Monday, September 30
some days, it's a good day to yawn. that was yesterday. oh, actually, that seems like such a long time ago. i was going to write this then, but other things intervened. so rather than a confusing partial jump back before true narrative start, i'd better just pick up where i left off. which was, let's see, thursday night.
i spent substantial periods of time on friday, saturday, and sunday cleaning up my room. more straightening than cleaning. it was never all that disordered, really, and hence i didn't change all that much, but it was a slow, constant, occasionally regressive, and fully satisfying process of picking things up, reallocating homespaces for items, making much use of the shelf in my closet, and so forth. post-party, i was able to replace the faulty blue string-lights with a red string, but i switched half of the red bulbs for blue.
friday was a one-thing-leads-to-another afternoon (in the way of all good fridays); mostly things led to the susie ibarra workshop in the afterlunch. that was made strange by a handful of obnoxious and inexplicable men in the audience who asked inane questions and told susie how she felt and were basically demeaning. she took it fairly well, and i think things got better in the latter portion, when i engaged her in a discussion of music past and present, as context and influences. she was reluctant to address groove (or rocking out), and made intriguingly little distinction between playing for herself and an audience. her freeform/conscious improvised pieces were really fascinating and magical. i played briefly too, at the end.
the next order of business was coordinating my way in to philly, with alyssa at the wheel of laurel's ride, to meet with my mother. after the parking hurdle, we came upon the lady facing towards the window upstairs at alma (which you might have noticed from my review i thought was fabulous.) that was really great. ma et moi split the grapefruit/scallop ceviche, sugarcane-skewered ahi tuna with some spinach and stuff, and a braised crispy duck dish which included the foie gras flan i mentioned. all of these things were perfectly delectable. food can be so transcendent. (if also, as mentioned, so dull.) conversation was good too - jargon [problematize, like], cycometrics, hetlands. the return trip featured the terrible jersey trap, but we did make it back of a piece.
it was raining and it was hard to find the party, but we did catch the tail end of stef/zab's eroticookie do, the part where they were watching hedwig in the sccs media lounge. i liked (the second half of) the movie much more than the last time i saw it. mom liked it too, and so did dale and others. hum, hum, it's late.
saturday, oh yes, we had breakfast and shopping. a goodwill goldmine. there was a fantastic pair of pink sneakers that were sadly a size too small for me. but i did find a pink jacket and a brilliant pair of pink pants and a tight little white and pink striped shirt that turned out to pick up the blacklight. mark also got a pink jacket, of exactly the same cut as mine, and a pink shirt to wear with the pink pants he borrowed. at the party, ben borrowed my pink ruffled tux shirt. but nobody wore my favorite pink shirt from trinity. we also bought two orange (well, yes) armchairs for the hall. the theme of the party, by the way, was "orange vs. pink: who will win." i put up big pieces of posterboard in sharples to that effect, but they were gone by breakfast the next morning. mark said at the end that orange won. too bad kate duffy wasn't there. i hate pink.
next stop was bjs, where we spent over ninety bucks but thirty of it on two black lights and the rest on a lot of food, such that we only then needed ice and sherbert (genuardi's) and ginger ale (target) for the punch. the produce guy was, sadly, no help, and neither was the party store where swatties get a discount apparently. that was a lot of shopping for one day, with your mother tagging along and listening to chillout and tobin between stops. it was gorgeous out too.
next item: susie ibarra's performance, as predictable, was neither very performative nor very grooving (only the first and last selections had definable grooves, and they had some difficulty keeping them together.) there's no question about inventiveness or virtuousity though. mom had a hard time with it, and i did too in places. ben's good advice: "you can't think of it as music." he networked while i simultaneously spoiled and arranged my dinner.
which was, as he said, "sausage-heavy" - but not necessarily a bad thing; with matt, joel, ben, ester, me, and my mom, the dynamic was about as you'd expect. political, rubin irrepressible. jewish issues and so on. jappetizers and sushi, with orts.
and then the party. like, nobody was there for the first, like, forty-five minutes at least, after we'd blown up the balloons, cut the fruit, strung lights and pumped willets full of "brainfreeze," "just a friend," and the lrd mix of "sleep on the left side." p-funk, blackalicious, and tom tom club wasted on an empty room. but it picked up, as it always does. it just took longer than typical, dunno why. also, we never had any PAs. who cares. it was a hit, i think - they dug the clothes, the tunes, the space for dancing. thank goodness for dry saturday. the technics worked beautifully too. highlights: early "around the world." "are you gonna go my way." a great "big yellow taxi" mix (finally). "lazy" > "disco 2000." "around the way girl" > "boogie on reggae woman" > "worst comes to worst" > "i forgot to be your lover" > "enjoy the silence" [instrumental remix, ben's doing] > "i'm a vampire."
that last was when it was mostly just rabi and roban (and ben and me.) she held up her braids when l.l. said "i need a girl with extensions in her hair," and she and i swooped and spun as claudia sang "i have ever so much money, i'm gorgeous and i can fly." the two of them were there for almost the entire party. hooray. jedd, too, gets big dancing points, as usual. who else? freshman groups, birthday-addie sans chums, people loitering outside, the L3ers, mary harrison and co. (incl. breakdancers) at the bitter end to get down to my blackout and macy 12"s. and my mom, about whom see ben's entry. and hannah and crew.
hannah. okay, this part was cool. maybe halfway through, she disappeared behind a curtain, not conspicuously or deliberately or anything, just to get some air. i happened to notice, and so went around outside and climbed in the window and we kissed. fantastic! funny thing was (or one them) - it was only maybe twenty feet from where alyssa and i kissed for the first time. and exactly two weeks after i said to myself: "two weeks…" another funny thing - the first person to find out was my mother (the next morning), because she asked.
it would have been nice to see more people, but on the whole the party was absolutely successful. music was great - mark, ben, and i for the most part switched around after only one or two songs, flowing very organically. we seemed to have the right amount of food, if too much punch maybe. and there wasn't even much cleaning up to do. we were in bed by 2:30.
