Hee haw, my article about Xasthur and US black metal ran in the Tribune. 100% ridiculous.
Chicago Reader yr-nd tops according to critics, including my top 5. The list is a showcase of the radness of the reader--that between the 7 or 8 of us, not a single list had overlap with another. Not even on one record. Which I think is "neat", and which might seem like a Small Miracle when the mega-fuck polls come via idolator and village voice and you find that thousands of people like the same 12 records in the same 10-point way. Where is the triumph in that, I wonder? "Favorite" is stupid.
Abe Vigoda: latino art wavers from Chino, CA, young and skronky, sinewy jamboree, on point as far as "look at yr boots/remember yr roots/ and think of D. Boon". Maybe you already know whats up with them; though I think that'd mean you live in LA and everyone in LA's job is to know whats up with everything. Or maybe yr into mailorder--their PPM record just got repressed in an edition of 215 copies, real snooze-you-loose prospect. Either way, I know, amongst certain types, sharing bands via blog is steeped in this weird proprietariness, the look of scooping, foisting the obscure as emblematic of cool--even though all it is proof of is being able to fall down the rabbit hole of Myspace or having friends who take mixCD trading really seriously, but seriously, lets avoid that. It all just is. Like both Op Ivy and Queen Latifah both once said "U-N-I-T-Y".
The Marriage Records skate team skate video:
1. feels like skateboarding
2. is happening on Shayla's street
3. Is the kind of skating I do and I prefer
4. Questions what constitutes a skate trick ie: is jumping over a picnic table any fancier or more fun-to-watch trick than simply waggling your hands, or jumping off your board and slowly rotating it around your head?
5. feels like being in Portland
6. feels like a stare into the soul of Portland that would adequately explain Portland to someone who'd never been there.
PS. I am really tired of the word "favorite" and it's implications.
This Christmas made me realize my mom understands me better than I realized. She gave me the Clash 7"s boxset and a Steely Dan CD. She also gave me some sweet knives.
My mother and my sister have a bounty of girl-items I don't, like a special curling iron, hair goo, a hairbrush. I just bought my first hairdryer this month and it was like a world opened up to me. When I am here I am possessed by the need to use and master these tools, to use all the shining and poofing and curling things, and the results have been a great success, and mostly popular looks of proms c. 1963-- xmas eve dinner with the step-fam: a very lovely bouffant (my first), last night: a flip with a curl all the way around--the look I wanted in 6th grade curing a mild obsession with the Patty Duke Show. I am living a real holiday hairsperiment.
Last night some of us went to witness karaoke at the Triple Rock, which has transitioned from "cool punk club/bar" to punk dive par exemplar based on skeeviness factor of the womens bathroom alone. Girlgang names carved into the thick thousand coat black paint, tampons jammed into the floor drain, girls blocking each other while they take turns pissing in the doorless stall.
The only Mnpls folks I know anymore are the ex-pats that head home for holidays too, and are well outside of the mobius strip of gossip, though one of the people I was with was up on the scene reports, and everytime someone would get one stage to do karaoke, I would get the run down on that person's 06 drama. When paired with the extrapolated-Rorshach of their karaoke-song choices, I felt like I had never moved away, so well versed in the black-mopped oedipal wrecks doing "Sexyback" and their myriad scene beef, hook-up histories and due damage.
Minneapolis is a small scene for big city; just standing outside partaking in a pilfered menthol, I heard a girl offering up her recent genital herpes diagnosis to her three friends for discussion. They advised her to send an email update to the guy that gave them to her, along with photos and details of how her treatment and recovery was going--on a day by day basis. The other time I went outside, a beautiful girl stared me down, then inched closer and closer, in a housed totter-lurch, and leaned forward into the side of my head like she was going to rest her head on my shoulder. Instead she whispered very quietly "I don't like people." I didn't know what to say other than "That's too bad." I saw some dudes who used to be ska but are now crusties, but other than that it was ghost nostalgia and bad vibes to avoid reminicing on. I drove home to my mom's and realized half way I was taking the way I knew best: the 4 to the 21 to the 17c--the bus route.
