I'm just trying to watch the band (REVISED)

dear friends,

birthday month is almost over. what did I do with myself? I looked into the I want to eat you eyes of a hungry tiger. & saw a really dull movie about demon possession. went to several rock shows, some excellent. I received lovely & thoughtful gifts of monogrammed t-shirts, home recordings of fleetwood mac covers, a vocal effects pedal & a subscription to mojo*. I kroaked karaoke alongside luminaries**, both of my life & of the local nyc rock scene. all in all, I've learned that as much as I like to give, boy oh boy do I love to get. so I suppose I have to keep on giving in order to receive. damn! that means more work! back to the drawing board...

1. sons & daughters like to specialize in the bo diddley. what do I mean by that? well...there's these ingredients: roadside stomp, repetitive guitar groove, vaguely sexual/threatening vocals & shout along choruses. this recipe was in place for their first ep love the cup, but their latest album has them refining that sound so that the new songs make good on those dangerous advances. I don't use the word "dangerous" lightly, for anyone that's familiar with vocalist adele bethel's slow burn turn on afterwards by arab strap should know that the lady has a snarl in her voice that's cuts underneath the most benign seeming statement. so mentally combine her surly scottish burr to who do you love? then go listen to royally used from their new album, the repulsion box, & hit that barbed wire road wearing a cobra-snake for a necktie.

2. speaking of sons & daughters, who is wolf parade? I have no effin' clue 'cept that generally wolves seem to be taking over indie rock*** & that I heard the song dear sons and daughters of hungry ghosts & I have it playing on my september playlist on repeat. it is not lupine in the slightest. it is bouncy yet moody. for fans of the faintly melancholy bounce-along only.

3. anyone out there, caught that vh1 hip hop hall of fame thing? I was half asleep but I was jolted awake by the sight of big daddy kane not only rippin' it up on the mic but suddenly, miraculously busting out some SERIOUS dance moves. the kind of fall back, spin, jump on/off someone's hand into a split move that make you fear hip fractures. if anyone has any big daddy kane knowledge, please tell me where to start looking & listening.

4. the monkey & I recently nixed a possible '07 vacation to easter island after looking at it through google earth & realizing it was miles & miles & miles away from everyone, in the middle of the ocean & that is scary. especially since the only planes that get you out there look like toy models sold on ebay. besides, getting stranded in the middle of the pacific would not be like an episode of lost. OR would it? according to mi mami, they just found a buried treasure trove worth billions on chile's other random property, juan fernandez island aka robinson crusoe island - yes, home of the man whose tale defoe based his book on. & that is c-c-c-crazy cool.

see, I feel that they should've opened that hatch & found a pirate sitting on top of a chest brimming with gold coins, going "aaaarrrrgh ye...lost?". that would've been so much better than what it really was; the 80's****.

but I digress, orenda fink, the other non-oberst partnering part of azure ray, sings a song called easter island. I don't think it has much to say on the topic of moai but it sounds like a dreamy day by the ocean or at least falling asleep on the bus & dreaming about a day by the ocean.

WHAT!?! I was obviously out of my mind when I wrote that last sentence. NOT true. easter island is unsettling & if it's a dream then it is a waking nightmare. I can't tell if the theme behind fink's characters on her new album, invisible ones, is "ghosts of ancient people killed off by the modern world" or a"people who turn themselves into ghosts by not leaving their abusers" or both. a far cry from the beach, eh? not very reliable, me. sorry!

I really do need to investigate azure ray, because I find those ladies' voices so similar it must be like double tracking, all the time, on the cheap. nice going!

5. the song hi how are you by brakes makes me laugh. it's a short, silly joke. but one I know too, too well. brakes are playing piano's this tuesday, october 4th. I HIGHLY recommend you catch them.

love, d

songs to seek: royally used/sons & daughters, dear sons & daughters of hungry ghosts/wolf parade, easter island/orenda fink, hi how are you/brakes

* yeah! (does the dance of mojo)

** kristie & george from the song corporation need to record their version of no doubt's underneath it all NOW just for my listening pleasure.

*** I've always wanted to get a wolves fc t-shirt because I like the word "wolves" but I fear getting laughed at by random brits as I traipse around in it.

yes! it's true! I care what strangers think of me! (runs off & cries)

**** to those of you who watch lost but somehow haven't gotten to the whole hatch thing & feeling like I spoiled things for ya...I say relax. my comment, out of context, offers zero content clues. contributor tavie can back me up on this.

