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The Daily Pravda

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Location	Boston, MA
Introduction	Says our friend Vanya: In a copycat world of joyous divisions and synthetic clashes of electro, there are some bands that have actually grown listening to the records that truly matter. Taking the best elements of David Bowie and Suede, the Daily Pravda have crafted a delectable glam breakfast for the anglophile palate, complete with morning-after hangover and the disheveled one-night-stand still reeling under the black satin covers. The 'Pravda is the type of music playing inside your head when your finger pulls down the skin beneath your lower eyelash as you gaze in the mirror, wondering upon which shot of vodka the previous night went awry. It's a soundtrack to the decadent, stretching beyond the angry inch of modern indie and into the stark Russian winterland. If Bernard Butler never left Suede, the late-90s might have sounded something like the Daily Pravda. And that's today's truth.

Location

Boston, MA

Introduction

Says our friend Vanya: In a copycat world of joyous divisions and synthetic clashes of electro, there are some bands that have actually grown listening to the records that truly matter. Taking the best elements of David Bowie and Suede, the Daily Pravda have crafted a delectable glam breakfast for the anglophile palate, complete with morning-after hangover and the disheveled one-night-stand still reeling under the black satin covers. The 'Pravda is the type of music playing inside your head when your finger pulls down the skin beneath your lower eyelash as you gaze in the mirror, wondering upon which shot of vodka the previous night went awry. It's a soundtrack to the decadent, stretching beyond the angry inch of modern indie and into the stark Russian winterland. If Bernard Butler never left Suede, the late-90s might have sounded something like the Daily Pravda. And that's today's truth.