Mon Marie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

(”Sadness” by Marleen De Waele-De Bock)

Mon Marie - Transient Night

Times are rough. I’m going through some personal things. I’ve fought temptation, allayed my desire to curse the moon and create playlists involving Elliott Smith, Aimee Mann, Robert Wyatt, Sparklehorse, The Dirty Three; I think you get the picture.

Regardless of the circumstances I will continue to develop this website to the best of my abilities. You have no idea how much it has helped to see such an outpouring of support. So, as far as this blog is concerned, consider this my attempt at getting back on the figurative horse.

As such, I cannot stop listening to this song. It has one of the catchiest intros/verses I’ve heard in some time. I can’t tell whether it’s the lack of polish or the pleasant, wandering jangle of the guitars, but its allure is immeasurable.

You know how some people love Yo La Tengo because some people consider them the band they could have always been in? I think, had I been in a band this previous week, this is the song we would have written. Not because the song is simple (though it is), but because it’s naked and honest to a painful degree, a song that let itself get sunburned for the sake of integrity.

Perspective is a dangerous, beautiful thing.

I think I’ll celebrate New Year’s Day in July.

[Myspace]

Windsor For The Derby For The Moon And The Sun

Windosr For The Derby - Spirit Fade

Some people dream of flight. They fall to fall asleep and soar. They glide from cloud to cloud, planet to planet. They own the galaxy, they do; they own the universe. They blow kisses at quasars, they blush at red dwarfs. Then they return to Earth. They wait until after a good rain to plant their feet and wriggle their toes. They climb their flat, brew their tea, and say, “Well, that was fun; let’s do it again sometime.”

This song is not for them.

“Spirit Fade” is for forevers. This song is for the ones who never plan a return (or the ones who realize a return is impossible). Ever watch the film Gattaca? Ever watch the film Sunshine? This one’s for the Ethan Hawkes of the world and the Cillian Murphys. This one’s for the ones who never save anything for the trip back, the ones who’d rather die flying into the sun than with their fingernails caked by coarse earth.

I’ve followed Windsor For The Derby for years. This may just be my favorite track of theirs.

[Buy Windsor For The Derby, Myspace]

Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands

No picture, no song. Just a link.

Chad from Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands published the perfect post today. The perfect post. I encourage you all read it. I certainly needed to.

Pick Apart The Past, You’re Not Going Back

Beach House - Gila

The thing about crying is it’s rarely a thing. For the most part it’s an occasional function, a flushing of fluids, a glaring at flesh.

But then there are those other times when, in the absence of light, there exist fetal positions, there exist cold fingertips wrapping themselves around trembling toes, and it becomes clear to the densest observer that something is awry deep, deep within this other. The type of crying where catharsis is only step one of 20.

David’s last time was December ‘06, two weeks before Christmas; he supposed he was long overdue.

He supposed it was his fault for thinking so.

[Buy Beach House, Myspace]

A Song For Sarah Bidmead

Willie Dixon - Insane Asylum

I’ve made you 23 mix CDs, Sarah. Three weeks and 23 mix CDs, Sarah. They sit atop my desk. They’re stacked like orphans, Sarah. Stacked like potatoes, like flapjacks soggied in syrup and milk.

They call to me each day, the wee urchins. They say, take my back, mama, won’t you please, please? It’s painful. It’s downright excruciating. What do you say to a CD? What do you say to 23? What would you say to 23? Would you tell them they were premature? Would you tell them they were accidents, the lot of them? Close, but no cigar? Rooster’s flown the coop? Just a bunch of lesbian chickens getting it on in an act of futility? In acts of sheer desperation and fluff?

What would you say to 23 orphan childs? I don’t know, Sarah. I’ve tried to find the words. I really have. Nothing seem perfect. Nothing seems good enough. Nothing seems right. Maybe I’ll send them all. Send a stack of homeless and have you think I’ve saved you 15 bones. I thought only of you. It’s insane, I know. It’s unprecedented. It’s disturbing to think thought enough for 23.

I blame this song, Sarah. I blame this season. I blame the world. I blame them all, from Spain to Arkham.

I blame you.

[Buy Willie Dixon]