April 06, 2008
she laughed at the things dearest to herself
Mount Eerie - Woolly Mammoth's Absence
When they were done with dinner, when they'd all eaten what they could, nobody moved to get up. Nobody had to be anywhere, or if they did, they didn't say. They were full, yes, but also satisfied. There was a spell on the table, a blessing. How else to account for their joy? They all could sense it, even the father. They were full. They were satisfied. They wanted to remain there forever if they could.
The older brother made promises he knew he probably wouldn't keep, vows so crazy they could only be thought. We'll eat every meal together, as a family. As a unit. We could grow old. We could all become fat and frail and tell ourselves, This is life. This is love. These are our bodies. This is our love. The older brother filled so with happiness that he felt his chest might split open. His eyes teared up and then he laughed, just to let the pressure off. Nobody asked what in the world he was laughing at, and nobody looked confused. Everyone knew.
From the story "Prayer for the Long Life of Certain Inanimate Objects", by Paul Maliszewski, published by the excellent journal One Story, and available here. Possibly one of the single best stories I've read in the past three years. If you like this, Maliszewski also has a story in the current issue of Fence, called "Prayer for an Answer When an Answer Eludes", and it is part (as you can guess) of his ongoing 'prayer' series, which should (I hope) be collected someday soon.
Mount Eerie/Phil Elverum has been quite active lately, with the reissue of "The Glow pt. 2" out this month, and a new EP out soon, "Black Wooden Ceiling Opening". 'Woolly Mammoth's Absence', perhaps the most heartbreaking song Phil has recorded, was released on the "Seven New Songs" tour EP, which you can download for free here.
Posted by Kevin at 10:00 PM | Comments (0)
March 03, 2008
as pretty as a perfect number (double the copyright fines)
Parenthetical Girls - The Weight She Fell Under
Every afternoon, I walked the girl to the center of town. There were eight streets that led to it, and for each approach to the two blocks of shops and vaguely public-looking buildings, I assigned the town a different name: Townville, Cityton, Burgborough, Townburgh, Boroville, Cityboro, Burghton, and Town City.
With a clear conscience, I would stand with the girl in the center of town and point things out-- entablatures, drinking fountains, skymarks, misspelled signs in shopwindows, a pair of roofed-over stairwells, resembling subway entrances, that led citizens down to a vast, underlit comfort station. I would ask the girl: "Where are we today? Which town is this? Can you tell?"
She was young, with rude eyes and a block of thick black hair. Her stalky legs were always splodged with bites.
She would narrow her body into the shape, the posture, of answering. "Townton," she would say.
"Not even close," I would have to tell her.
From the story "Education", by Gary Lutz, in his short story collection "Stories in the Worst Way" [a book which features some of the best sentences I've ever read]. Buy it here, before it goes out of print again.
***Parenthetical Girls have finished "Entanglements", their follow-up to the gorgeous and (lyrically) haunting "Safe as Houses". Can't wait.
PAS/CAL - I Wanna Take You Out In Your Holiday Sweater
Instead, I saw something suave, delicate, raffinee, blonde sure enough but not a girl who reminded me of stone fireplaces and tobogganing, rather a clutch of names I knew but had never experienced, such as Biedermeyer, Chateau La Tour Blanche, and Proust. She was dancing. I watched her. She was not talking to her partner. She was not wearing an evening dress, which suggests a garment with ruffles run up over a Bertha at home, but an evening gown bought for the occasion. Her shape was not striking but insidious. I kept watching it. McGinty was right, she wasn't so pretty for nice but she was hell for stuff.
I had come to the dance bursting with condescension but, watching her, it leaked away. She had a longish lock of blonde hair hanging beside her cheek and occasionally she threw her head back a little to move it. (Later I touched a match to that lock as she bent forward to light a cigarette. Later that year.) However, I was paralyzed.
From the story "Dear Old Shrine", by Allan Seager, in his 'memoirs as fiction' book, "A Frieze of Girls". Seager was another impressive sentence writer, and besides that, he was astoundingly funny and self-deprecating. "A Frieze of Girls" was semi-recently reprinted, and you can find it here.
