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We finally arrived in New York last night. We are currently in the process of assembling several pieces of poorly constructed furniture. We should have dependable internet access by tomorrow (i.e. posts should resume shortly!).
Thank you for your patience. Pictures of the apartment coming soon.
Rahawa
(”The Great Escape” by Nicholas Hendrickx)
Some nights I can’t get a wink of sleep. On those nights, I listen to Silje Nes and think to myself this is how people build songs, this is how people are born. From knick knacks, to twists, to emptied piggy banks. With ringing, brightness, shimmer, shimmy, and shiny. From plastic wrenches to metal hearts.
And then there’s love.
I’ve spent the past week in Miami saying my goodbyes to the family. The roommates and I drive to New York on the 11th.
We’ll listen to Silje Nes* on the way up; we’ll play my Super Nintendo once settled.
I imagine game-themed post will shortly ensue.
*FatCat Records lists the Silje Nes album Ames Room as “OUT OF STOCK” in MP3 format. Am I the only person who finds this offensive on many levels?
You write things when you’re 13 that you don’t really mean until you’re 23.*
You read poetry and tell yourself one day I won’t fear fluidity. You tell Yeats one day someone will love me as much as I love them, and Keats one day someone won’t be able to do without. You say Dickinson one day I’ll have a cat, and I won’t drown it; Thoreau, I’ll have a house, and it’ll be in the heart of Downtown. Say Cummings, say Thomas I’ll have a job, damnit, a job.
Tell Hemingway I’ll die at 80; tell Hemingway that’s a lie; I’ll die at 32, but without the son who later gets a sex change and dies in a jail cell.
Wanting. Hungry. Alone.
[Buy Moondog]
*You don’t really mean these things at 23 either, but it’s fun pretending.
In which I spotlight the best entries/songs encountered each month on the blogs of my digital brethren. Take a listen and show them love; they deserve it.
July 8th, Tuesday:
Man Man does a Black Cab Session. “Doo Right” is done right. And right. And right.
Also check out La Blogotheque’s Man Man Take Away Show.
July 8th, Tuesday:
Night Shall Eat These Girls And Boys - Where Did Our Love Go?
Dan from Said The Gramophone (you really should read these guys daily, you know) posts the most achingly beautiful Supremes cover.
“Where Did Our Love Go?” by Night Shall Eat These Girls and Boys forges a place in my heart for good. I think about sending the track to the one pair of ears that ought hear it; I refrain for various reasons.
This is by far this month’s choice cut. Listen to it now!
July 14th, Monday:
Treble writes a terrific review of Ratatat’s LP3. I debate asking Terrance whether he’ll be attending this year’s Star Trek convention in Vegas; I think better of it.
“In other words, LP3 is the next step in the evolution of a band embracing its nerdiness in all its forms, like a robot with artificial intelligence learning how to feel emotions. Yes, Ratatat is Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation.”
July 14th, Monday:
Song, By Toad posts Sparrow & the Workshop’s “Devil Song”. I leave the apartment with a bounce in my step. And what a bounce!
July 15th, Tuesday:
Pasta Primavera posts “Marianne” by The Dig. My bounce is replaced by brooding and a sudden urge to listen to +/-. Speaking of which, what ever happened to those guys?
July 16th, Wednesday:
Clearly a good week for music, and hello, Chad VanGaalen. Much thanks to The Rawking Refuses To Stop! for the introduction.
July 24th, Thursday:
Ear Farm continues to impress me with their new layout and continually satisfying discoveries. We wrap up the month with the blissful, folk tune, “Exposure” by the band Peasant.
What did I miss? Any recommendations? I spent the better part of this month in one form of disarray or another. Leave a comment and let me know of the aural gems that slipped past.
Bonnie “Prince” Billy - Cursed Sleep
This is my last night in this bed in this city.
I’ve no idea when next I’ll hear sprinklers come to life outside my window at 4:30 A.M.. My shelves are barren. Tattered shoelaces dangle from the lip of my kitchen’s trashcan. I sleep atop a faded, blue comforter I intend to get rid of in the morning.
Everything feels different.
I fear I’ve thrown away too much.
[Buy Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Myspace]