It used to be that you could look at someone, see a bunch of tattoos and rightfully assume they were in a rock band or drove a Harley. Leather, long hair, and a 'tude would usually denote a musician; while long hair, knee scraping beards and a beer gut would indicate the latter. But somewhere, in the fast-paced motion of time, the tide turned and the inking image (along with that of the stereotypical biker), shifted. Having body art became as common as a hairstyle change or donning a trendy new pair of jeans. This was right around the time that my little sister showed up with a flower affixed brightly to her hip (trend queen she is) as I mussed to myself, "She'll be sorry!" and "At least it's in place where it can be hidden." I should note that, many years later, she hates the tattoo and wants to have it removed but found the cost unjustifiable. (I silently pat myself on the back for knowing this would happen.) Please don't get me wrong - I am not against tattoos. I myself have actually considered getting one, but could never picture anything that would A) be meaningful enough, B) be adaptable to a small area of my body, C) is unique in both style and location, and D) would be something I could live with forever. But the simple fact that I had considered purposely marring my virgin flesh, when years before I was freaked that my sister was sporting this fashionable expression of her personality, is proof enough that the tattoo image has certainly come a long way.

Which brings me to the point of this diatribe, and what the hell it has to do with The Labors of Sisyphus' Two Points, a Cast, and the Whore. I picked up the LOS press kit and immediately noted the artist, clad with copious arm tats, and it didn't weigh in on my first impression. In fact, before I even noticed the tattoos I had already pictured him as "artsy" - and there was a time that you'd look at the tats on this guy and have to at least assume he was gonna belt out some of that screamy-growly that I love so much (please note the sarcasm). "This guy" is Travis Gerke, the artist behind LOS, who belts out beautiful lost-love songs over acoustic guitars and piano music that at times borders on orchestral. While the sound is something you might want to kick on during your next romantic moment, it should probably be reserved for during and/or after your next break-up sex. With great lines like: "Love comes sealed in a one by one wrapper and covers so neatly the thing that you're after." ("Summation"); "It's always worse in the morning, she shows up still drunk and horny again, and I've already given up so I'm giving in." ("Lenten Fare"); "…as she fills the transient space with that likelihood look spread across her face" ("Hook, Line"); "She only sleeps in a bed when both sides are warm…everything she gives and everything they gladly receive and she expects me to believe there's something left in her for me" ("To Give a Season"). Not exactly words you want lilting at your current sweetie. Though Gerek's voice is quite calming and could also be applied to assuage the nerves caused by driving through rush hour traffic and a hectic day at work, or simply to lull you asleep at night. So essentially, whether it's catharsis or a Valium you're looking for, LOS has it all right here in one seven-track package.

P.S. Travis Gerek used to be a member of a pop punk band called Sloppy Meateaters. So maybe the tattoo stereotyping isn't as far off as I had imagined. Or maybe it just proves my continued mantra "You can't judge a book by its cover… most of the time."

www.laborsofsisyphus.com/