i must stop this entry soon, because it's late in several senses. sunday, then, briefly: breakfast outside with ester and skelly; the arboretum garden and a taxi for mom; superterrific make-up yoga class, only seven people and focus on 'restorative' asanas, relaxing and deep breathing; practicing and dinner; and some time with the girl: we lost her earring (it's since been regained) in the nason garden, left lang before klezmer, and hung out here for the duration of quiet is the new loud, which of course prompted a discussion about scandinavia and travel. she thinks i'm weird. she thinks she's normal. i'm not writing about this now.
how can you lie there and think of england
when you don't even know who's in the team
i spent substantial periods of time on friday, saturday, and sunday cleaning up my room. more straightening than cleaning. it was never all that disordered, really, and hence i didn't change all that much, but it was a slow, constant, occasionally regressive, and fully satisfying process of picking things up, reallocating homespaces for items, making much use of the shelf in my closet, and so forth. post-party, i was able to replace the faulty blue string-lights with a red string, but i switched half of the red bulbs for blue.
friday was a one-thing-leads-to-another afternoon (in the way of all good fridays); mostly things led to the susie ibarra workshop in the afterlunch. that was made strange by a handful of obnoxious and inexplicable men in the audience who asked inane questions and told susie how she felt and were basically demeaning. she took it fairly well, and i think things got better in the latter portion, when i engaged her in a discussion of music past and present, as context and influences. she was reluctant to address groove (or rocking out), and made intriguingly little distinction between playing for herself and an audience. her freeform/conscious improvised pieces were really fascinating and magical. i played briefly too, at the end.
the next order of business was coordinating my way in to philly, with alyssa at the wheel of laurel's ride, to meet with my mother. after the parking hurdle, we came upon the lady facing towards the window upstairs at alma (which you might have noticed from my review i thought was fabulous.) that was really great. ma et moi split the grapefruit/scallop ceviche, sugarcane-skewered ahi tuna with some spinach and stuff, and a braised crispy duck dish which included the foie gras flan i mentioned. all of these things were perfectly delectable. food can be so transcendent. (if also, as mentioned, so dull.) conversation was good too - jargon [problematize, like], cycometrics, hetlands. the return trip featured the terrible jersey trap, but we did make it back of a piece.
it was raining and it was hard to find the party, but we did catch the tail end of stef/zab's eroticookie do, the part where they were watching hedwig in the sccs media lounge. i liked (the second half of) the movie much more than the last time i saw it. mom liked it too, and so did dale and others. hum, hum, it's late.
saturday, oh yes, we had breakfast and shopping. a goodwill goldmine. there was a fantastic pair of pink sneakers that were sadly a size too small for me. but i did find a pink jacket and a brilliant pair of pink pants and a tight little white and pink striped shirt that turned out to pick up the blacklight. mark also got a pink jacket, of exactly the same cut as mine, and a pink shirt to wear with the pink pants he borrowed. at the party, ben borrowed my pink ruffled tux shirt. but nobody wore my favorite pink shirt from trinity. we also bought two orange (well, yes) armchairs for the hall. the theme of the party, by the way, was "orange vs. pink: who will win." i put up big pieces of posterboard in sharples to that effect, but they were gone by breakfast the next morning. mark said at the end that orange won. too bad kate duffy wasn't there. i hate pink.
next stop was bjs, where we spent over ninety bucks but thirty of it on two black lights and the rest on a lot of food, such that we only then needed ice and sherbert (genuardi's) and ginger ale (target) for the punch. the produce guy was, sadly, no help, and neither was the party store where swatties get a discount apparently. that was a lot of shopping for one day, with your mother tagging along and listening to chillout and tobin between stops. it was gorgeous out too.
next item: susie ibarra's performance, as predictable, was neither very performative nor very grooving (only the first and last selections had definable grooves, and they had some difficulty keeping them together.) there's no question about inventiveness or virtuousity though. mom had a hard time with it, and i did too in places. ben's good advice: "you can't think of it as music." he networked while i simultaneously spoiled and arranged my dinner.
which was, as he said, "sausage-heavy" - but not necessarily a bad thing; with matt, joel, ben, ester, me, and my mom, the dynamic was about as you'd expect. political, rubin irrepressible. jewish issues and so on. jappetizers and sushi, with orts.
and then the party. like, nobody was there for the first, like, forty-five minutes at least, after we'd blown up the balloons, cut the fruit, strung lights and pumped willets full of "brainfreeze," "just a friend," and the lrd mix of "sleep on the left side." p-funk, blackalicious, and tom tom club wasted on an empty room. but it picked up, as it always does. it just took longer than typical, dunno why. also, we never had any PAs. who cares. it was a hit, i think - they dug the clothes, the tunes, the space for dancing. thank goodness for dry saturday. the technics worked beautifully too. highlights: early "around the world." "are you gonna go my way." a great "big yellow taxi" mix (finally). "lazy" > "disco 2000." "around the way girl" > "boogie on reggae woman" > "worst comes to worst" > "i forgot to be your lover" > "enjoy the silence" [instrumental remix, ben's doing] > "i'm a vampire."
that last was when it was mostly just rabi and roban (and ben and me.) she held up her braids when l.l. said "i need a girl with extensions in her hair," and she and i swooped and spun as claudia sang "i have ever so much money, i'm gorgeous and i can fly." the two of them were there for almost the entire party. hooray. jedd, too, gets big dancing points, as usual. who else? freshman groups, birthday-addie sans chums, people loitering outside, the L3ers, mary harrison and co. (incl. breakdancers) at the bitter end to get down to my blackout and macy 12"s. and my mom, about whom see ben's entry. and hannah and crew.
hannah. okay, this part was cool. maybe halfway through, she disappeared behind a curtain, not conspicuously or deliberately or anything, just to get some air. i happened to notice, and so went around outside and climbed in the window and we kissed. fantastic! funny thing was (or one them) - it was only maybe twenty feet from where alyssa and i kissed for the first time. and exactly two weeks after i said to myself: "two weeks…" another funny thing - the first person to find out was my mother (the next morning), because she asked.
