Don't worry, I'm not going to turn into a food blogger or anything. (Ish!)
The Frida Hyvönen show Friday was weird. It was nice to see Shearwater's Mr. Meiburg open, but I was so exhausted, both physically and mentally, that I can't tell you much about that experience at all, save that there was a new song, and one the band never does live. Tacks, the Boy Disaster was fair-to-middling, but maybe they were tired too -- I was only hooked by "the hit;" the rest was a little muddy. Frida was interesting, true, and she kind of reminded me of an angry Blossom Dearie. But let's face it -- we were all tired, the crowd was very thin from the acres of competing shows: Anathallo & Page France, The Melvins, She Wants Revenge. And though I had nice chats with var. people, it's all kind of a blur. Maybe it was because of that tequila shot Miguel gave me. I usually don't drink when I'm that tired, but I'm very bad with peer pressure.
I actually cried (yeah, yeah) when I realized I might never see Jonathan play a solo show at Emo's ever again. There are a few things I'll miss around here, I suppose.
I have amazing news about a certain band, but I can't share. I called a musician friend in NYC for a favor and he hasn't returned my calls; I should known better. Dear indie music world, you're such a fucking tease sometimes.
That theme continues: still on the hunt for a copy of Joanna Newsom's Ys on vinyl.** Tuesday, they tell me. In the meantime, I picked up Soul Jazz's repressing of ESG's Come away with ESG. Yes, yes -- I know I really need to stop ADDING to the things I'm moving. But really, if you'd seen what went out of my apt. this weekend, you'd forgive me. Maybe. Anyway, I'm starting to wonder if this is an elaborate ploy by the record store loveys to get me to buy other records before I move. I'm pretty sure it's not, but I am getting suspicious! Ha!
In the meantime, I've enjoyed some inspirational reading in the form of Bloggers Who Got Book Deals. (Sure, it's a pipe dream of mine to get a similar deal, but I don't think I have the attention span.) All the good ideas are taken -- whoring, finding yourself via Julia Child -- there's really not many options left. How about "music blogger relocates to NYC with super best friend with no job (but some good options!) and no apartment (but some promising options!) and hopes to find love and adventure in the big city?" Too trite? Thought so, I need a better angle. Should I add my record collection and the Larrousse Gastronomique to the mix? I'll get to work on that.
In HIGH DEMAND today. To say I have a backlog would be an UNDERSTATEMENT. I'll get to everything eventually, I suppose:
Mystery Jets -- Umbrellahead. The possibly unflappable Erol Alkan produces the Mystery Jets. There's hope for the univere yet, I think. Tell me what you think. It's like a demented English music hall number that turns into a heartfelt dirgey "All my rowdy friends are STILL FUCKING ROWDY, WTF we're too old for this shit" number (with a cello solo) when you're not paying attention. Maybe like, if The Walkmen were English, perhaps? (No, I totally had the idea to post this before I saw it on Wolf Notes. Seriously!!) (MySpace) (Erol Alkan)
Holy Hail -- County Fair (Part Two). Maybe today's theme is actually interesing piano bits. Maybe? (MySpace)
Art Brut -- Nag Nag Nag Nag. Ok, screw the piano idea. Nevermind. New theme: We're getting old, SHIT! So late to the party with this one, but I have to post it because well, Art Brut's Eddie Argos, as usual, NAILS IT SQUARELY ON THE HEAD. What's it, you ask? Life, children. Life. Also, isn't the guitar riff a totally dig at Editors? IT IS! Priceless. A record collection reduced a mix tape... (MySpace)
Justice -- Waters of Nazareth (John Redden Mix). If I worked out, I'd put this on repeat whilst I attacked the treadmill. Alas, as I am lazy, and my sole workout regime consists of dragging boxes of crap in and out of my apartment, I listen to this to drown out the blanket-like silence that is an office the days before the Thanksgiving holiday. (site) (remixer)
Boytronic -- Little Italian Feeling. This is the gayest -- as in utterly homosexual -- thing I've heard since like, Jonny McGovern The Gay Pimp or Mickey Avalon. Which means I love it dearly. Camp isn't a row of tents, it's uh, a fucking crowded dancefloor in Italodiscoville. Clearly. Sidebar: This band has about the most complicated history of all time, yay! (info) (site)
* For the record, for the kids keeping track at home, I did finally get rid of my two competing copies of GQ with Johnny Knoxville. They were an object lesson in How To Write A Celebrity Profile -- one with Johnny Knoxville The Character and one was with Johnny Knoxville The Real Person, Sorta. But I'd read both so many times, I think I'd committed each to memory, which is kind of weird. Yeah.
** Story of the weekend: A friend from jr. high/high school got in touch via MySpace. I'd been looking for her for years now, but her name was kinda Un-Google-able. (You'd get porn stars, mostly!) Anyway, she and I were obsessed with the same musicals (Chess, Les Miserables, City of Angels, Aspects of Love etc.) in the late 80's/early 90's. So, guess what record she's totally into now? GUESS! GUESS! We haven't spoken for like over 15 years! GIVE UP? Joanna Newsom, natch. She apparently likes Beirut, too -- which I imagine I would too, if they hadn't been overcooked on the blogs. Anyway, she also goes to rockshows (one word, always!) and I guess I'm just kind of amazed that we ended up sort of facing the same direction. There's more analysis in here somewhere. I need to know her opinion of the Junior Boys record, maybe.
...WHICH REMINDS ME! I was listening to the radio the other night, and BAM! out of the blue the dj played Junior Boys and then The Wrens. I was like, swooning hardcore. Nice choices, KUT Saturday overnight dj dude. They went really well together. It was almost like I'd thought of it.
Ok, that's enough from here. Don't get me started on why we didn't get that apartment in Clinton Hill, btw. I'll probalby never get over that, which is okay, because it makes a great cocktail party anecdote. Involving a three-year-old drawing a name out of a hat. NO I AM NOT KIDDING.