Washed Out – review

The Haunt, BrightonOne major uncertainty hangs over the prospect of seeing Washed Out live. How will Ernest Greene, from the US state of Georgia, translate the music he makes in his bedroom – mysterious, oblique, so swathed in distortion and tape hiss that the manner of its recording becomes part of its appeal – to a live setting? It's an intriguing question and it seems unlikely anyone would have come up with the correct answer: that he would bound on stage in a vest, clapping his hands ove...

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