it would have been nice to see more people, but on the whole the party was absolutely successful. music was great - mark, ben, and i for the most part switched around after only one or two songs, flowing very organically. we seemed to have the right amount of food, if too much punch maybe. and there wasn't even much cleaning up to do. we were in bed by 2:30.
i must stop this entry soon, because it's late in several senses. sunday, then, briefly: breakfast outside with ester and skelly; the arboretum garden and a taxi for mom; superterrific make-up yoga class, only seven people and focus on 'restorative' asanas, relaxing and deep breathing; practicing and dinner; and some time with the girl: we lost her earring (it's since been regained) in the nason garden, left lang before klezmer, and hung out here for the duration of quiet is the new loud, which of course prompted a discussion about scandinavia and travel. she thinks i'm weird. she thinks she's normal. i'm not writing about this now.
how can you lie there and think of england
when you don't even know who's in the team
[from my e-mail to the Phoenix in response to a call for restaurant recommendations]
erm, so as it turns out I have a lot to say about Philadelphia restaurants. Print what you like - I particularly think people should know about the first five or so. I don't know if you're interested in this, but for the record I don't particularly recommend Astral Plane, Guru, Cibucan, or that place on Market and 4th or something which played Prince when I was eating there.
love,
Ross
Tampopo 104 S. 21st, between Chestnut and Sansom
Criminally overlooked fast-food-style Japanese joint that I discovered one evening when Gianna's was closed and all the Cuban and Italian places in the area just seemed too expensive. Superfast, supercheap, and plenty of tasty food for your money. Mix and match combinations of noodles with gyoza, tempura, rolls, salads, etc. all in individualized compartments. Take-out or eat in. Also features a nifty retro-mod aesthetic with a dandelion logo and racks of Japanese pop magazines.
Beau Monde 624 S. 6th at Bainbridge, 1 block south of South
They may not have gender agreement in their name, but otherwise it's well-chosen. This from my journal: "Eve drove us into the city for dinner at a fabulous crêperie, attempting to squeeze every ounce of black-wardrobe hipness out of its old-world-elegance decor and m.o., whose bartendress identified my glasses frames. Jenny met us there and we split three-ways for a simply scrumptious meal: sweet-potato bisque with some cream/rum thing on top; one ratatouille-goat cheese crêpe and one grilled veggie-feta; and the dessert crêpe I lobbied for, lemon curd-lemon sorbet-mixed berries. Mmmm." If you go, ask them if they've found my hat.
Pink Rose Pastry 640 S. 4th at Bainbridge, 1 block south of South
Old-school pastry shop and teahouse with pink tablecloths and decor as elegant and decadent as the dessert offerings. Their milieu is limited but they know what they're doing. I went to pick up some pastries for my birthday party last year and left with seven or eight different pieces because I couldn't decide.
Samosas 1214 Walnut, between 12th and 13th
For $8.88 (dinner) or $5.84 (lunch) - who knows how they came up with the prices - you get a fantastic cafeteria-style buffet of vegetarian Indian food. I think theoretically you're not supposed to go back for a second round through, but I always have to go get just a little more curry or a few more pakoras. Help yourself to pitchers of water, and don't forget to take some of those great anise candies when you leave. A center-city standby.
La Bohéme 246 11th, between Locust and Spruce
Utterly charming little self-proclaimed bistro français with reasonable prices, nice portions, and superb if perhaps unadventurous french cuisine (un peu nouveau.) Swell for a date (a one-month anniversary commemoration, say), but check the hours, because it's been closed the last few times I was there on Mondays.
Alma de Cuba 1623 Walnut, between 15th and 16th
My favorite so far of the famed Stephen Starr restaurants, which also include the over-the-top Buddakan and the ultra-modern white conveyor-belt-chic of sushi capsule Pod. As always with Starr, the atmosphere here is a lot of fun - evocative of the faded old-world splendor of Havana, if Havana had any faded old-world splendor (does it? i've never been). Perhaps more importantly, the food is outstanding. Daily fish and ceviche specials, and endlessly inventive garnishes and sides, including foie gras flan, which makes an excellent tongue-twister. It's far from cheap, though, so a good place to get your parents to take you. And call ahead! I called on Monday and couldn't get a reservation for Saturday before 9:30.
Penang 117 N. 10th at Arch
A pre-Trocadero-concert favorite, conveniently located just three blocks from Market East Station. Cheap and plentiful portions of Malaysian specialties, and awesome modernist sheet-metal decor, with high chairs. The first time I went the waiter told me, firmly, what to order. Save room for Chendol, a unique and not unsatisfying experience described in the menu as "green pea flour stripes and sweet red beans topped w. shaved ice and coconut milk"
The Continental 134 Market at 2nd
An early Starr effort, divided into half martini bar with trendsetting jetsetters, half restaurant with booths and fewer people (when I went anyway.) The aesthetic is airport-lounge-kitsch-retro-global, and the menu is pan-world in the most excessive way imaginable. Food is served tapas style, but it's hard to do it up right when the dishes average between $8 and $13 and you're supposed to get probably at least two or three per person to share. It is a lot of fun though.
Kingdom of Vegetarians 129 N. 11th, between Arch and Race
A longstanding tradition among Swatties. Frankly, it's not as good as everyone seems to think, but it's still a fun experience. The deal: you pay $10 and they just keep bringing out food, theoretically until you tell them to stop. In my experience (eight or so visits), the group is never able to make it past one specific round, where they overload you with about six pansful of dumplings all at once. (I propose this as the venue for gluttonbowl 2 - if anyone can make it past that round, they will have earned my respect.) I'm particularly fond of the sesame noodles and the scallion pancakes, but the restaurant's raison d'être is their dim sum, which as the name suggests is all vegetarian. As a meat eater, I will attest that it isn't a particularly good imitation, but that doesn't mean it isn't good food. You can also order á la carte, but why would you bother?
Taj Mahal 1903 Chestnut, at 19th
It took me a while to find this. It would be nothing spectacular in some cities, but it's the best Indian food I've had so far in Philadelphia. Standard-issue Indian restaurant name, standard-issue sitar-heavy background music, standard-issue menu with only a few variations in transliteration from my hometown favorite (the India House in Rochester, N.Y., if you care.) Disturbingly irrelevant U.S. president paper placemats.