Big Leadup, Limited Payload

One of the benefits of digital music software with a playlist feature (like, you know, iTunes or WinAmp) is that after you make a mix CD for somebody and you actually give the mix to that person, you can still easily go back and listen to the mix again. This is exactly what I was doing today with a birthday mix I made for Jess and I had one of those revelatory moments where you listen to a song that you've hearda million times before, and in fact you liked it and shared it with your friends, but this time somehow you get it better than you ever did before.

Today that happened with "Boredom is a Product" by the Dirty Projectors.

"Weird" bands abound these days. Sometimes they come in the form of inpenetrable noise beasts like Black Dice (poop) and Wolf Eyes (complete poop) or possibly schizophrenic, partially melancholic indieisms like Fiery Furnaces (a pretty good band and not very good example here probably). In such a climate, it's easy to miss the Dirty Projectors, a one man band that takes the phrase "pop sensibility", turns it inside out, and wears it like a vest, seams-out.

The soaring, straining, faltering, soaring vocals on this particular track are downright magical when juxtoposed with the vaguely neurotic looping guitar lines and a bass that I'd almost describe as slinky. And the lyrics.

Boredom is a product of mistrust.
mistrust of the product of your own brain.

Clumsy on the surface, but with a very sturdy point underneath.

This song, as well as the entire album (titled The Glad Fact) deserve a close listening.

you're so tall. it's like I climb a waterfall.

Dear friends,

Disturbing but true: I just injected my medicine (and no, this is not a euphemism, it is actual medicine and no, it doesn't make you go "shit be kickin'!" a la Jon Lovitz in High School High) and as I was doing it I actually saw my skin BUBBLE and HARDEN like something in a cauldron and I almost passed out right there and then, at my workplace break room with a needle sticking out of my thigh. I didn't though. Because fainting would make me a pussy. And I am deathly afraid of many things (walking home late at night, zombie movies, takeoffs and landings, eh...needles) but I refuse to let this put me in a white panic. I steeled myself and finished the job.

1. The guitar solo in Atomic Lust by Super Furry Animals makes me want to get on top of cars and SCREAM. It starts off sneakily like some sensitive guy message song with strings but eventually all that's kicked to the curb, as it should be, for a short burst of fireworks in space soloing. Cut back to the emotions but luckily, that ends quickly and it explodes sexily all over again. Go find it.

2. I was flipping channels on ye olde cable and I came across a concert of Erasure performing to a rapt audience. Vince Clarke lurking behind a stack of keyboards and Andy Bell doing a dance routine, clad in shorty shorts and gold platforms. He struck coolly self-possessed poses; his blond rooster coiffure sprayed into masthead form. I realized that Bell was probably the first out gay musician that I was aware of and it's weird to imagine that ever being any kind of big deal. I loved their song Ship of Fools back in the days of WDRE; it was very much a walkman mix tape type of ditty. It's not particularly deep at first listen; the keyboards and sequencers go "too too too" and Bell croons in his supple tenor about his head spinning and someone being the baby of the class. But there's more to it than its surface techno pop sheen. Is it about a kid who did too many drugs at the clubs and kicked it? Or did he die of AIDS? It made me think of a friend of mine. I found out at his memorial service that he'd been HIV positive for some time and that he'd wanted to keep it quiet, etc, etc. I remembered how angry I was that he'd never told me, that he felt he couldn't tell me and how foolish I felt for being so angry. This lasted a while.

This is how songs acquire their weight, I suppose. From tinkly fluff to grim reaper reality. In 4 minutes flat.

3. There are two CDs I misplace/lend and lose/get downright stolen all the freakin' time and it sucks 'cause I'd really like them to stay on my shelf. And they are: Kristen Hersh's Hips & Makers and Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville.

The latter is something of a girly sacred cow and I'm not knockin' that, I adore that album. I listened to it LOADS with a look of wounded understanding as I crossed bridges on foot and wondered if I had enough change for a cup of hot chocolate. I'm just saying that it could be written about with more finesse from some of our other contributors (insinuating cough).

As for the former, I love the mad, bad Hersh especially when she goes acoustic. Perversely, the switch seems to make her more aggressive as a guitar player. When she sings her marble like blue eyes look like madness swirls and her head bobs to an inner beat. I regret to say I've haven't seen her play recently, largely 'cause I'm terrified. Her voice haunts me. It is like a thousand different types of familiar sounds, of twigs stepped on and cracked, a building wind, a lighthouse. When I hear her sing, I believe her voice. 'Cause I know it, it's the sound of the wintry northeastern coast.

