll” of the late ’90s, when the Heralds of the New Epoch seemed to be promising an end of what you might term a personal experience with your music. Then the hipsters clogged around in their combat boots, smashed their violins, played them like they were ukuleles, and got major props for that one ugly song even though it was just a recording of his beard getting stuck in his broken harmonica. Nobody liked that music, but everyone liked the “not Heralds of the New Epoch — anything but the Heralds of the New Epoch” nature of it.
(The crap thing is that none of the Heralds of the New Epoch had the wit to call themselves that. They all called themselves dumb things like Nickelback. That’s a thought for a different day.)
Now that the dust kind of settles around us from the mad rush on the nattiest, grittiest thrift stores around, and the major uglies of hipster music have gotten their dues, the post-hipster bands have started shaping the landscape. And it’s great.
Mumford & Sons, love them or hate them, showed us the way.
Bands like Little Hurricane show us it works.