By: Derek Spencer
Ladies and gentleman, we’ve done it. Pack up your belongings, read no further reviews, pay careful attention to each of these words: I will literally just review whatever music you send me has found its prince, its demigod, its very own Kanye to claim, praise, uplift, and use as a measuring stick for all future artists. Readers, friends, shitty garage musicians checking to see if I’ve reviewed your album yet– I present to you all, Caterpillar.
Demonstrating a profound respect for the plight of the individual through a curated trail of appropriately soothing words and tunes, Caterpillar is the ultimate humanist and sole founding father for a sweeping musical trend yet to waltz it’s way gently into the ears of current babies. Armed with a MIDI drumkit, a humble vocal emanation, and a penchant for turning simple a-to-b travel into a safari of one human’s (i.e. all of our) yearnings, aspirations, and fears, Caterpillar fills the comfort-food-sized hole left in the heart of contemporary America, combating the hubris of the modern superstar with all the genuine empathy recently made inaccessible to the masses. Caterpillar is the musical pairing to David Foster Wallace, sunny days spent with people you love, and the entire ecology movement, simultaneously evading emotional obsolescence and emboldening our sense of collective responsibility.
Will Boesl, the visionary and sole musician behind the Caterpillar moniker, is owed our attention. Look at him: Really, no amount of time is too much time spent looking at this photograph. He sees you. He knows your pain, your thoughts, your interests. He has made a song about them, just for you. Go listen to it now and relearn how to feel. I wish I knew more biographical information about Will, aside from what I gleaned from looking him up on facebook– but, alas, I am limited to his music and him image. These pieces of evidence, nonetheless, are sufficiently robust to assert the following: Caterpillar is a warrior-poet, fighting the forces of post-modernity, insincerity, and crippling insecurity. He holds a delicate light, the only remaining light, in his puppet’s hands, and we must follow him where he goes. After all, this is only Caterpillar’s first release. We have found god, and he hasn’t even undergone metamorphosis.