Blind Pilot should be nothing new to you.
Their 11-track debut, 3 Rounds and a Sound, cracked onto the indie scene last year and has been gaining steady momentum since (when NPR takes notice, boy howdy, you've got it made). So why feature them on a Pitch Pile when they've already effectively been pitched?
Because they're coming to Chicago and you should probably go - and since you won't go until you know who they are (and until they have the illustrious gold star of RFC approval, which we FedEx to all bands for fridge-hanging purposes), it's my duty to make the introductions. Charmed.
Blind Pilot's sound is a lot like a heart, which isn't to say its sentimental or cheesy; but that it's a muscle the size of your fist, pumping steady stuff that keeps you alive. It's simple, it's neat-- it's a guy with guitar and a guy with drums. Cymbals are used for chimes, not crashes; strings are used for flourish and twine, not explosive reverb. Blind Pilot doesn't want any or need any. Their lyrics are clear enough that they don't need to cake their point in bells and whistles, bold and highlight and red font it to death. Their point has already been made.