I found some great live tracks of her's on iTunes. Look for something called Kristen Hersh: Live at Noe Valley. Download Teeth* for 99 cents. And if you like that, download Sparky/A Loon/Velvet Days (Medley) as well. Good shtuff.

4. Bjork is ya know, creative. She got my favorite quavery voiced R&B enthusiast, Will Oldham, to sing a little ditty called Gratitude for her soundtrack to the new Matthew Barney movie. It is pretty in its hushed hesitancy and wouldn't sound out of place on Vespertine, with Oldham's surprisingly assured vocalizing and the choir of tone-deaf kiddies that busts in for a spell.

5. It's my birthday on Sunday, 9/25. I am shamelessly telling you about it so you can all send me waves of hey, good job on the being born thing! I am karaoke-ing on Saturday along with other birthday kidz, Contributors Jessica (9/28) and Cris A. (10/3). I decided I'm gonna be doing what I predict will be a seriously ham on rye performance of INXS' Never Tear Us Apart as a nod to their Rock Star TV show. Too bad their new lead singer is a scary eyebrow plucker with tentative pitch. Whatever. I guess I should be grateful I don't have to watch Dave Navarro dig himself into a giant pit of idiot ever again.

So it's a couple of hours later and the previously mentioned pricked skin has hardened into what looks like a large mosquito bite. Have a nice weekend!

Love, D


* Which Hersh says is about turning white trash. funny, I always thought it was about drunkenly picking a fight with your partner. Go figure.

you know you got to help me out

dear friends,

1. it seems that my attempts to see black mountain may be cursed. their first bowery show was cancelled & I couldn't get a refund 'cause they weren't the openers. then I purchased two tickets for their show on 9/28, one for myself & one for one of the many with a libran birthdate. alas, that person has a late class & my one reliable date, the monkey, has rehearsal. & now some other friends have a show at sin-e that same night. what to do? what to do? if any of you have an interest in seeing a hypnotizing stoner rockin' (in sound only), big riffed, sprawling canadian collective on wednesday at the bowery ballroom, please contact me. I'm sure it will be wunderbar.

to familiarize yourself with black mountain, go check out the songs listed below...

2. yes. this lead singer is a total tool. so tool-like that he can be part of the home improvement barbie kit. a tiny pink tape measurer perhaps. in interviews he claims that people who blast his band for lack of substance are soul-less nyc hipsters. soul or no soul, considering I'm currently sporting a bright red t-shirt that says "ferrari" & black sweat pants, one of those half-assed crooked pony tails, no make-up, AT WORK, it's safe to say I don't belong in the hipster category. no tailored velvet blazer for me.

nevertheless, the killers (for yes, I mean them!) have two things that I can't deny: a pretty good morrissey cover* & a ridiculously catchy single I caught on tv last night. I don't know what it's called** but as I watched the video with a mixture of contempt & a growing annoyance with myself for wanting to stay on the channel so I could hear the rest. unfortunately, I remoted away. that's how much I don't like to look at that singer's visage. I think it's 'cause the man has one of those permanently imperious expressions when his face is in repose*** that it seems like all his sub-morrissean pronouncements in interviews should be followed with a "he sniffed". as in, "just because we don't have museums in vegas, east coast snobs write us off! they're just jealous because we're pretty.*+," he sniffs & plays with the straw in his shirley temple.

it's tough people. the fact is I like that song. it's a breezy little pop number & it has a strangely familiar, reassuring quality*++. & while I don't want to look at the songwriter's pouting mug EVER, I will find a way to acquire that ditty & I shall listen to it. because that's what I do. I listen to music I enjoy. & if you don't like it, you're just jealous 'cause I'm pretty. or something. doesn't work, does it?

ah well, anyone up for karaoke on saturday?

love, d

songs to seek: don't run our hearts around/black mountain, modern music/black mountain, heart of snow/black mountain, **all these things that I've done/the killers

* why don't you find out for yourself, one of moz's record industry as hell cautionary tales.

*** my natural facial expression, I've been told, is a sad frown. as you can imagine, this makes me extremely popular.

*+ this is not a real quote, I'm just paraphrasing. settle down killers fans & lawyers!