***PAS/CAL have (finally!!) finished their debut album, "I Was Raised on Matthew, Mark, Luke & Laura" (great title). The long-awaited LP will be released on April 29th. But you can pre-order it from Darla right now. This spring is going to be full of good records.
Posted by Kevin at 12:28 AM | Comments (0)
February 18, 2008
the public women utility has been deregulated
Sebastien Grainger and The Mountains - American Names
DFA 1979: much-loved, very much broken-up. A lot of people made noise about MSTRKRFT (Keeler's first-strike, pre-Justice blog house act?) when they came out with their record, but I think perhaps that it's Sebastien Grainger that everyone should be paying their hectic attention to- not only did he release a blistering little split 7" last year under his given name (the song, "When You Go Out", was one of the things I listened to incessantly while writing, and it's beat-beam architecture, coupled with Sebastien's vigorously pretty falsetto, make it an almost perfect song to listen to when you want to get into a nice nostalgic/pensive funk), but he's now recording and releasing songs with his new backing band (the Mountains) and under his 'party alias', The Rhythm Method. Grainger can seemingly do pretty much whatever he wants to, and well (check out the range of some of the tracks he's got up on his website, c.f. specifically 'I'm All Rage' and 'Young Mothers').
'American Names', which is one of the first tracks I heard from his new project with the Mountains, has a special gravity to it (is it the organ-y/feedback prelude, the slick tattoo of the drums, or the cavilling guitars?), leavened both by Sebastien's full-hearted vocals (gorgeously doubled at points) and a sweetly semi-paternalistic chorus ("If you're always on/your way out the door/you'll never have/a place to call home"). Some of the lyrics in this song are difficult to discern, but the bits and pieces that are clear align with my own recent thoughts about absence, escape, wanderlust, etc.- not so much a grass-is-always-greener situation, but more of a general need for a change of scenery (if that makes sense). Although I don't own a car anymore, I know that this is exactly the kind of song that begs for a late night, windows-down, highway-driven listen; I suspect that that's the right space for it (much in the same way that certain paintings demand to be hung precisely on the wall in a gallery for maximum effect, some songs seem to deserve the same level of curation). To be more clear-cut about it: the song is just really goddamn good.
Sebastien Grainger and the Mountains will release their first single ('American Names/'Ways to Come Home') soon, on Rectangle Records (buy it when it comes out!), with a full-length (on an undetermined label) some time in the near-ish future. Also, the Rhythm Method will have a 7" release of 'Renegade Silence/'When You Go Out' on Alakazm records soon- not many details about that one, although the cover art looks ridiculously cool (scroll to the bottom).
Posted by Kevin at 12:21 AM | Comments (0)
January 09, 2008
Where did Custer get those wonderful gloves?
Obviously, since I feel compelled to write a post about it, you should take my word for it when I say that this is the most excited I've been about a new band in a long time.
Geronimo contains two of the main members of one of my favorite (extinct) bands of the last, uh, decade: Despistado (whom I have duly mourned at least three times in the traditional black-on-pink). Dagan and Leif (the singer and lead guitarist from Despistado) have reunited, and they're still in Saskatchewan, making the same thrilling, delicate, spun-electricity music that they were making 3-4 years ago. For those of you who listened to Despistado, that should be reason enough to listen to this track.
Otherwise: Geronimo's music is slimmer, a little less viscous, maybe, than Despistado's was. 'Just Like Water' has those swatches of bright-light neon guitar that I loved, and Dagan's voice sounds even better now than it did a few years ago. Clearer. Clear as a strong peal. And the lyrics still shift from aphorism to narrative to tossed-off invective (I like this line: "my abstract thought/needs a Catholic marriage/to a practical object/pushing a baby carriage"). You could say: this song is the climb up and breezy pause at the top of a ladder leant up against the ivy-stubbled wall of a small house on a gray sky morning. You could say: this song is the quick grin from the stranger you held the door for. Both, I think, are equally valid.