Mnpls and surrounding area: this week I am back. Tell me where yr party is, yr basement show, yr danceparty. Do not tell me about your party if it was like the party we went to last night, which was ok til the partywide game of telephone passed through and suddenly quick shifts of eight made haste towards a closed bedroom; the coat room had turned to the coke room and I had forgotten--the whole town is recreational--so it was like a stampede and minutes later the place erupted into too hard laughing, jaw gnashing, plus-loud chattering and hugging girls spilling their drinks down each others backs. So I took a raincheck on Craigs story about the new H. Washington display going in at the library, and JR and I said peace and made for the exit; we're a just chewing gum and ginger ale sect.
Xmas shocker: Matt and I unknowingly both made each other personalized felt bookmarks as gifts. Mine said his name, his is a bookworm with eyes sewn on, one of the best gifts ever given to me.
Secondly, I forgot vis a vis por favorito this year masterlist: favorite song:
Tortoise & Bonnie Prince Bill: Cravo E Canela, which is a Milton Nascimento song, and bests the original, and has been stuck in my head since I heard it. I whistle it a few times a week at least. Listen to the fuzz! BPB sounds spontaneous, and it's a spotlight on the great things his voice can do with a little varnish on it's whiskey-grain, then there is the rising horns and then overdriven everything. The original is perky bpm and has whistling in place of the guitar solo and Brazilian-poly skittering and sounds like it's played by the sort of dudes that Donald Fagen writes short stories about: latin jazzers getting loose at the beach. I bought three Milton Nascimento albums trying to find the original, and have assigned myself to like him after paying import prices. PS. If you like, say, Animal Collective and are looking for some seductive exotic latin feel good heavy strums, beach trance c. 69, self-titled "Milton" will freak your scene.
Wolfkin, Copenhagen party ruse, singing "And you have semen / in your brand new pants / Oh, we're doing it the aah-dult way", like showtunes & cheap narcotics are the adult way; charming.
You still have a day to plan: 12/22=Global orgasm for peace.
More songs from Mil Mascaras. MM's singer is named Armelle Oberle, which is possibly the frenchiest name since Napoleon, and also, she sings for another band Crank Und Ultraeczema. I am not sure if I posted this, or if you deduced it on your own via some crackerjack website hunting, but every link on here is strange, magical, bound to suck you in, make you feel bougeious for using Protools as opposed to live-to-cassette and very lame for not having copious bands EXCLUSIVELY FOR FUN . Maybe it is just me, but tis what I thought. Actually, I thought "oooh, a gold mine of internet treasures!" and then I thought "Why am I not in a band?" and then I remembered I am, but that we just go to breakfast instead of practicing ever.
Secondarily, I think I forgot to turn in my official voting ballotry for various l'offical and sanctioned rock crit profesh polling.
I do not think this is a considerable loss, because if you have read this wee bloggin (grossest combo of words i could pull together) for more than a Free Tuesday or whatevers, you know alll I cared about was the same thing everyone else mostly cared about, which was Tv On The Radio and JoJo Newsom and Swedish Frida. What I can tell you that was otherwise secretive, and various things that informed my list:
1. I finally understood parts of "hotel california" that for the last 27 years I have not. Kind of a no-brainer but keep in miund, out of punk pride I probably turned it off the first 300 times I heard it.
2. I did not know so much about rap and dance music this year because I went out way less and because some of my rap friends and I stopped hanging out. So, that may account for T.I. being in my top ten. Though that record will make you feel like yr dick is 50 feet long, no matter who and where and how you are. Proverbial dick.
3. "Everybody Everybody" by Black Box is in my top 10 most played songs in my iTunes for the 2nd year running. I think it is mostly just there because I kept forgetting I had "Good Life" by Inner City in the computer too.
4. My listening to writing ratio is deeply skewed, I sometimes go two months with only listening to 2 or 4 records, about which I am writing. Like whole records. In other professions they call that "worker slowdown". I think I maybe only listened to 70-91 cds/records this year. Maybe. So a survey of "favorite" is a microset of a microset.
5. I prefer the playlist I made of just the steely dan box set, Prince Sign Of The Times and three Joni Mitchell records to all hardcore records of 06.
6. I prefer to hear Clipse outside my home and i might change my mind on it in a major way within the next month, so it is off the list.
7. The best show I saw all year I think was these three girls who sang together perfectly, I do not remember their names, they were like a really sexy post-teenage Roches kind of outfit--like just ceaseless chops and talent on top of entertaining--I saw them play next to the sea of galilee in Israel and there was a delicious buffet, and I ate desert and sat on a pillow while watching them.