*++ the bridge sounds weirdly like the refrain from gang of four's I love a man in a uniform. but on prozac in that it's still petulant but unable to cry or cum about it?

give me the words

dear friends,

things are buck nutty right now.

because the monkey's very own band is playing a cmj show this friday, september 16 at the comfy bar 169, he was awarded a goodie bag & a shiny laminated thingamabobby that gets him into all the cmj shows. lucky chimp. I pawed at it in a narrow-eyed, envious way. if only there was a way to disguise myself as a man & steal his identity, what good times would there be! perhaps a 'tache is in order.

because I've been out of commission thanks to my new medication & the fact that I am part of the lucky 2% (?!?) percent who experience a delightfully debilitating headache/nausea/vomiting effect after being injected with it, I've been holed up in my bedroom looking like a molting animal &/or that emily rose* chick. thank god mi mami is still willing to travel for her spinally challenged child, 'cause otherwise things would've been much worse.

because despite the body & its failings, you can't keep a good cat down, I've been working on an almost-surprise birthday gift that will be presented on saturday & I don't have to worry about the birthday boy seeing this because he won't read this post until next week, ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

(maniacal laughter stops, sheepish look, return to normalcy)

because I took myself as a pre-birthday birthday treat to go see nouvelle vague (written about before here) at joe's pub which was really swanky (for me anyway, since all I ask for in a rock n roll venue is toilet paper & stall doors) & intimate. it was fantabulous! I am so in love with their lilting, echoing version of new order's bizarre love triangle, that, to quote rita hayworth in gilda: (melodramatically) "I think I'm gonna die from it!" & I know there's no way you won't feel the same.

as the producer/svengalis pressed play, strummed guitars & drummed expertly, their three chanteuses** presented vastly different interpretive approaches to their covers. phoebe was a long-haired blonde with a slurry delivery & a propensity to dance like a wanna-be bluesman, shaking her head back & forth, stalking the stage & occasionally blowing on a harmonica. her rendition of bela lugosi's dead had tears of laughter rolling down my face. what's wrong with that? intentional or not, I'm all for a madcap interpretation so it was pleasurable. melanie (the one on the right in photo & the monkey's favorite) had the face & manner of a porcelain doll. her big brown eyes fixed unblinkingly in front of her as she sang oh so sweetly. her renditions of the buzzcock's ever fallen in love? & the cure's a forest were the aural equivalent of a beautiful girl taking your hand & slowly walking you into her land of fog & velvet; completely, exquisitely sexy. my favorite of the three was an absolute nutter (of course) called camille (please pronounce: "camille-uh") who wore a tight white dress & what looked like ribbons of polar bear pelt around her shoulders. girl could sing prettily enough (as she did on a tender & bare bones rendition of in a matter of speaking) but she's the type of singer who isn't content with just that. she took chances like a maniac especially on her simmering guns of brixton, where her imitation of a trumpet in a long extended "solo" made me want to clap at the end of it like a good jazzbo. also, she was the instigator of the evening's most rousing moment when hair askew, bear pelt wilting, she demanded booze or else she would not continue singing too drunk to fuck. she made good on her promise too, she took the two other singers by the hand & led them to the back of the room, to the top of the bar, where she stole a bottle of 'spensive champers & like a lady, shared the bubbly with her audience before returning to the finish the song. she was ornery, crazy-eyed & absolutely hell bent on giving you an experience. never mind the 80's bossa nova, what could be more punk rock than that?

love, d

* seriously, I really want to see this movie no matter how goofy it may be. despite my aversion to zombie & slasher flicks, I loves me a good ole possessed by the devil movie. catholic horror! right on! yeah!

** because sometimes I have no fear, I bombarded the group after the show & made one of the nouvelle vague guys tell me what the names of all the singers were. then I shook hands like I was running for office & ran away. I could tell by the look of apprehension & surprise on their gallic faces that they could not believe the shameless pushy-ness of zeez americans. but I'm not an american...muhahahaha. silly frenchies. gotta love 'em though. they play nina simone followed by the pixies on radios blasted in supermarkets & that is tres su-weeet.

bands to go see live: man in gray, nouvelle vague

And every little lady dreams lavender memories

Dear friends,

I'm so busy and so broke (SO MANY EXPENSES! Note to self: get loan) that I've jumped past "terrified" into what is an almost exhilarating, frenzied, speeding Red Shoes pirouette towards fiscal self-destruction. I need to make more money NOW or at least be locked in a little room for the month of Spendtember and not be allowed to buy anything, go anywhere or organize anything. Since that's not gonna happen any time soon, I may resort to writing some wish-fulfillment chick lit tome packed with enough sex and clothing detail that it would rake enough buckage for concerts and "projects" for years to come.