Azafran 617 3rd, between South and Bainbridge
from my journal: "Dinner was at Azafrán, a charming little Venezuelan restaurant at 3rd and South, where, although overpriced and underportioned, the food was really spectacular. Joel and I shared the double ceviche del dia plate - one little dish of flounder with a cilantro garnish, and one of wasabi'd salmon with tasty cucumber/citrus salsa - as well as an entree of atún served over mashed platanos with a molé-ish sauce and fresh salsa, and a side order of rice and beans. Mmm. That really is the kind of food you want to eat in large quantities, which was the only problem, but it was great to mix together. They also served some nice bread with super-garlicked olive oil."
erm, so as it turns out I have a lot to say about Philadelphia restaurants. Print what you like - I particularly think people should know about the first five or so. I don't know if you're interested in this, but for the record I don't particularly recommend Astral Plane, Guru, Cibucan, or that place on Market and 4th or something which played Prince when I was eating there.
love,
Ross
Tampopo 104 S. 21st, between Chestnut and Sansom
Criminally overlooked fast-food-style Japanese joint that I discovered one evening when Gianna's was closed and all the Cuban and Italian places in the area just seemed too expensive. Superfast, supercheap, and plenty of tasty food for your money. Mix and match combinations of noodles with gyoza, tempura, rolls, salads, etc. all in individualized compartments. Take-out or eat in. Also features a nifty retro-mod aesthetic with a dandelion logo and racks of Japanese pop magazines.
Beau Monde 624 S. 6th at Bainbridge, 1 block south of South
They may not have gender agreement in their name, but otherwise it's well-chosen. This from my journal: "Eve drove us into the city for dinner at a fabulous crêperie, attempting to squeeze every ounce of black-wardrobe hipness out of its old-world-elegance decor and m.o., whose bartendress identified my glasses frames. Jenny met us there and we split three-ways for a simply scrumptious meal: sweet-potato bisque with some cream/rum thing on top; one ratatouille-goat cheese crêpe and one grilled veggie-feta; and the dessert crêpe I lobbied for, lemon curd-lemon sorbet-mixed berries. Mmmm." If you go, ask them if they've found my hat.
Pink Rose Pastry 640 S. 4th at Bainbridge, 1 block south of South
Old-school pastry shop and teahouse with pink tablecloths and decor as elegant and decadent as the dessert offerings. Their milieu is limited but they know what they're doing. I went to pick up some pastries for my birthday party last year and left with seven or eight different pieces because I couldn't decide.
Samosas 1214 Walnut, between 12th and 13th
For $8.88 (dinner) or $5.84 (lunch) - who knows how they came up with the prices - you get a fantastic cafeteria-style buffet of vegetarian Indian food. I think theoretically you're not supposed to go back for a second round through, but I always have to go get just a little more curry or a few more pakoras. Help yourself to pitchers of water, and don't forget to take some of those great anise candies when you leave. A center-city standby.
La Bohéme 246 11th, between Locust and Spruce
Utterly charming little self-proclaimed bistro français with reasonable prices, nice portions, and superb if perhaps unadventurous french cuisine (un peu nouveau.) Swell for a date (a one-month anniversary commemoration, say), but check the hours, because it's been closed the last few times I was there on Mondays.
Alma de Cuba 1623 Walnut, between 15th and 16th
My favorite so far of the famed Stephen Starr restaurants, which also include the over-the-top Buddakan and the ultra-modern white conveyor-belt-chic of sushi capsule Pod. As always with Starr, the atmosphere here is a lot of fun - evocative of the faded old-world splendor of Havana, if Havana had any faded old-world splendor (does it? i've never been). Perhaps more importantly, the food is outstanding. Daily fish and ceviche specials, and endlessly inventive garnishes and sides, including foie gras flan, which makes an excellent tongue-twister. It's far from cheap, though, so a good place to get your parents to take you. And call ahead! I called on Monday and couldn't get a reservation for Saturday before 9:30.
Penang 117 N. 10th at Arch
A pre-Trocadero-concert favorite, conveniently located just three blocks from Market East Station. Cheap and plentiful portions of Malaysian specialties, and awesome modernist sheet-metal decor, with high chairs. The first time I went the waiter told me, firmly, what to order. Save room for Chendol, a unique and not unsatisfying experience described in the menu as "green pea flour stripes and sweet red beans topped w. shaved ice and coconut milk"
The Continental 134 Market at 2nd
An early Starr effort, divided into half martini bar with trendsetting jetsetters, half restaurant with booths and fewer people (when I went anyway.) The aesthetic is airport-lounge-kitsch-retro-global, and the menu is pan-world in the most excessive way imaginable. Food is served tapas style, but it's hard to do it up right when the dishes average between $8 and $13 and you're supposed to get probably at least two or three per person to share. It is a lot of fun though.
Kingdom of Vegetarians 129 N. 11th, between Arch and Race
A longstanding tradition among Swatties. Frankly, it's not as good as everyone seems to think, but it's still a fun experience. The deal: you pay $10 and they just keep bringing out food, theoretically until you tell them to stop. In my experience (eight or so visits), the group is never able to make it past one specific round, where they overload you with about six pansful of dumplings all at once. (I propose this as the venue for gluttonbowl 2 - if anyone can make it past that round, they will have earned my respect.) I'm particularly fond of the sesame noodles and the scallion pancakes, but the restaurant's raison d'être is their dim sum, which as the name suggests is all vegetarian. As a meat eater, I will attest that it isn't a particularly good imitation, but that doesn't mean it isn't good food. You can also order á la carte, but why would you bother?
Taj Mahal 1903 Chestnut, at 19th
It took me a while to find this. It would be nothing spectacular in some cities, but it's the best Indian food I've had so far in Philadelphia. Standard-issue Indian restaurant name, standard-issue sitar-heavy background music, standard-issue menu with only a few variations in transliteration from my hometown favorite (the India House in Rochester, N.Y., if you care.) Disturbingly irrelevant U.S. president paper placemats.