8. Best Podcasts in order:
Mad Decent radio
Kitchen questions from The Splendid Table
9. Best re-issues of the year in order:
Delroy Wilson Studio One best of
Dead Moon bezt of on Sub Pop
10. Record that was most inspirational, that i liked too much to write about: The Fiery Furnaces.
11. Also inspirational:
Mary J's tights with the hole in them, live at the Bank/Airline promo throw down at House of Blues.
Tearsdrops art label bands and label too
BARR show in the art exhibit in LA
"I hate my school" by The Necros
The old lawyer guy from Big Black sucking but totally going for it at T&G 25 fest
12. Shows I was most bummed to miss:
Ellen Allien all three times
Dan Higgs 3 times too
13. Best shows I actually saw
Coughs at the Bottle
Coughs at Wire fest
Four Tet / Kieran Hebden DJ night
14. I like the Common commercial as a song,
but did not vote for it, even though it had a leg up on all other songs I heard this year because IT WAS A COMMERCIAL ON PURPOSE.
Robin, who is not only my good girlfriend, but my home decorating/morals/crafting idol as well, has upped the ante and taken it one step further, has become a really adorable pregnant person now too. I spent the whole day at her house, like how I used to do with friends when I was a kid, like a wish against Monday and homework, but this time we baked cookies. Robin did most of the work, but I did make a gingerbread Robin with sugar cookie shoes, a big belly and boobs and frosting for hair. I used the knife to texture it and while it did not look like her hair, it did look like hair. Phylis Dillers hair. With holiday green sprinkles in it, for prettiness.
It is the end of the year and hardly a thing doing, and the man is away and there is some shame in the fact that yr late night schedule is like an open ended love letter to Season 5 du Adventures in Jack Bauer, which is kind of just watching Kiefer Sutherland yell "DROP THE GUN" 150 times in a row, it's more like getting high to function vs. getting high recreationally; the paucity of TV thrills. In leiu of the guns and yelling, and all Dos Passos pages left unread, you leave the house. It's practically short sleeves weather; it's no need for mittens even when yr on yr bike weather. You rejoice in global warmings hot effects even though it feels macabre. It is holiday party week, where people you know will be making nice in an office, eating snacks off napkins; there will be catching up and loud music, so why not. You can do worse than small talk and bummed smokes. You go and it is all of those things and because it is winter, you have forgotten a little about being around people. You know about being around plants and cats, you know about their careful feeding and minor barfing problem. You go to one party and you revel in free food and someone to put a cut lime in yr water, which is reason enough leave the house anyhow: ice cubes & limes & the water that bubbles. It feels like a virgin experience. At the nother party there is joy in being in the loud room with everyone getting soft on booze and talking about important-nothing over hi-decibel girl-group-sung Jingle Bells. You ash in someone's beer and dare JR to help you re-enact the scene in Desperate Living where Divine knocks over the xmas tree and kills her dad. You discuss with your friend about your shared disdain for internet snarkiness; the irony that you are doing this perched on a ledge at the Pitchfork office is mostly lost on you. Who cares: they have multitudes of chips here! You have left the igloo, gone a-mingle with the strangers and half-knowns, a person who enjoys parties, amongst the party people.
"Here's a puzzle: this morning I made two little sammys out of bread and put them in a bag and then wrapped the bag around itself and put the bag in my backpack. When I got to school, the sammys were gone. What happened?? "Wha Happen?" it's a BrainBuster. I sure wish I had those sammys, though. And I'm not going to want them when I get home, so the whole thing's a bust. Did an evil goblin steal my sammys? Like Descartes, I can not rule out this possibility."
Totally heartbreaking news.
J. Robbins and family need our help in a major way. Checks, credit cards and pay pal accepted. Maybe you have just 22.50$ to spare, but you should spare it and spare it now. Please repost the link everywhere you can.
Internetted kin of the middle west:
Ambulette is comin' to town. If you have seen them before, time to see them again and if yr a stranger, it's time to get familiar--they are like a whole new band, a better band. Forget the ancient myspace jiggs that are up, and head down. Before it used to be "RIYL: Denali, Mercury Rev" and I just saw them Monday, and it's suddenly "RIYL: Zepplin's House of the Holy, the solo from "When Doves Cry", being steamrolled by hugeness". Shit is so heavy that Rob Lowe spontaneously hit my arm and went "WHO-OA" mid song (and Rob is avant-garde only, so it's saying something). Tonight is Minneapolis! Go!