1. Morrissey's Boy Racer gets stuck in my head like a Brain Candy memory; an endless, hellish loop of a happy moment.


It's not the whole song, it's not even the chorus, it's the first few lines: "He's just too good natured AND/he's got too much money AND/ he's got too many girlfriends/I'm jealous/that's all" over and over and over and over in my head. I'm jealous, that's ALL!?!?! Oh are you really? Tt's just so damn succinct, I can't go further in the story; it's all been summarized. Not that Boy Racer in its entirety is no good, the tune goes along pleasantly and has the not completely unexpected typical Morrissean chorus shift upwards at the end. But those opening lines... that Moz. He sure understands how to deliver simplicities with unexpected force. He hits you with a flower.

Buy Southpaw Grammar by Morrissey.

2. I'd like to draw your attention to the now slightly less ghetto show listings over here on the left. Now the bands are all linked to their sites or the approximation thereof. Someday I'll even link the venues but not now. I'm not that good or that fast at the whole typing thing. I got a two finger method. It works for me.

I would like to have included a listing for this Friday, September 9th's FREE El Jezel and Emma La Reina show but being that the venue is a practice space/loft in that mysterious area known as Dumbo, I'll direct you towards Stereoactive NYC instead. The site should be able to provide ya with all information you need regarding the start time, how to get there, etc. Contributor Bryan is mc-ing. That alone should be worth the trip.

3. Lavender Hill by The Kinks is a song I would have on the soundtrack to my murder mystery movie, if I ever were ever to make one. This film would be set in the country (of course) and the detective assigned to the case is sloppy but brilliant in a Falk/Matthau way. At some point towards the end, a skittish townsperson who is about to provide the investigation with an important last minute clue will get brained by a large piece of stonework before they can deliver it. In a wintry garden. Full of squawking birds. Now, despite my love of cinema cliches, I would eschew the whole "This is why I did it" speech that the killer always gives after they've been exposed. I hate those scenes. Actors always go all dead eyed and steely voiced to show they have been secretly EVIL all along and yawn, yawn, yawn city.

But this has nothing to do with the song, does it? Lavender Hill is more than a mid-tempo bit o' 60's fluff about some man's nostalgia* for a time and place that probably doesn't even exist outside of his whimsical head. Thanks to the layered harmonies that go "Ooooh" like cartoon ghosties behind Davies' powder soft vocal, it has some of that same subtle creepiness that's in the better known (and also tea-time set) Sunny Afternoon. But unlike Sunny Afternoon (which is a genius ditty that sits in a very exalted place in the musical tchochke case of my mind. Come to think of it, The Kinks take up several shelves), it doesn't have that particular protagonist's lazy hostility. The narrator of Lavender Hill is a quiet sort who has resigned himself to be forever chasing rainbows or at least dreaming about it. A nice mix selection should you be looking for one.


Lavender Hill/The Kinks (mp3)

Buy The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society by The Kinks.

Love, D

* Isn't it interesting how past the early I'm-gonna-get-a-slice classics, Raymond Douglas Davies wrote almost exclusively about nostalgia? And he was in his freakin' 20's? Tt's like he's been waiting all his life to be the old man he's always seen himself as. For a delightful, if a bit bizarre, late summer read, check out his "unauthorized autobiography", X-Ray. Not your mother's or even dirty old uncle's autobiography, X-Ray is as dryly humorous, elegant and quietly sad as anything in the man's musical canon.

present & future, I'm gonna love you

dear friends,

welcome to september! or what I like to call, spendtember, since this is the month (thanks to the alarming proliferation of birthdays, including my own on 9/25 [insinutating cough]) where I shop like a frenzied piranha feeding on fresh kill. no bone is left unpicked. I'm serious.

it doesn't help that nyc is particularly bedazzlin' this month, what with cmj, the new york film festival, the fact that uk bands seem to like skipping across the pond right about this time & all those back to school sales. I'm telling you, my soul & non-existent wallet are gonna be sorely tested. what can I do? it's a disease! AAAH!

1. when full of rage there's nothing like a good song to turn that blood boil into something productive like a dance routine. I've written about the duke spirit & the particular charms of their singer, ms liela moss* on soft communication before. I've put their song drinking you in on a few mixes & one of those lucky recipients said this to me during a happy hour jaunt:

(pointing at me emphatically)

"that song, THAT song, the one that goes, (singing) "you took the loooooooooooooong way, it was the wrong, wrong way". yeah! that was awesome! WHO is that?"

(question concluded with a loud yet utterly charming nose laugh)**.

