I’m not the kind of person who comes away from Towanda‘s “Love Is Wasted” unscathed or unaffected. I’m the guy who gets a lump in his throat and a bead of sweat trickling down from his scalp. I’m the one whose collar feels three sizes smaller than it did seconds before the needle dropped. Remorse? Regret? I know it all too well.
In the skilled, scalding hands and voices of the Montreal-based trio, “Love is Wasted” lays waste to my psyche. Every base emotion I’ve ever known is thrown into Towanda’s heady brew. Do they know how hard it is to swallow such bitterness and smoke? Can they tell my tears are as much from the storm their guitars have unleashed in my mind as they are from the sheer sonic wallop they deliver? Does Towanda know that in just three and a half minutes, they ate me up for breakfast and burned my soul to the ground?