Apparently I am supposed to update this magic wonderland of my internal tone poem for public display on the hourly. I don't have that kind of time, homies. I appreciate the learning-me as far as internet protocol. Wordlife.
Ok, so as it stands my voice is gone and sorrow has descended upon me like a giant baby-eating raptor from the old school dinosaur times a-passed. All my freinds who I love and make me laugh til I feel so drunk, they live far away from me, and I love being around them so much, I swear I feel like my blood is invincible. I feel like I could just eat them. And they are all in NY, writing and snapping and I AM MISSING IT.
Soooo, I was in NY-C and Brooklyn for pert near a week and I had a lot of meals and way many more giggles. Julianne and i spoke today of the giggles and the times that were had and she pinned it "We have fun without even trying all the time. WE don;t even have to make the fun, we are the fun. We are the corporeal emopbodiment of fun."
And you know, she's right.
Every time we are together, I imagine that if someone watched back a tape of it, they would think we were on speed and acid, except that unlike people on those drugs, we are very funny and very smart. Julianne has this dance she choreographed for the Clipse's "Ma I don't love her", which makes her seem like a fluid oragami swan, she has that strange grace and hand moves that make you feel like yr shit is straight up goofy like that midge kid that was on Webster.
I am not sure where to start but I will tell you about the end: It was like last night of camp, and Sasha was *not drunk* on gin gimlets, and we took him to the Dim Mak night and showed him what the soul of American Punk Rock as made by 19 yr old Brainiac fans looks like, turned inside out. Mahjonng was the beast (sic), pure calamity smoove jams, where I think maybe in a record or so, they will turn a corner into this iron-clad Morris Day honkey's in trenchcoats with those synths-on-straps thing popularized by Nitzer Ebb or Thomas Dolby ( I might be lying on that one?) and just be like marching around, giving us so much bass in the ass that it'll make yr contacts pop out. Like OONGCH-A OONCHA-Ah-AH, on the dancefloor, all smiles. It's not sexy, it's just really good.
Also, on this night I saw a lot of people I had not seen in maybe 3-5 years and I had my long hair down in pigtails like Rapunzel and 3 and 5 years ago my hair was short and blond, so all the people from the past kept saying "Gee, I love yr hair", which made me feel like i was in a Pantene commercial.
But anyhow, that night, at dinner, Lil Chris, Sasha, Rjyan and Julianne and Partymanica and Craig the drummer I barely know, we talked just about our favorite songs, what you would take a bullet for and what song, as Young (jung?) Chris say-ed "makes you want to like, fuck a rhino", which trangmogrified into "songs that make you want to fuck a brick wall" or "make you feel like you could eat through the brick wall"... And Chris and I both said "ANTE UP" by MOP, and Sasha and I both said some Bad Brains songs, and it felt nice to have things in common with people that you respect, and when music is very important and teathers you to most yr pals like a tin-can and string telephone, knowing you'd be chewing through the brick wall together, it's a nice feeling.
But it was bittersweet. It's like last night of horse camp.
Knowing that soon summer is over and you'll be back in school, frumped with all it's attendent hassles.
Also, one must note: I was in the same room as Jay-Z. That man has 99 problems and a bitch ain't one, according to his new album. And that's bitch meaning anything but bitch as we know it in the King's English. Bitch as in illegal Ecudorean donkey sales. Bitch as yr ex's underpants in a shoebox under the bed. Bitch as in record label management. OR SOMETHING. Three days later and I don;t care and I can only remember the way the studio lights rattled when they played the Timbaland track at the sort of volume that's at least 33 decibels louder than I have ever listened to music at on my own free will. I also remember that he had a voice like a cottonball. I was thinking that he must have been much more thuggish as a teenager if he was really hustling crack.
Maybe Beyonce and "the rap game" has toned him down, cos people that gentle-seeming do not fit the bill for drug-salesmanship.
I can only speculate, granted.
I saw bands I liked a lot this week. Like this:
These Arms Are Snakes - who, conflict aside, I work with, but had never seen and I thought they were VERY REAL, not this faux earnest earnestnesses, their posing and their moves were really NATURAL... Very rugged sounds, lots of delay on the gtr and Little Steve, the sing, deep throats the mic on stage with an unknowing porn aplumb, thats really remarkable and applaudable for a straight boy. Liked it!
I also saw Young People, who's album makes me tremble because I cannot make music in a golden cloud like them. They were rickety in a way that most bands fear being, but knowing their LA art-band backgrounds, I appreciated it.
I saw the Gossip and I love them every time and when i see Beth play I wish I was charismatic, rather than enigmatic.
I saw Hold Steady who were so SIMPLE and GREAT I yelled "COOL!" out of visceral impulse and fandom after the first song. Craig's words are this naked-bulb bright Jim Carroll, scumfuckedness of Lou Reed Transformer, lecherous and strung out on the slopes of heaven (to bite Ferlengetti (sp?)), teenage preganacy scandals and the shakes. All the while, the rest of the band pulls a full Stinson stuporred gait genius. Fold yr cards, bands of America.
a couple nights later Pretty Girls played and afterwards I was talking to their drummer, who is a genius with that rhyhtmic certainty of his and clearly has no idea about the depth of such, and I was trying to thank him for two things he said/did about 9 years ago, when i was dating his odler brother, and it really was truly the worst time of my life, and he was a mere 15 and had no idea the weight that the small kindness held. And i had been meaning to say thank you since like 1995, and I finally told him and I got totally choked up and teared up and I think maybe I looked insane, and I was really hoping he didn't think I was like basket case. But I said thank you and thats what I had to do.
It's hard not to be macho and be all ashamed of emotion as signifier of weakness.