Geronimo have an EP out, "Enlightenment in A Small Town", which is available for purchase or download over at CD Baby. You can listen to two other tracks at the band's myspace, the unbelievably good 'Hope and Fear' (which I wanted to post, but couldn't), and the believably good title track from the EP.
Posted by Kevin at 10:18 PM | Comments (1)
December 02, 2007
this is my dinosaur song [skipped November for no good reason]
Ungdomskulen - Witches Mate in the Underground
This is technically a rerun, but now I have an actual copy of the song, plus hey, who remembers last January anyway? I know I don't:
Like most of Ungdomskulen's songs, "Witches Mate..." is a tightly controlled, guitar-scrawled track, and as with the amazing "Ordinary Son", the band stretches it out well past the six minute mark. Ungdomskulen do an exceptional job of taking elements that, extracontextually, would be considered harsh and abrasive, and putting them (these sandpapery noises) into songs that are bustling with hooks and intensely catchy phrases. Along the lines of what I said before- they're a melody-minded, Norwegian, sharp, brittle rock band. I think they must be about done recording their new album, so let's cross our fingers that it comes out (stateside) sometime in the near future. It's recommended that you listen to this song while engaging in the following activities: building a deck, getting pumped up for ghostbusting ( a la Venkman, Stanz, Spengler, and Zedmore), crossing a river on a high rope bridge, and chasing down someone you love. This song was made to play through the air over the heads of tiny, fragile human figures. All very good.
Ungdomskulen just released their freakishly excellent debut LP, "Cry-Baby", a little while ago. {BUY}
P.S. Grad school is making me delirious. I am looking forward to winter break.
Posted by Kevin at 06:36 PM | Comments (0)
October 30, 2007
Coral Invaders
Animal Collective - Sponge Luke
There could be a two-part suite where Black Dice's 'Miles of Smiles' follows (almost) seamlessly upon AC's 'Sponge Luke'; both songs possess a fire-eyed nocturnal gleam and menace. 'Miles of Smiles': humidity slick cicadas whirr and grumble, while 'Sponge Luke' has the bubbly kvetching of innumerable lily-bound frogs.
While the Black Dice portion of this imaginary split reminds me oh so strongly of the showers/flowers overlap of April and May (the MoS EP was released right around Easter, I think), and the cool wayward breezes of spring, 'Sponge Luke' feels, always, like it has been stitched together roughly in front of me, and it's a thick-threaded, expansive cloth: a sheet for the summer, a thunderstorm comforter.
Avey Tare's vocals on this have the same sort of kid-party feel heard on certain "Sung Tongs" tracks (I think 'Sponge Luke' actually dates back to that era), which I enjoy. Animal Collective (post-"Feels") seem more interested now in exploring sunny, tractionless, good-time grooves, and I'm hoping at some point that they turn their attention back to the darkly sweet and noisy tactics last used on "Here Comes the Indian" (probably won't happen, I know).
Posted by Kevin at 10:05 PM | Comments (0)
September 27, 2007
connoisseurs of disaster
This song feels like a box. Two hands wide, two hands tall. Dark, fine-grained wood. Few knots. Reach inside it once and you can feel cold, hard snow falling. The second time: wind-lapped leaves brushing up softly against your fingers. This is a box you can walk around town with, keep in the trunk of your car in case of emergency, and use as a nifty means of surprising strangers or loved ones. It is elegant and useful. You can forget about it for some time (careless), for a decade maybe, and the shape of it is still the same- as boxy and woodheaded as ever- but inside it will feel very different indeed (thorny, dusty, sandy, wet).
'Haneros Haluli', the klezmer song, is almost one hundred years old, from what I can tell. Hala Strana's version has only been around for six years. Listening to 'Haneros Haluli' makes me want to find the sort of place that would have this song playing in its streets. You can listen to it on the album "Fielding", which is available here.