Dec 13 Mnpls MN @ 7th street entry
Dec 14 Omaha NE @ Sokol
Dec 15 Lawrence KS @ Replay
Dec 16 Columbia Mo @ MOJO
I know, I posted this yesterday, but I really am just so wowed by Mil Mascaras I thought I would post about it again. Mil Mascaras songs. Can someone please put out their record? As handy a miracle of Myspace is: The internet is not a record player. Not at all! How do they do it? It meaning make it sound like 1979 has not happened yet. It like the Raincoats never broke up. It like opening for Au Pairs. Strasbourg is the place to be, I guess. I think one of them is also in that other band Crack und Ultra Excema (Strasbourg, on some 4-way split with aids wolf). Someone needs to fly me to France so I can so a scene report from Strasbourg. I am going to keep using the word Strasbourg over and over til someone takes me up on my offer. My offer to go to Strasbourg.
Secondly, I am really in love with all kinds of records and music, but, in science of the heart studies I have done this week, Pretenders II might be the only record I need. I used to have sub-beef in my brain about Chrissy Hynde being anti-feminist and maybe even not particularly liking women, but even that couldn't make for real reluctance, as nothing can really hold against when she pops "jacuzzi to jacuzzi" like a slur--like it is nothin' and totally, utterly something at the same time. Chrissy Hynde as woman personified in these song is--not to be all Lacan about it--beyond "woman"--at least in pop definition. Singular in her gender-beyondness. Perhaps thats what affords her her stance on feminism:She is in some other orbit, she's superceded. This special remastered blah blah tra la la xtra disc edition is all you should be giving anyone for a holiday present.
thirdly, because I am all over French cassette rock like Pitchfork is about Swede-jizz, The Anals, who say they are gay hardcore, but they sound like they should be on some Xpressway New Zealand scuzz comp c. 92.
see also new weird mystery and non-stop really greatness
Basic Weed and Aline Wild & The Normals and Cheb Samir and the Black Souls of Leviathan. Cheb Samir is also in Cradle of Smurf who I think are just three ppl effing around on keyboards.
Not to be all like Pitchforkian hyperbole freakout 50 times in a row, but this might be the best thing I have heard in a long long time WHOA! The message of "Slack Motherfucker" gone french socialist, by way of The Shoetrees.
Mil Mascaras are all femme frenchy un wave. Bless. Kind of a dream, no?
1. Order them a record from Teardrops art label . Limited editions of like, 17, best looking and weirdest best things going, impossible to find=for the person who has everything.
2. Everything Joan Didion has written, in one massive volume. Not portable, but no less crucial.
3. home made felt book marks with their name on them and a special message--all you need is felt scissors and a glittery paint marker.
Tonight is Monday, and the The Empty Bottle, Monday is free. Tonight, Ambulette, is playing for free. Show yr free support and show up. Free up. The Race opens and you know, Craig from the Race works at the library and is the # 1 place to go for library behind the scenes info. Last time I saw him, he told me when is the bad time to go if yr looking to checking out DVD movies. I am not sure what kind of other info you could pump him for, but if the library is part of yr life--surely you have something.
Here is a picture of wyatt and monkee--wyatt is the one in the bag.
What you can do with a video camera, your crew and about 10 yards of fabric:
The Ex played last night and they were so invinsible and postive and rapturous that I developed a show long crush on GW Sok. He's not really my type, even in my fantasy brain (He's a 47 yr old punk dutch manarchist who looks like a baby, and was wearing a tucked in purple t-shirt) but he wields a megaphone with such righteousness, I feel bougeious guilt just by looking at him. I started thinking "I have not even considered the plight of the worker in at least a week" and began making lists of books to check out at the library, wondering what we would talk about if we were friends, wondering if he likes people who are not dutch anarchists. And then Kat did a cowbell solo, her ponytail splashing wild behind her and I just want to mash face first into the brick wall next to me because they are just the best band on the planet and nothing short of it and all I can do about it is dance.
They may be coming your way still. With DJ/Rupture no less.
12/9 Pittsburgh PA (USA), Garfield Artworks
12/11 Baltimore MD (USA), Ottobar
12-12 Cambridge MA (USA), The Middle East
12/13 New York NY (USA), Knitting Factory
12/14 Philadelphia PA (USA), First Unitarian Church
12/15 Hoboken NJ (USA), Maxwells
12/16 Cleveland OH (USA), Grog Shop
Miles is now the music columnist for the Reader! Every week! Miles Standish-Raymer = total columness! On point! 1000 !
