This was supposed to be a short post, as I am under the weather and trying to do some housework and tie up some loose ends that are hanging about. First thing: I love how things bubble up in the collective consciousness -- I've been utterly obsessed with reading former Village Voice music critic Robert Christgau's Christgau's Records Guide: The 80's (Da Capo, 1992) -- which is handy, you know, to get a full picture of a decade that spanned one's life from ages four to 14. The book is a collection of capsule reviews from Mr. Christgau's Consumer Guide columns, and it's entertaining as all hell. I find myself pleased when our opinions mesh, somewhat: Madonna, yes; U2, no. I love that in the review of Talking Heads' The Name of This Band is Talking Heads, he posits that after 5 years with no missteps, they're gunning for the title of best rock band. And he's never quite as kind to them after that -- but you can see the trajectory there in the empirical data of each little capsule review of subsequent records. Totally nerdy, yes -- but neat. I think, overall, he's overly mean to New Wave bands (and uh, Rachel Sweet), though -- which, I suppose in 20 years' time might be the equivalent of being mean to today's Blogger Favorite Coffeehouse Indie bands -- it's a fad, a trend, and they're annoying like horseflies. On the other hand, I shudder to think that I'll ever change my opinion of disposables like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah or The Little Ones. (Have I mentioned, though, that I rather like the Cold War Kids? Is that gonna get me completely ostracized or what?) Some of the reviews of major pop music of the day (Bruce Springsteen, Huey Lewis and the News) make more sense after reading Mr. Christgau's comments about monoculture in the rather crabby interview than ran in PopMatters today. (Not the best interview, but you can tell that perhaps Mr. Horowitz was a bit intimidated, which is a bad sign right there.) I did like, however, what Mr. Christgau had to say about how one's taste doesn't change, it evolves. I've seen that first-hand in the past few years, for sure.

Speaking of things I've read lately, I rather liked Marisha Pessl's Special Topics In Calamity Physics -- and yes, despite all her bad press 'cause she's pretty, it's a big, ambitious step up from its peers in the 'outsider enters a favored group in an academic setting and then someone ends up murdered, thus changing the outsider's life forever' genre (see also: Elizabeth Hand's Waking the Moon and Donna Tartt's The Secret History, for starters). It's just as compulsively readable as its pulpy predecessors (I stayed up way too late last night finishing it), but instead of dwelling on class commentary, it's perfectly informed by the conspiracy theory paranoia of our times. The book drips with just enough pop culture references to affix it in the present, but is vague enough in an attempt to be semi-timeless. Of course, I'm now much more interested to see what Ms. Pessl comes up with for her next effort and if she can surpass the high standard she set for herself in this debut.

While on the topic of debut novels, I polished off Andy Greenwald's (remember him, he wrote that book about emo kids?) Miss Misery, a rather hurried and miserable little novel that had its entertaining moments -- mostly because it's about a fucked-up music critic in Brooklyn who starts leading a faux double life as a NYC scenester DJ while he also sits at home reading the online scribblings of depressed emo girls on LiveJournal. Final namedrop count: James Iha, 2; Carlos D, 1; Ultragrrl, 1; The HiFi, 1; DarkRoom, too many to count, really; various subway lines, ditto -- so, you know, at least the milleu is vivid, at least stereotypically so, anyway. (Oh, and I think Mr. Greenwald showed his total emo-lameosity by dropping Chris Carrrabba's full name in there somewhere as well. Then again, that was kind of balanced out by the strategic mention of Jandek's presence on a suspect mix CD.) Perhaps the most perfect thing, though, was the perfect-pitch of song selections applied to the fake LJ entries (because if you've ever spent any time on that site, you'll totally know what I mean): Interpol when people are arriving in or are happy/sad about being in NYC; Bloc Party for coke-fueled scenester party nights; Like New and Dashboard Confessional and Death Cab For Cutie litter the entries of the Mary Sue depressed emo girl. Which, in the end succeeds in dating the book miserably as painfully mid-2004 despite the fact that it was published this year.

...Oh, wait, you wanted to know about the plot? It was some soupy, watered-down Murakami knockoff. Total zonkfest. But you know, it's probably better than what I would have written when faced with the same plot threads, so I can't really complain. (I do want to find that 'secret' bar with the crazy Ukranian bartender, but I get the idea that's definitely a composite of a few places, having met a few too many crazy Ukranian bartenders in the East Village before. Yeah.)

And, speaking of music-related books and former Village Voice correspodents, I'm also reading a book of Kyle Gann's collected essays, for levity. I'm still capitvated with the idea of one of Yoko Ono's performances where people banged their heads against walls. Woah. And, in the queue is Mark Z. Danielewski's Only Revolutions, if I can figure out which side to start on...

Have I mentioned that lately Austin has a rather kick-ass public library? Well, we really do.

In HIGH DEMAND today:

The Long Blondes -- In The Company of Women. The Long Blondes' new album Someone To Drive You Home leaked over the weekend, and people of note are finally coming around and/or flipping out at the results. This song, though certainly not the strongest on the album (we might have posted the earlier versions of some of those already...) is a strong, strong reminder of why I don't have that many female friends. Believe me, guys, there's nothing more toxic in the universe than the dysfunctional friendships of women. Especially when a man comes between them. (MySpace)

The Chesterfields -- What's Your Perversion?. (Or, The Chesterf!elds, depending on your sources.) Thanks to the crate-divers and retro-lovers, I'm getting to hear all kinds of semi-lost UK indie pop gems -- especially from the mid-late 80's. This Chesterfields track comes from a best-of collection out on Cherry Red (natch!) earlier this year, Electric Guitars in Their Hearts -- which is great, because the band is so "criminally underrated" it doesn't even have a Wikipedia entry. At any rater, this song is a very nice compliment to The Long Blondes, I think. (info)

Lily Allen -- LDN (Radioclit Remix). This song has a weird staying power, and this remix is really charming -- the Alphabville-sque farty synth horns are totally special -- though, uh, typing 'radioclit' has made me blush. (info)

The Phonemes -- Steeples and People. The Phonemes is the latest project from Magali Meagher, late of The Hidden Cameras, along with Matias Rozenberg and Liz Forsberg (both of whom have also played occasionally with The Hidden Cameras). Dense and delicate at the same time, in that grand Canadian pop tradition -- which is to say, the production is impeccable but the feelings are genuine. (site)

Harvee -- This Is The Story of You And Me. For the Harvee lovers out there (and really, all of you should be Harvee lovers!), a bombastic big-hearted love song, just for you. How did this turn in to Canadian pop day? Because it clearly has. It was supposed to be angular and growly in here today -- I guess it was The Chesterfields that got me thinking pop, even if on the wrong side of the pond... (site)

BONUS: Goldfrapp -- Strict Machine (We Are Glitter Mix). Goldfrapp's US-only remix compliation, We Are Glitter, is in stores today. Not surprisingly, at some point, we've posted tons of Goldfrapp remixes. Scavenger hunt! (site)

ps -- This is the best thing ever.