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.
Labels: Bjork, D, Erasure, Kristen Hersh, Liz Phair, Super Furry Animals, Will Oldham
