Wednesday, September 06, 2006

two lights in the nighttime

I just sent Todd a Seconds piece.

On Evanescence.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Something Wild (1986)

Here's a Fine Young Cannibals music video, for "Ever Fallen in Love?" He's gonna cry. Dig that!

Thursday, April 13, 2006

the Raymond Chandler quote was acceptably self-effacing

I'm wholly delighted by the George Mason Patriots' recent jag up the NCAA ramp of respectability, and their philosophy of departmental growth is root-worthy, but Joel Garreau writes his e-mails in all-lowercase, and that's obnoxious. Then again, he wrote Edge City, and I'm reading Baseball in the Lone Star State: The Texas League's Greatest Hits, so a point to the ruddy-bearded gentleman.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

can you say 'triangle offense'

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Fishscale = Vik Vaughn with a purpose

GOTH ORGY: beg me to post part 2!!!!

New deal at the Empire, now that the boom's been lowered on my finances (budgets = grown & sexy) and I've been casting about for thrills. One new album a week, groups or artists I don't know (the septi-annual Jandek won't count, say), all stuff from the back wall of Waterloo, by the help desk. Or, on any wall at End of an Ear. F'r instance. It's an experiment in experimental. And no reading fucking Wire. McKeating and Berge still count.

I'm hoping for more Hala Strana and less LSD-march.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006


Oh, and April 6 sees Subhumans UK (this revenant's favorite of the second-wave British punkers) and Clit 45 (astoundingly legitimate California hardcore) in concert at Emo's. Anyone else in Austin who wants to make a prole feel less lonely, drop me a line. Otherwise, I'll be ducking shoes and raising fingers all night.

we will be back here

There was something wonderful in Mr. J. Greene's review of the Dave Chappelle's Block Party soundtrack. Even though it pulls the infamous bait-and-switch (the review of the album is essentially the letter grade), he's laid out a reasoned defense of the backpacker movement, calling out Breihan in the process. Wise move? I don't know, but between that and the Art Brut OST, I wonder where the tides are.

the song might have been by LCD Soundsystem

1. Harper's is beginning to serialize an essay on hipsterism/mobthink by senior editor Bill Wasik. Interview is here.

1. (a) Texas A&M's flash mob was, predictably, a year past the proper time. At a specific and meaning-defying time the mob gathered in front of - ah fuck, the story's right here. Suffice to say, we had fun, and likely naught but Kyle Hale connected the event to the idea of scene-as-art.

2. What else. Yes. We had a horse-drawn carriage for sale at the TSHA auction, and Clayton Williams bought it. Apparently he told our development director that he plans to have it installed in his office.

With monkeys sitting in it.

Monkeys - one male and one female - that he shot in Africa.

Not gorillas, because it's a challenge to pick monkeys out of a tree. Like birds, I assume.

And one of the monkeys poses a problem because his genitals are showing.

Someone in the office asked if I would blog this; I took that to mean I could, and there you have it.

3. Oh, and I caught Herbie Hancock's Miles Davis induction speech. Poignant, insightful, pithy. And before he could give it, he had to enter to fucking "Rockit". Idiots.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

which sore your eyes

Being Southbound, I decided I ought to buy some Faulkner. Reading it will be another matter, but for now there's a copy of Light in August, whose protagonist - Joe Christmas - shares a name with a stray compilation band of my youth.

What I've been doing is listening to The The's Dusk on cassette. The car I'm borrowing has no CD player; you wouldn't believe how much Libertarian doctrine I've been absorbing from Radio Free Austin. I'm typing with one hand, scraping the fluoride from my armskin with the other.

See Blondie's Frank Infante whoring himself out on the dais? That briefest of kisses from Debbie, a concession designed to shut his lungs. It was a downer, no doubt, but take comfort! They will both be dead in ten years.

Dusk. Sorry... like, Dusk is an Old Pantheon choice for me, even after I read me some Baudelaire and bought a Serge Gainsbourg record. Serge can coo low, but Matt Johnson can feel you up and convince you he hates himself for it. I bought this thing at a Half Price Books years ago based on the cover art and dollar tag; blah blah blah sparse rock record with a basement view. I'm a fool for those "sum-up" songs, the ones that try to sketch a bound for everyone in 20 similarly-structured lines. Pink Floyd's "Eclipse," Hope For Agoldensummer*'s "Laying Down the Gun," the Adverts' "Cast of Thousands". "Lonely Planet" (you have to ignore some of thee titles) is exactly what dips me: self-doubt. Fuck, I love self-doubt. "All the people I have loved/All the people I have lost/All the people I have known/All the feelings I've never shown" - I better stop, because it gets more banal, and it is precisely not so once heard. Johnny Marr welds steel braces on the track. A synth like a collar to an alley wind. Muscular, prowling, faultless. I know we're at the point of the cycle where cheerful jabberwocky and determined raunch carry the day, but when the wave crests, it will bring the dogs of lust. Also, listeners on iTunes are most likely to have also bought In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, high praise if there ever was.

Oh, and I bought four - four! - Popol Vuh records and four more - four more! - Rahsaan Roland Kirk albums. And Glenn Branca's Lesson No. 1 (less fascist than Ascension, as the fossor might say). I'm really working on that period from 1968-1982, guys.

*possibly the only band that will ship lye soap?