hung out in the ever charming Wallingford with a friend last night, going to see de-lovely with a friend at the Guild on 45th, a beautiful old theater with an awesome neighborhood-sized marque. very fancy - very approriate, though I agree with Bruno that the film took obviously liberties.
Month of July, 2004
old news, but i was looking to pirate some smiths lyrics for a parody and found this:
Smiths lyrics generator, which I sincerely hope Interpol had the sense to use for this upcoming album. You can click til your finger breaks off and never get 'the subway she is a porno.'
Wandering thru the capitol hill block partycrowd after the most explosive mid-day day-go dance set from my new favorite band, USE, I saw one Nic Offer from apparently not everyone's favorite NYC dance band whose name can't be googled, and in that daze was thinking - 'wow, this really is the resurgence of the live dance band.
the thing is about all ages shows is that they always smell differently than do your regular adult rock shows - they smell like hardcore kids. in seattle, at the underage hotspot it's not unlike abc no rio for that humid accumulation of nearly threadbare decadence worn on unwashed bodies. humid, woody, and playfully but agressively male - i love that smell. it's what blue-hoodie emo love songs should be about.
so, out of nyc that it seems i didn't know people actually really like reading arthur, which always seemed a little out of touch and self-serving (not unlike the philly independent) but i guess when you get devendra behind it, you get nothing but gold. his 'curated'1000 only freakfolk comp feels like some kinda washed out, up close spirit of the moment thing, a document that actually stands with a multitude of great tracks (i even like the joanna newsom) in the tiny-speaker music movement.
so i had this weird sort of youngish sunday wandering experience today, buying zines and drinking iced-italian sodas in kiss kiss capitol hill. was in bauhaus, cause it's easy to tumble down to it and does indeed seem to catch everyone in the neighborhood the way a billiard table pocket catches balls. anyway, these two first date lesbians were having an ackward conversation and suddenly the way too chipper barista put on belle and sebastian, to which the butch girl said, 'yuck, i hate this kind of music,' and then i eavesdropped on their conversation about what they did like.
world's fair nut that i am, i've never been to the miserable ruins of the 1964 world's fair, that clownish sci-fi spectacle on your left in queens as you pile to the airport . new york city's suburban outcropping of utopia -- the fair and the twa terminal -- two means of escape, imagined and real --- both abandoned by their cities for the grim functional.
deep in new wave and sheffield drops this vv longpiece ff piece right on me, making all think the guy could be like the disembodied voice of the whole movement. Fifteen pounds of fuck puppy indeed.
clearing up some text panels at emp and stumbled upon this factoid:
1623 Avedis I, an alchemist living in Constantinople discovers the still secret process for treating alloys and applies it to the art of making cymbals of extraordinary clarity and power. He is given the name "Zildjian" by the Sultan, which means "Cymbalsmith".
so, all those losers that heckle opening bands at punk revival shows, you know, the dudes with the black zildjian hats on, are actually part of an ancient craftsman's guild.
The Wikipedia entry for Winchester Cathedral posits that it might be the only "cathedral to have had a popular song written about it."
just reading the aquarius records post about the Conet Project reissue. usually the sheer bulk of aquarious mailings freaks me out - how much music can you think about in one day? i mean, i'm not in the other music mail order room, ferchristsakes - but this one struck me cause really, it's fucking crazy that people would be that interested in some spy-numbers exotica. from the list:
Best songwriting advice from an ex: never use the word say in a lyric. Much like in 'real' writing, it's telling not showing in the worst way. FF did just that in the banal but catchy uk-dance-punk-telephone-vocal-will-never-die pre-summer jam 'take me out,' with a chorus so vacant that it seems impossible to remember when You and I are saying what. The queenie dancefloor singalong is rendered useless:
I say don't you know
You say you don't know
I say... take me out
I stay, you don't show
Don't move, time is slow
I say... take me out
as a plea to all that is good and sane, former ohio-living friends, go home! click here to read the rules for eligibility to vote in the charmed buckeye state. At the bottom is a link to the registration card PDF.
The part that pertains to me, floating grad student who stows treasures and blood in the state with eight great presidents, follows:
How is residence determined?
You can tell things get bad when you stop making up imaginary band names and instead make up imaginary conference paper titles. Anyway, think about it. How much do you REALLY know about Jimmy Buffett? A few songs? A location? But how DID he become the king of the beautiful losers? Hmm ...
It starts off with a beautiful church hymn, giving no indication of the fury to come. In high school, I was four seats away from being part of that quartet, and though by the time we played the piece I had all but given up the quest for first chair, I wanted to play that elegy. The English horn breaks the reverie, the orchestra picks up and it begins, really begins.