Azafran 617 3rd, between South and Bainbridge
from my journal: "Dinner was at Azafrán, a charming little Venezuelan restaurant at 3rd and South, where, although overpriced and underportioned, the food was really spectacular. Joel and I shared the double ceviche del dia plate - one little dish of flounder with a cilantro garnish, and one of wasabi'd salmon with tasty cucumber/citrus salsa - as well as an entree of atún served over mashed platanos with a molé-ish sauce and fresh salsa, and a side order of rice and beans. Mmm. That really is the kind of food you want to eat in large quantities, which was the only problem, but it was great to mix together. They also served some nice bread with super-garlicked olive oil."
Sunday, September 29
the way my feet feel, after four hours of almost literally non-stop dancing (i don't think i was off the floor for more than two minutes at a time), is analogous to the way my ears used to feel after concerts before i started wearing earplugs all the time. they seem to be ringing. speaking of which, where is my second earplug? i'm really looking forward to the makeup yoga class tomorrow afternoon, especially as i think we're focusing on relaxation and inward awareness.
there's a lot for me to write about; the last two days with my mom, two exquisite dinners, some ibarra jazz, the party and all it entailed (suffice for now to say it was a smash; thanks so much to those who made it, and my condolences to those who didn't. as hannah said, i was having far too good a time.) and the weather i suppose. there's the other bit of pertinent news, but i think i'll hold off on that for now as well. although you probably figured it out anyway.
i'm listening to, i think, the original "peppy piano music," as referenced in my current sidebar description; Bill Evan's Conversations with Myself. and one speaker is cutting in and out annoyingly. I'd better to bed, so I can get up and spend some more time with mama in the morning. thanks again.
you haven't betrayed your ideals
your ideals betrayed you
what are you gonna do?
there's a lot for me to write about; the last two days with my mom, two exquisite dinners, some ibarra jazz, the party and all it entailed (suffice for now to say it was a smash; thanks so much to those who made it, and my condolences to those who didn't. as hannah said, i was having far too good a time.) and the weather i suppose. there's the other bit of pertinent news, but i think i'll hold off on that for now as well. although you probably figured it out anyway.
i'm listening to, i think, the original "peppy piano music," as referenced in my current sidebar description; Bill Evan's Conversations with Myself. and one speaker is cutting in and out annoyingly. I'd better to bed, so I can get up and spend some more time with mama in the morning. thanks again.
you haven't betrayed your ideals
your ideals betrayed you
what are you gonna do?
Friday, September 27
thursday night is heavy backpack night. scrabble board for the club, which was poorerly attended because of the rain i think (and in one case an asap workshop), but we roped in some newbies including Joanne, to whom i soundly lost a game, continuing a streak. we also played anagrams, in which i fared better. I made ORANGUTAN and ENRAVELERS and PIEBALD and PLINKING. a lot of people were playing. and cds for radio. here's what i played, copied from my tape j-card rather than the program log which seems to have gotten disappeared:
Merrick : Ladders to Fire
Spoon : Back to the Life (P)
Saloon : My Everyday Silver is Plastic (P)
Microphones : Lanterns (P)
Radio 4 : Save Your City (P)
Imperial Teen : My Spy
John Vanderslice : Amitriptyline (P)
Aden : Intertwining Hands (P)
Currituck County : Intertwining Hands
Jill Sobule : Bitter
Rufus Wainwright : Rebel Prince
Susie Ibarra : Illumination
Susie Ibarra : Azúl
The Magnetic Fields : All the Umbrellas in London
The Beta Band : Broken Up A Ding Dong
The Aluminum Group : 2-Bit Faux Construction
Stereolab : Lo Boob Oscillator
Old 97s : Time Bomb
Stereolab : [the rest of the song]
Papas Fritas : Rolling in the Sand & Live by the Water [both dedicated to Sanderson the Hermit Crab]
Aloha : Protest Song (P)
The Magnetic Fields : I Don't Believe You
The Magnetic Fields : Old Orchard Beach
The Magnetic Fields : When I'm Not Looking, You're Not There
The Magnetic Fields : 100000 Fireflies
The Magnetic Fields : Rats in the Garbage of the Western World
Prodigy via Lo-Fi Allstars : Outer Space
Secret Machines : It's a Bad Wind That Don't Blow Somebody Some Good (P)
Archer Prewitt : The Day to Day (P)
The Apples in Stereo : It's Something I Do (P)
Palomar : Knockout (P)
I think that's it.
Merrick : Ladders to Fire
Spoon : Back to the Life (P)
Saloon : My Everyday Silver is Plastic (P)
Microphones : Lanterns (P)
Radio 4 : Save Your City (P)
Imperial Teen : My Spy
John Vanderslice : Amitriptyline (P)
Aden : Intertwining Hands (P)
Currituck County : Intertwining Hands
Jill Sobule : Bitter
Rufus Wainwright : Rebel Prince
Susie Ibarra : Illumination
Susie Ibarra : Azúl
The Magnetic Fields : All the Umbrellas in London
The Beta Band : Broken Up A Ding Dong
The Aluminum Group : 2-Bit Faux Construction
Stereolab : Lo Boob Oscillator
Old 97s : Time Bomb
Stereolab : [the rest of the song]
Papas Fritas : Rolling in the Sand & Live by the Water [both dedicated to Sanderson the Hermit Crab]
Aloha : Protest Song (P)
The Magnetic Fields : I Don't Believe You
The Magnetic Fields : Old Orchard Beach
The Magnetic Fields : When I'm Not Looking, You're Not There
The Magnetic Fields : 100000 Fireflies
The Magnetic Fields : Rats in the Garbage of the Western World
Prodigy via Lo-Fi Allstars : Outer Space
Secret Machines : It's a Bad Wind That Don't Blow Somebody Some Good (P)
Archer Prewitt : The Day to Day (P)
The Apples in Stereo : It's Something I Do (P)
Palomar : Knockout (P)
I think that's it.
