This is my Birdhouse (with sad evidence of present dry spell). The left side doubles as a sort of Remember The Milk app. Stickies support is in Beta.
To reiterate: HELL YEAH I got a mo’fuckin’ whiteboard in my DAMN HELL ASS SHOWER
(Rachel put it there because she is pure coalesced light.)
…and while they’ve inspired countless women to just fucking rock, you do Sleater-Kinney an injustice by calling them a chick-band, or pigeonholing them as “Riot Grrl” and walking away. Judge them by the same standard you judge any band. Don’t take the 3-point line in a few feet; they’ll shoot just fine from there.
I mean, yeah, of course the band’s ethos draws from femininity, but miles ahead of the band members’ gender, they just fucking rock.
(Sorry, the video’s not For Real — it’s just a still shot of the band that you can look at and smile about while getting hit with like 4 hooks, any one of which would have made the song.)
So, here’s last night’s costume, slightly less crappy. The bodega was closed by the time I finally got out of the apartment, so no bag of Wonder Bread.
Yeah, one person got it. I hugged her so huge.
Seriously though, watch this show.
Sorry the picture’s so crappy but it’s like 11:30 and if I don’t leave NOW I never will.
XO,
-TW-
For me, seeing a band play live has this investigative edge to it: figuring out how, exactly, a band makes their particular aggregate noise is its own sort of joy beyond simply enjoying music as a presented whole.
Along those lines, more often than not, the Talking Heads escape easy dissection. Trying to pin down some musical element as a traditional guitar/bass/drum, some kind of keyboard, a nutty, left-field world-beat instrument, or simple studio magic is tough.
But that’s mostly boring precursor for this live video of them performing “Born Under Punches” in Rome. The song features, at various points: 3 different guitars (one of whom is Adrian Belew, who went on to front King Crimson), 2 different basses (who does that?!), 2 drummers, and that one spooky-looking lady who plays the shaker and sings backup harmony.
So, uh, yeah. Wasn’t gonna guess that without looking in the back of the book.
Rad-Ass Stripe; Normal Light
Low-Light: No Problem.
Flashcatcher!
…yeah, another post about trivial improvements to my messenger bag, but this one’s in the service of celebrating my good fortune at being Rachel’s boy :)
The Plan: In addition to at LEAST 3 blinky-ass LEDs, a dayglo helmet, and the patience to refrain from biking into traffic at a red light, I wanted to reflective-tape my bike and bag to increase nighttime unmissability.
The Problem: As anyone who’s gotten a package from me knows, I deploy adhesives like I’m Afflicted.
The Result: Rachel’s tape-job is solid enough that, by all accounts, it looks like Chrome shipped the fucker to me like that.
Washed Out - Feel It All Around
…it may well be that this song is just a heavily filtered retread of the Cocteau Twins’ “Sugar Hiccup” (which I adore), and that my brain just doesn’t care: if blissed out, gauzy, shoegaze-informed pop is on the rise, I’ll worry about originality later.
As it is, this song’s rise to bloggish prominence coincided beautifully with summer’s final, hazy days, and the blessed arrival of Fall. Take it on a breezy stroll; thank me later.
…wait for it. You’ll see it.
Okay, here’s the thing about me and spatial reasoning: it’s a pronounced deficiency of mine. Those puzzles where you have to untangle 2 twisted metal links? Not once ever, even after I watched some other kid do it. Those brainteasers where you have 6 connected squares, and are asked if they fold up to make a cube? Not a prayer.
So after 15 minutes in a Rite-Aid, when I stepped outside and finally teased out the relationship between bike, lock, and rack, I nearly fucking expired for mortification: I’d just bought the bike that goddamn afternoon.
In conclusion, I’d like to thank the city of Burlington, Vermont for not stealing my bike, and for not gathering by it to point and laugh when I came back to “unlock” it.
My “Project Runway” Tag Cloud:
MESS hot tranny
…it’d be useful if I could stop mentally comparing this to some stupid Home Shopping Network blooper.
But here I am, linking to it.
I, too, fear our coming oligarhy overlords.
Sadly, the mouthbreathers who lap this up are the same ones keeping their kids out of school today.
IF: you were this awesome, THIS is what you could be doing with your spare time.
Let this be a clarion call to greater personal awesomeness accountability.
via riotclitshave
…sometimes, a piano and vocals are undeniably Correct, to the exclusion of any other arrangement.
Linked above is Pitchfork’s write-up, which contextualizes the song well. Stereogum’s interview with Frida Hyvönen about the song is earnest and insightful, and provides an RDA of Björkiness without that nickels-in-the-oven aftertaste.
But: if you’re really into mysterious MP3s cluttering your desktop, download here without reading a dang thing.
“Everybody else, just stop taking pictures — somebody already took the best one.”
- @effingboring
