this from a "best new music" blurb on pitchfork's front page today:
"This Brooklyn four-piece follows its fantastic single '2080' with a debut packed with similar moments of pan-ethnic spiritualism. Like Midlake, Grizzly Bear, and Animal Collective-- who have all recently re-shaped tribal, primitive sounds into ultra-modern forms-- Yeasayer channel both a dystopian science-fiction sensibility and deep appreciation for the natural world."
oh. my. fucking. god.
i mean, i understand: if you don't like it, don't look at it. no one MADE me read pitchfork this morning. but come on, pitchfork. meet me halfway here. use your powers for GOOD, please. there's no need to use the fucking term "pan-ethnic spiritualism." this is rock music, not a fucking anthropological dissertation. you ain't smart for writing that.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
you've never seen happy
until you've seen an autistic kid who, until this year, had problems with eye contact and speaking directly to people, giggles and does a little dance at his seat while listening to the strokes.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
TEAM RIPTIDE
since getting my new faraway job i've all but given up on weeknight drinking, which, if pressed, i suppose is for the best. but tonight my illustrious Better Half is leaving for a week, so what better way to say goodbye than have a miserable, hungover day tomorrow? i have a feeling that's a trick question, but since i asked it, i guess... something. i dunno. shut up.
my asshole sister had her second baby. maybe now she won't be as much of an asshole. just kidding. my new niece, grace, was a couple weeks preemie but came out ok. i'm visiting on saturday.
my car got broken into. again. i have a beige-y grey '96 nissan sentra -- a.k.a. the car that looks exactly like every other car in my neighborhood -- which i bought for the grand price of $600, give or take a couple hundred for parking tix. a while ago someone broke into it near Better Half's old place by exploding the passenger side's door lock with a screwdriver and stealing a visibly broken digital camera and the $1.48 in my ashtray. they left the screwdriver. on monday night someone smashed a back window and took the .75 cents in the ashtray, completely ignoring the screwdriver and thus robbing me of something far richer than all the change in all the ashtrays of the world: the opportunity to sing "the circle of life" while telling this story. those bastards.
but now i have to fucking buy another window. i feel like putting a sign up in the thing saying, "dear people who break into cars: there really is nothing in here worth breaking any part of my car to get to, so please don't. if you DO see something in here and you want it, please leave a note because chances are we can work something out. but breaking into this car will be a waste of everyone's time, and although you most probably live in golden gate park and have quite the surplus of time, it's still a waste."
i got some new records... and actually BOUGHT a few, instead of downloading! i actually kind of amazed myself there. i got:
the new jose gonzalez, which manages to be simultaneously more nick drake-y and less nick drake-y. the new iron and wine is balls-twirlingly good, except for a couple songs that kind of made me forget what was happening because there was too much going on. i got that kevin drew, broken social scene-connected record, and it's ok, i think. i haven't been able to listen to the whole thing in one chunk yet. the new aesop rock is awesome, too. it's way bouncier and more fun than the other stuff i've heard by him. i had all this shit i was going to write about these records, but i'm too tired and annoyed to try right now. maybe later.
my asshole sister had her second baby. maybe now she won't be as much of an asshole. just kidding. my new niece, grace, was a couple weeks preemie but came out ok. i'm visiting on saturday.
my car got broken into. again. i have a beige-y grey '96 nissan sentra -- a.k.a. the car that looks exactly like every other car in my neighborhood -- which i bought for the grand price of $600, give or take a couple hundred for parking tix. a while ago someone broke into it near Better Half's old place by exploding the passenger side's door lock with a screwdriver and stealing a visibly broken digital camera and the $1.48 in my ashtray. they left the screwdriver. on monday night someone smashed a back window and took the .75 cents in the ashtray, completely ignoring the screwdriver and thus robbing me of something far richer than all the change in all the ashtrays of the world: the opportunity to sing "the circle of life" while telling this story. those bastards.
but now i have to fucking buy another window. i feel like putting a sign up in the thing saying, "dear people who break into cars: there really is nothing in here worth breaking any part of my car to get to, so please don't. if you DO see something in here and you want it, please leave a note because chances are we can work something out. but breaking into this car will be a waste of everyone's time, and although you most probably live in golden gate park and have quite the surplus of time, it's still a waste."
i got some new records... and actually BOUGHT a few, instead of downloading! i actually kind of amazed myself there. i got:
the new jose gonzalez, which manages to be simultaneously more nick drake-y and less nick drake-y. the new iron and wine is balls-twirlingly good, except for a couple songs that kind of made me forget what was happening because there was too much going on. i got that kevin drew, broken social scene-connected record, and it's ok, i think. i haven't been able to listen to the whole thing in one chunk yet. the new aesop rock is awesome, too. it's way bouncier and more fun than the other stuff i've heard by him. i had all this shit i was going to write about these records, but i'm too tired and annoyed to try right now. maybe later.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"sombody gonna get pregnant."
scene: golden gate park, at around 6:30 p.m. clear skies; bright, close sun; smooth breeze; indian summer evening. the kind of time you wish you could call everyone you love and say: hey, get over here, let's get drunk in the park and whatever. walking home from the comic book store, crisp new "52" trade paperback under my arm.
i'm walking fast, down 9th, into the park. bikes whiz and joggers plod past. there's a guy up ahead of me with a shopping bag, one shoulder lower than the other. i'm enjoying the evening.