Brendan and Aaron get a blog.
PS. ANP is the only american magazine I like other than Hit it or Quit it and New Yorker, plus it is free and inspiring. PPS. Brendan and Aaron are inspiring people in perpetuity without ceasing into the known universe.
Sometimes I watch a little 24, sometimes I read my books, othertimes I channel Sean Fennessy for fun and profit.
Miles is right, we should have tried harder. Last time I saw Botch play in Chicago was I think in 99 (?), a 2 pm hardcore matinee at the Fireside. There were maybe 90 kids there and a bunch of them were mosh-jocks and Dave said something about it from the stage, about being respectful to everyone else who came to see the show not get punched, and some kid yelled "Shut Up, Ian!" and we took it as a call to action to disrupt the pit. I was with everyone who was staying at my house for Flower 10 Fest, a minor cabal of 7 or 8, we did the "rip it up" en masse, I remember Sean Agnew being on Chearno's shoulders at some point, then each of taking turns stage diving gentley into the hands of a friend--more Torville and Dean/ ice capades style. An old intern of mine was there, and he had stripped down to his boxers. I dared him to take off his unders, put his socks on his hands and touch every single person in the room with his wet sock-paw. He did it, and then, unprovoked, performed a sort of "sexy dance" in the pit, wearing nothing but a Le Tigre shirt, his shoes and sock hands, which was the most effective method I have ever seen as far as getting hardcore ruffians to stop their violence.
There are so many things and themes and meta themes and morals to this story, not to mention, pony matriarchy, the martyr girl ponies song about loving the bad boy pony with the crew cut! ("You don't know him like I know him"), the pony janitor with the comb over--I just don't know what to say.
Johnny Loftus parses why you can't go back, Eddie Money's greatest lesson, here.
Malefic from Xasthur rarely gives interviews, but I don't know why--his answers are totally brillance.
From Carpathian Frost e-zine:
"My goal was to have black metal be a strong metaphor or parallel for the disgust and negativity I felt (and do feel) for life, I believe the goal has been reached."
Originally was Xasthur a one-man band? If not, what happened to the rest of the members?
"It wasn't, but should have been , I was the one who originally started it around 96. The other members were lazy, they were barley motivated to play death metal even and showed up to practice and learn, they were kicked out, they wasted approximately 3 or 4 years of my time. I don't know what happened to most of them, they're probably pretending to live their lives by continuing with their drugs and having a liter of worthless children."
I was a little sick and then yesterday, it took me 18 minutes of de-icing the car (counting breaks) and now I am like bona fide sick. Like all "Please get me my chapthtidk" in a low moan, with a wadded-up Puffs stuck up one nostril kind of sick. I took my second dose of cold medicine and am feeling like a hovering magic carpet in an animated cartoon, like "zing" and little animated sparkle dust wiggling around it. Thera-Flu is some bonkers business for straight edge me. Liz Armstrong told me "Thera-flu is so bad for you--it turns yr insides to * leather *", but she moved to Vegas last week, so there is nothing she can do about it now. My article about black metal due tomorrow might be a real headscratcher as a result, extra-Yoda-y syntax. Like the time on Facts of Life where Blair got high on pot and wrote her paper on Moby Dick, the whole time thinking it was some real genius shit but all it said was something like "Moby Dick = whale".
Exactly like that.
1. She's had that haircut for 28 years straight.
2. Doesn't this make being in a band seem like the funnest possible thing you could ever wish to do?
One of the great minds and talents and tastes behind Plan B, the best music magazine going (c/o the uk), is Ms. AMP. Her AMP mini zine and it'sonline AMP, is the true meaning of christmas, as well as a style of fanzine and enthusiastic fan-writing you long thought dead, dulled, missing or forgotten. I read this and I go "WHO IS THIS BAND AND HOW AM I EVER GOING TO FIND THIS CASSETTE OUTSIDE OF A PUNK GIG IN WALES!?". This week I am obsessed with the mystery that is lost (thanks, internet) in it not being possible to not know about bands. Like where all you have is some song on a comp and you have to scour, maybe wait years to find out what the deal was. And so you used yr imagination, but that option is gone now because no one doesn't have online presentation. Not to sound like a resentful luddite, complaining that the internet ruined my birthday party. But, AMP kind of brings that back. The feeling that i might have to write a letter or mailorder a seven inch if I want to know what the heck.