Thursday, September 26
what do i love? i love poses by rufus wainwright.
my name's stewart ransom miller
i'm a serial ladykiller
my name's stewart ransom miller
i'm a serial ladykiller
sometimes i do talk to myself, in answer to your question. i think, recently, i've started to occasionally exclaim "oh yeah" aloud to myself. not the "oh yeah" of realization, the "oh yeah" of happiness.
i wore all black today, with an orange shirt. and karen hatwell said "you're looking very october today." i felt the impulse to be deadpan and inscrutably biting in the manner of someone wearing all black: "it is october. it's rocktober." "you shouldn't wear a skirt with flowers when there are no flowers outside." "black is appropriate for the winter [she said] yes, because the snow is black." her startled reaction was i in truth hope not one of serious offense, but it brought me mild Schaudenfreude. i don't know why i told you about that. [not just because I wanted to show off that word; i composed this whole paragraph and then came back and added that. -ed]
not to be chronological about it: the mail brought happiness in the form of two rolls of expertly developed photographs with the sophisticated white borders, the two frank black albums, and the forthcoming apples in stereo. yoga was brilliant. i love that. seminar was an interesting experience. nobody mentioned my paper at all, except for janine, who brought it up a couple times to ask me to talk about some of my points, so i guess she liked it. the lack of formal attention to seminar papers stands in contrast to the protocol of the pomoreltho semin as described by joel and alyssa, and is confusing to me. i felt like i was nearly the only person talking for the last hour, prompting discussion topics and then answering my own questions. nevertheless, it was a good discussion of i think a fascinating subject, which i'm excited to see soon. good seminar break too, from sam, including homemade japanese cucumber salad.
my best friend ester and i listened to [the masterwork of arrangement and other things that is] little earthquakes played scrabble in the afternoon, and she got 476 points, which is very impressive. i got 352, which isn't too bad either. after that we ate better-than-average sharples barbeque in danawell (these 'well ras know how to flip 'em.) and i haunted lang, for which my finger was the worse.
quoth me [my paper began: "quoth Marcel Duchamp:"]: "in the great accounting of friends that accompanies my decision of who to invite to have dinner with me and my mom, it has come to my attention that three of my four closest friends on campus are male. this is strange to me." indeed - although i got confused and made the reservation for five rather than six.
not because of that, i paid a good visit to alyssa's invitingly monkish room. we listened to glenn gould, she read me cummings and neruda, she wouldn't tell me what her poem is about, we looked at claire's blitz photos, we talked about, oh, something, i'm sure. like almost always in our history, we are very stable. i think she's really cool.
[smoke from the hallway two floors down is invading my room, and i don't like it. i've closed the door.] i wanted to tell you about what happened in my american contemporary composers class not this monday (when in-house writers tom and jerry came to talk about bali and opera) but last monday. we had two guests: louis prado, who is youngly, upbeat, articulate, puerto rican by birth, and david finko, who sits in markéd contrast to that. he's who i wanted to talk about. he's in his seventies, and moved here from russia in the seventies. he says: "i'm not interested in music" any more. when jim(bo?) praised a gorgeous violin passage in my favorite of his works, he says: "that's not beautiful, that's depressing." he is adamant on the point of a dichotomy between an american intellectual style of composition and a russian emotional one, which really isn't embodied in his oeuvre the way he thinks it is. he studied for some five years at the academy of naval engineering in leningrad, and he says that he learned less about composition from his studies in music theory than from classes like "ship engine propulsion" and "theory of naval design." question and answer period. "first question should be: what do i take - prozac or what?" will he write more? "maybe if someone commissions me a concerto for machine gun and gas turbine."
"how's your hurricane, motherfucker?" popped an idiosyncratically and futilely pissed-off skelly en passant. i think i need to start calling her hannah, because i'm starting to understand "you didn't even think of me as someone with a name." i was thinking that's a dylan lyric, but of course it's the beatles. (beyond reproach i explained to ester today.) she likes dylan, did i mention that? it's been challenged that she is an obsession of mine, but i would counter, not an obsession. something like, but other. i guess i won't go into that. this much is clear: i like her, and i hope.
so yes i had a little awkward time at breakfast, lent her the first two band albums and repaid her $10, we smiled rather than speaking. this after a really pleasant sunday night, this sunday we watched the olde club show together, and in between sets had a stroll through the crum in the near-full moonlight. that can't help but be enjoyable. i had a great talk with john vanderslice too - he spent his summer cleaning neve-knobs as well. less dopey. more rocking. i bought his new album, hannah bought his last. can she be my girlfriend soon? [well that's the obligatory report. begrudging.]
long this entry is and my french work i have done not nor feel like doing, but read ester's screenplay will i and to coldcut listen and tomorrow of excitement will there undoubtedly be some, as in all days is there. oh yes - i have a lunch date. with my new friend and linkee.
i don't wanna be bitter
i don't wanna turn cruel
i don't wanna grow old before i have to
i wore all black today, with an orange shirt. and karen hatwell said "you're looking very october today." i felt the impulse to be deadpan and inscrutably biting in the manner of someone wearing all black: "it is october. it's rocktober." "you shouldn't wear a skirt with flowers when there are no flowers outside." "black is appropriate for the winter [she said] yes, because the snow is black." her startled reaction was i in truth hope not one of serious offense, but it brought me mild Schaudenfreude. i don't know why i told you about that. [not just because I wanted to show off that word; i composed this whole paragraph and then came back and added that. -ed]
not to be chronological about it: the mail brought happiness in the form of two rolls of expertly developed photographs with the sophisticated white borders, the two frank black albums, and the forthcoming apples in stereo. yoga was brilliant. i love that. seminar was an interesting experience. nobody mentioned my paper at all, except for janine, who brought it up a couple times to ask me to talk about some of my points, so i guess she liked it. the lack of formal attention to seminar papers stands in contrast to the protocol of the pomoreltho semin as described by joel and alyssa, and is confusing to me. i felt like i was nearly the only person talking for the last hour, prompting discussion topics and then answering my own questions. nevertheless, it was a good discussion of i think a fascinating subject, which i'm excited to see soon. good seminar break too, from sam, including homemade japanese cucumber salad.