i get closer to the guy. it looks like his bag is heavy. i'm right behind him. i then see the lcuky's bag he's holding is completely full of bloody, dripping red meat*. there's meat all the way to the bottom of the handle loops. it's got to be at least 10 pounds of meat. dripping meat.
mood ruined. entirely replaced by confusion, with a shot of amusement running through it.
i'm walking fast, down 9th, into the park. bikes whiz and joggers plod past. there's a guy up ahead of me with a shopping bag, one shoulder lower than the other. i'm enjoying the evening.
i get closer to the guy. it looks like his bag is heavy. i'm right behind him. i then see the lcuky's bag he's holding is completely full of bloody, dripping red meat*. there's meat all the way to the bottom of the handle loops. it's got to be at least 10 pounds of meat. dripping meat.
mood ruined. entirely replaced by confusion, with a shot of amusement running through it.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
god-fucking-dammit
it's back to school night! FUCK YEAH! MINIMUM DAY AND WE GET OUT AT 1:55 AND SHIT... oh, but wait. i live 40 minutes away from work. and i have to be here from 7 to 9 tonight. well, then. i suppose i'll just... um... blog? and sit here, shoes off, feet smelling remarkably like sourkraut, necktie over a booger-encrusted student chair, desperately ignoring the billion and ten things i SHOULD be doing right now. fuckin a.
the upside: i called in sick tomorrow because of my fucked up ribs. they're a lot better, but i figured i should call in sick friday because i didn't call in sick when it REALLY hurt, on monday. trust me: this makes perfect sense. this is known, in business circles, as "paying it forward." no, wait. i mean, "the law of aggregate returns." or something. whatever. all i know is i'll be able to sleep another hour or two in the morning, which is the most important thing that each of us should take away from this conversation.
so, yeah. in a week i've torn through almost the entire ultimate spider-man run and i have to give it a grade of B. the first fifty issues were pretty spot on, character-wise, and, relatively speaking, art-wise. after issue fifty it all kind of turns into this weird, oddly self-referrential mush. i mean, come on: ultimate moon knight? ultimate master of kung-fu? who has a fucking BOWL CUT (p.s. bagley, what's the deal with you and bowl cuts? there are way too many of them in your stuff)? ultimate RONIN? bendis, shame on you for giving the world ultimate ronin. i understand how it all fits into the story, but that's like dj shadow sampling himself. wait, no. that's like dj jazzy jeff sampling himself. the story wasn't good enough to let that be "clever." it was more "silly."
in the middle chunk of that fifty-issue run, though, mark bagley really kind of started stepping up in the art dept; i really, really don't think he's a very good artist, but he had a run that was, relatively speaking, flawless. the first couple arcs are really bad, and the last few arcs are even worse (hello? BOWL CUT?). stuart immonenn, though, is fackin amazing (r.i.p. nextwave), and i think the book may have a renaissance thanks to him being hired. i certainly respect bagley being a workhorse and churning out issues nonstop, and comics needs guys like that around to show everyone how it's fucking done, but in the end i would rather just have a trade paperback with steve mcniven or travis charest art that took five years to finish than a timely, average book which doesn't do much other than give us totally underused ultimate b-list marvel characters and an ultimate daredevil that's... exactly like the normal one.
next time i write about bendis, remind me to talk about how it seems like his stories are made up as he goes, as if he's constantly dictating what he thinks would be cool to an ever-present comic geek stenographer. ok, i have to do work now. bye.
the upside: i called in sick tomorrow because of my fucked up ribs. they're a lot better, but i figured i should call in sick friday because i didn't call in sick when it REALLY hurt, on monday. trust me: this makes perfect sense. this is known, in business circles, as "paying it forward." no, wait. i mean, "the law of aggregate returns." or something. whatever. all i know is i'll be able to sleep another hour or two in the morning, which is the most important thing that each of us should take away from this conversation.
so, yeah. in a week i've torn through almost the entire ultimate spider-man run and i have to give it a grade of B. the first fifty issues were pretty spot on, character-wise, and, relatively speaking, art-wise. after issue fifty it all kind of turns into this weird, oddly self-referrential mush. i mean, come on: ultimate moon knight? ultimate master of kung-fu? who has a fucking BOWL CUT (p.s. bagley, what's the deal with you and bowl cuts? there are way too many of them in your stuff)? ultimate RONIN? bendis, shame on you for giving the world ultimate ronin. i understand how it all fits into the story, but that's like dj shadow sampling himself. wait, no. that's like dj jazzy jeff sampling himself. the story wasn't good enough to let that be "clever." it was more "silly."
in the middle chunk of that fifty-issue run, though, mark bagley really kind of started stepping up in the art dept; i really, really don't think he's a very good artist, but he had a run that was, relatively speaking, flawless. the first couple arcs are really bad, and the last few arcs are even worse (hello? BOWL CUT?). stuart immonenn, though, is fackin amazing (r.i.p. nextwave), and i think the book may have a renaissance thanks to him being hired. i certainly respect bagley being a workhorse and churning out issues nonstop, and comics needs guys like that around to show everyone how it's fucking done, but in the end i would rather just have a trade paperback with steve mcniven or travis charest art that took five years to finish than a timely, average book which doesn't do much other than give us totally underused ultimate b-list marvel characters and an ultimate daredevil that's... exactly like the normal one.
next time i write about bendis, remind me to talk about how it seems like his stories are made up as he goes, as if he's constantly dictating what he thinks would be cool to an ever-present comic geek stenographer. ok, i have to do work now. bye.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