Posted by Kevin at 11:24 AM | Comments (0)
September 17, 2007
the picture theory of meaning
A suit of armor- one of the old, old ones, with just a narrow slit for the eyes and one of those bird-beaky helmets- comes alive in the red-carpeted hallway of a neglected wing of an extensive mansion. His new life is a surprise. He works his legs and arms, moves around the house awkwardly, and holds in his glove-hands whatever he finds: a ball of lint, a potted plant, the pull-string of a curtain. He thinks about the knight: what happened to him? He sees a garden through a bay window, full of bright red tassel flowers and snapdragons. He can feel it in his hands: he will pick them all.
Adam and Alden - Blade Run Out
Last fall, I wrote a short story while listening to nothing but Adam and Alden's 'Live at Blue Monday' recording and a few songs from Smog's 'A River Ain't Too Much to Love'. There was something about Adam and Alden's music that just fit the tone and setting of the story so well- their songs are so pretty and elegant, and so rousing as well (not that my story fit that bill, but the music definitely helped me along). Listening to Adam and Alden gives me the same sort of wild buzz in my chest that I get when walking in the woods on a cool day, or when swimming out into the ocean- there's a natural aspect to their songs, something strong and beautiful. 'Blade Run Out' might be my favorite of the bunch, and not just for the fact that the last 20 seconds or so of the song seem to quote the theme from MacGyver.
Posted by Kevin at 12:43 PM | Comments (0)
September 06, 2007
Kickers and Punters and Grad School
Still alive, remarkably. I'm about a month into grad school, MFA program in fiction. Future looks bright. Upon graduating, I can look forward to receiving numerous offers to adjunct at community colleges in the viciously rural and isolated areas of the country, where I will impart my questionable knowledge upon a variety of unsuspecting students. Maybe I'll pursue my dream of becoming the first professional logger/soccer player. Good money in that, I figure.
Football has started once again, and I feel good about that.
Music coming back soon. I have more free time than ever, so hopefully I can get back to the way things were in '05 (the pinnacle of this blog, in my opinion). Who's listened to that James Blackshaw album, "Cloud of Unknowing"? Blew my goddamn mind.
Posted by Kevin at 09:39 PM | Comments (0)
July 07, 2007
suavely sleazy
One of the most impressive songs from the new Interpol album, "Our Love to Admire", is the dark and bouncy 'There's no I in Threesome'. When I first saw that title in the tracklist, I thought that maybe the band had really just started wholeheartedly indulging their prurient side- but, when I heard the song and listened to the lyrics, I realized that there's a lot of really interesting rhetoric going on in the argument that Paul Banks makes. He outlines a relationship that's troubled ('alone we may fight', 'there are days in this life when you see the teethmarks of time/two lovers divide'), and proposes a change of pace ('babe, it's time we give something new a try'). I like the overuse of the endearment 'babe' throughout the song (almost every other sentence is directed to 'babe' or 'baby', which I don't know if that's a reference to the 'Two A-holes' SNL sketch with Jason Sudeikis and Kristen Wiig, but I hope it is), which serves, you know, as a normal pet name, but also slyly implies that this girl to whom the narrator is speaking is younger and inexperienced (in general). The crux of the singer's plea comes near the end of the song, right before he delivers the titular punchline, as he sings, 'through the storms and the light/baby you've stood by my side...you feel the sweet breath of time/it's whispering its truth not mine'. This little line is reinforcing what was mentioned earlier, by placing the impetus (or blame, I guess) for the proposed sexual experiment on external (to the speaker at least) circumstances, i.e. 'it's not my choice, it's the only way we have to save the relationship'. Right after Paul sings the 'there's no I in threesome' line, he slips in his personal endorsement ('I am all for it'), which overall reminds me a whole lot of that Seinfeld episode where Jerry and Elaine have 'sex to save the friendship'- this escapade might be the result of an unfavorable situation, but that doesn't meant the participants can't enjoy what happens. It's a strange, creepy, and complicated song, and it is (I think) one of the better and more engaging (lyrically) songs that Interpol have written. I can't quite tell if it's a total joke or not, but I find it amusing and totally fascinating.
Listen to the whole album right here.
Posted by Kevin at 11:13 AM | Comments (0)