my best friend ester and i listened to [the masterwork of arrangement and other things that is] little earthquakes played scrabble in the afternoon, and she got 476 points, which is very impressive. i got 352, which isn't too bad either. after that we ate better-than-average sharples barbeque in danawell (these 'well ras know how to flip 'em.) and i haunted lang, for which my finger was the worse.
quoth me [my paper began: "quoth Marcel Duchamp:"]: "in the great accounting of friends that accompanies my decision of who to invite to have dinner with me and my mom, it has come to my attention that three of my four closest friends on campus are male. this is strange to me." indeed - although i got confused and made the reservation for five rather than six.
not because of that, i paid a good visit to alyssa's invitingly monkish room. we listened to glenn gould, she read me cummings and neruda, she wouldn't tell me what her poem is about, we looked at claire's blitz photos, we talked about, oh, something, i'm sure. like almost always in our history, we are very stable. i think she's really cool.
[smoke from the hallway two floors down is invading my room, and i don't like it. i've closed the door.] i wanted to tell you about what happened in my american contemporary composers class not this monday (when in-house writers tom and jerry came to talk about bali and opera) but last monday. we had two guests: louis prado, who is youngly, upbeat, articulate, puerto rican by birth, and david finko, who sits in markéd contrast to that. he's who i wanted to talk about. he's in his seventies, and moved here from russia in the seventies. he says: "i'm not interested in music" any more. when jim(bo?) praised a gorgeous violin passage in my favorite of his works, he says: "that's not beautiful, that's depressing." he is adamant on the point of a dichotomy between an american intellectual style of composition and a russian emotional one, which really isn't embodied in his oeuvre the way he thinks it is. he studied for some five years at the academy of naval engineering in leningrad, and he says that he learned less about composition from his studies in music theory than from classes like "ship engine propulsion" and "theory of naval design." question and answer period. "first question should be: what do i take - prozac or what?" will he write more? "maybe if someone commissions me a concerto for machine gun and gas turbine."
"how's your hurricane, motherfucker?" popped an idiosyncratically and futilely pissed-off skelly en passant. i think i need to start calling her hannah, because i'm starting to understand "you didn't even think of me as someone with a name." i was thinking that's a dylan lyric, but of course it's the beatles. (beyond reproach i explained to ester today.) she likes dylan, did i mention that? it's been challenged that she is an obsession of mine, but i would counter, not an obsession. something like, but other. i guess i won't go into that. this much is clear: i like her, and i hope.
so yes i had a little awkward time at breakfast, lent her the first two band albums and repaid her $10, we smiled rather than speaking. this after a really pleasant sunday night, this sunday we watched the olde club show together, and in between sets had a stroll through the crum in the near-full moonlight. that can't help but be enjoyable. i had a great talk with john vanderslice too - he spent his summer cleaning neve-knobs as well. less dopey. more rocking. i bought his new album, hannah bought his last. can she be my girlfriend soon? [well that's the obligatory report. begrudging.]
long this entry is and my french work i have done not nor feel like doing, but read ester's screenplay will i and to coldcut listen and tomorrow of excitement will there undoubtedly be some, as in all days is there. oh yes - i have a lunch date. with my new friend and linkee.
i don't wanna be bitter
i don't wanna turn cruel
i don't wanna grow old before i have to
Wednesday, September 25
i don't know how ester has time to play three games of playsite scrabble in a day. or to spend hours revising her screenplay. i haven't even been able to read more than three chapters since the start of school. yes i do, i have free time too, plenty, i just don't know where it goes. some of it is now.
i've been getting up early, like i might have said. i woke up before the 8:00 bell this morning, even though my alarm wasn't set to go off until 9:00 (then it did when I was in the shower.) i cut myself on my dresser. isn't that annoyingly hilarious? the plastic covering the lower lip of the top of the dresser slipped underneath my fingernail. ow.
but yesterday i didn't wake up in time. my alarm didn't sound, so i missed my 8:30 class (bound to happen anyway, but bad when you didn't mean it.) that was okay, because i was went straight to mccabe, starting at about 9:30, and I worked on my paper there, in a "conversation room" on the third floor with an ethernet jack, where i was mostly able to concentrate in the uncomfortable chair, and listen to a bit of celebratory beckstream when i finished c. 6:30. my only breaks were a brief lunch with Liane Rice (who said she found this site by searching her name, which I can't remember ever using before), and swapping books around with other members of my class (so - no bach class either.) i think i've finally figured out how honors reserve works.
the paper was half a page too long, with footnotes on pynchon and this, and not cohesive enough, and probably not always coherent enough, and no title, but i think i brought in a lot of good ideas, including several of my own, and as it happens i brought in almost all of the readings without really trying, so that's probably a good sign. or a bad one. i'm looking forward to discussion today - this really is a fascinating subject.
i dashed around trying to find my rock band after that, and we kicked out a fairly productive rehearsal: two blur covers, some fine renderings of old favorites and new classics, plus the first good stab at my song about jess and dave, which rocked out happily. matt/we have some crazy plans for ifrb in the future. stay tuned. nyc denizens, are you ready to rokk?
i haven't written in a while 'cause of i promised myself i wouldn't until i finished my paper, and then i didn't feel like it last night. so i need to write about sunday and monday, yeah? oh, yeah. good things to write about, there. now, i'm going to breakfast, and hopefully my lovely will be there. i haven't done my french homework (again.) pass/fail, right.
i've got no sense of direction
i guess i've got no sense at all
i've been getting up early, like i might have said. i woke up before the 8:00 bell this morning, even though my alarm wasn't set to go off until 9:00 (then it did when I was in the shower.) i cut myself on my dresser. isn't that annoyingly hilarious? the plastic covering the lower lip of the top of the dresser slipped underneath my fingernail. ow.