I smiled & thought to myself "ah. a satisfied customer."

to those mix-receivers & you, I recommend the best I-feel-so-good,-I'm-gonna-tear-someone-apart-tonight*** song that's out there right now, the duke spirit's love is an unfamiliar name from their full length, cuts across the land. one of those songs that's just big drum muscle car with guitar skronk decals; it hurtles forward violently & all you want to do while you listen to it is be so much more of a badass than you really are. swilling whiskey & snarling all answers & wearing too much black eyeliner &/or leather & a t-shirt that you didn't rip yourself but got that way from an actual fight. over this pummeling beat, moss vocalises away in her kittenish rasp & sometime around the end when she goes for the gold with an insistent barrage of "woo-oo-oo-oos!", it becomes darn near impossible to not shake it. I was listening to this last weekend whilst standing in the pointlessly large hoyt-schermerhorn station waiting to transfer homewards. I was shimmy-ing & mouthing the "wooo's" in that oblivious psychotic way of certain people who listen to music on public transportion. all that was missing was a sneer & some bleached hair.

ms moss is featured on a new album by a band called brakes. she duets on a cover of that carter/cash & hazlewood/sinatra classic, jackson. I need to get my paws on that NOW.

2. the monkey hates musicals. so naturally, when we went to london last year I dragged him to the west end to see a new production of stephen sondheim's sweeney todd. I did this because a) it is a musical that even people who hate musicals can enjoy since the leading character is a barber who likes to cut people's throats after he shaves them because he's really, really ANGRY at the world & the great INJUSTICE that was done to him. there's a little human meat pie eatin', some self-flagellation/wankery, disturbed homeless people & screeching strings; basically, all the things you won't find in musicals where people sing about the beauty of the morning, being a star or the cat afterworld. the folks in sweeney sing about how people are nasty, venal creatures & desires can be so overwhelming, they lead to EEEEE-VIL. (insert unnervingly loud factory whistle)

besides, & this is the b), I heard that in this production the actors were also the orchestra, so when they weren't talking about "turning kittens into pies" they were gonna be doing a mean trumpet solo. I figured this would all go down well with my boy & it did. it was a terrific show.

I hear that this staging is hitting broadway, with previews starting next month. it will star patti lupone**** & michael cerveris, who I had the pleasure of seeing do queen's dragon attack & the smiths' there is a light that never goes out with the loser's lounge folks, as the titular murderer. nice, eh? from morrissey/marr to sondheim. good one. anyone who wants to see a musical that won't make them vomit, now's your chance to pop that cherry. anyone who already worships at the altar, start hyperventilating now.

3. I often go see bands on name alone. I've been toying with including one ghetto listing every month of a band I've never heard but whose name I'm feelin'. I was going to go see this band called outrageous cherry this winter at the hook but I was felled with crippledom before I could make it. at the time I didn't know anything about them 'cept for the fact that I liked to say their name thusly: OUTRAAAAGEOUS CHERRY!. so in a spoken sentence everything is at a normal volume until that name comes up, then you channel your inner little richard & shout it. no pompadour necessary.

I finally heard them last week & while they certainly don't sound like little richard, their singer, matthew smith, does have a pleasing, if familiar sound since he veers between circa-hang on to your ego brian wilson (see: you've been unkind) & in his lower register, like jim reid from jesus & mary chain (see: the astral transit authority). so yes, the beach boys are in there but there's also tiny pieces of shoegaze guitar but never so much as to eclipse the 60's power pop sound. outrageous cherry is playing with electric six at bowery ballroom on 9/30. check it, check it out.

love, d

songs to seek: love is an unfamiliar name/the duke spirit, you've been unkind/outrageous cherry, astral transit authority/outrageous cherry

* j, another convert to the spirit, was talking about them with someone he met at bowery ballroom. this guy told him that he had caught them during cmj last year & that he had been incapable of taking his eyes of moss for the entire show. apparently, she is quite the looker. if photos are anything to go by, she strikes me as one of those good looking but hard-eyed girls in high school who'd sneak smokes in the bathroom. I don't know about you, but those girls were usually friends of mine so my take on her look is one of me sayin' "hey daisy! how you doin'?" rather than "boo! hiss! bored lookin' mean girl!"

still. I suppose he's right. she's pretty good looking either way.

** this was said by a friend who would make a great contributor if only she could manage to figure out how to accept an invite to join this here sewing circle. SIGH. damn that technomammology!

*** thank you mr. richard thompson.

**** who sold her soul to the devil so that she play every diva role ever created in a musical & also, cry on cue. naaaah! just playin'. she didn't really sell her soul. that's just a rumor, never been proven.