but yesterday i didn't wake up in time. my alarm didn't sound, so i missed my 8:30 class (bound to happen anyway, but bad when you didn't mean it.) that was okay, because i was went straight to mccabe, starting at about 9:30, and I worked on my paper there, in a "conversation room" on the third floor with an ethernet jack, where i was mostly able to concentrate in the uncomfortable chair, and listen to a bit of celebratory beckstream when i finished c. 6:30. my only breaks were a brief lunch with Liane Rice (who said she found this site by searching her name, which I can't remember ever using before), and swapping books around with other members of my class (so - no bach class either.) i think i've finally figured out how honors reserve works.
the paper was half a page too long, with footnotes on pynchon and this, and not cohesive enough, and probably not always coherent enough, and no title, but i think i brought in a lot of good ideas, including several of my own, and as it happens i brought in almost all of the readings without really trying, so that's probably a good sign. or a bad one. i'm looking forward to discussion today - this really is a fascinating subject.
i dashed around trying to find my rock band after that, and we kicked out a fairly productive rehearsal: two blur covers, some fine renderings of old favorites and new classics, plus the first good stab at my song about jess and dave, which rocked out happily. matt/we have some crazy plans for ifrb in the future. stay tuned. nyc denizens, are you ready to rokk?
i haven't written in a while 'cause of i promised myself i wouldn't until i finished my paper, and then i didn't feel like it last night. so i need to write about sunday and monday, yeah? oh, yeah. good things to write about, there. now, i'm going to breakfast, and hopefully my lovely will be there. i haven't done my french homework (again.) pass/fail, right.
i've got no sense of direction
i guess i've got no sense at all
Sunday, September 22
so, while most everyone else on campus went into philly to see the roots, among other things, i stayed here and worked. at least i wore my roots t-shirt, which provoked a lot of remarks.
it was productive - although i didn't finish all the duchamp reading as i had hoped, i read everything except for two short articles (one because the library closed, the other because the syllabus was unclear about which chapter to read) and the inscrutable transcription/lation of the "green box" (which i paged through for twenty minutes or so), including a few things on the recommended list. the paper shouldn't be too hard to write, especially if those last two articles are as helpful as i hope they are.
i worked from before lunch straight through until dinner, only taking an hour-plus study break to audition for the night of scenes. that was actually tremendous fun. I read Tzara saying "dada dada dada dada" for Al Bradbury (in another uncanny confluence), I read a bizarre script with Hang for some auditioners who also had us recite the pledge of allegiance, and I read five scenes for Cat, by the end of which I was getting nice and loose with my interpretations. but the most fun of all was probably reading for the John Cleese role in a Fawlty Towers episode for two cool freshman (presumably?) who were pretty business-minded. i shouldn't speak too soon, but they seemed to enjoy seeing me audition as much as i enjoyed giving it - they had me stay and read quite a number of scenes.
i also paused in my reading for a very satisfying practice session. technique was a bit trying, but the bach inexplicably came together about five times better than last time i tried it (i love when that happens), and i played through the chopin several times, trying different approaches most of which seemed pretty expressive. probably after this week's lesson i'll get something else (20th century?) to work on, more of a full slate. and then something will suffer, perhaps. but for now it's going well.
i did some more reading after dinner, but gave up soon and invited joel over for some listening. we heard gerry levinson's "here of amazing most now" (much better with the score and the inspirational texts, from cummings, basho [how do you make a macron?] et al) and "for the morning of the world" (heavy shades of copland, stravinsky, and jazz), tom whitman's "aubade" (enough with the glockenspiel, guys) and the opening his opera (um, not sure about the next 75 minutes), and selections from cex, dälek, and parklife.
hanging/taboo plans seemed to be fizzling, but s-k popped up as we left k. joel writes music for soundtracks now, so skelly and i went off in search of fresh air (me) and inappropriateness (her). willets? no. phi psi? no (although apparently kellam thinks i'm 21, or maybe 12.) we stopped by the dana hq of sarah cohodes and brita (who has the campus record for kandinsky prints and recordings of the "internationale"), wandered through the halls of wharton ab (for no reason in particular), and then went down to the crum. we took the ornithology path, starting behind the fieldhouse, which is different in the dark. we lay in the meadow, had a planning meeting, and cheered whenever the (full!) moon made it into a clearing in the clouds. fantastic.
it was cute walking back and passing all sorts of swatties, in ones and twos, in various activities. back here, chatting with dan, alison, and jav; bowie and hubbard. i'll go to bed now. tomorrow should be fun fun fun.
out where the decent folks dance
that two-step revival
denial, deviation, temptation and trial
it was productive - although i didn't finish all the duchamp reading as i had hoped, i read everything except for two short articles (one because the library closed, the other because the syllabus was unclear about which chapter to read) and the inscrutable transcription/lation of the "green box" (which i paged through for twenty minutes or so), including a few things on the recommended list. the paper shouldn't be too hard to write, especially if those last two articles are as helpful as i hope they are.
i worked from before lunch straight through until dinner, only taking an hour-plus study break to audition for the night of scenes. that was actually tremendous fun. I read Tzara saying "dada dada dada dada" for Al Bradbury (in another uncanny confluence), I read a bizarre script with Hang for some auditioners who also had us recite the pledge of allegiance, and I read five scenes for Cat, by the end of which I was getting nice and loose with my interpretations. but the most fun of all was probably reading for the John Cleese role in a Fawlty Towers episode for two cool freshman (presumably?) who were pretty business-minded. i shouldn't speak too soon, but they seemed to enjoy seeing me audition as much as i enjoyed giving it - they had me stay and read quite a number of scenes.
i also paused in my reading for a very satisfying practice session. technique was a bit trying, but the bach inexplicably came together about five times better than last time i tried it (i love when that happens), and i played through the chopin several times, trying different approaches most of which seemed pretty expressive. probably after this week's lesson i'll get something else (20th century?) to work on, more of a full slate. and then something will suffer, perhaps. but for now it's going well.
i did some more reading after dinner, but gave up soon and invited joel over for some listening. we heard gerry levinson's "here of amazing most now" (much better with the score and the inspirational texts, from cummings, basho [how do you make a macron?] et al) and "for the morning of the world" (heavy shades of copland, stravinsky, and jazz), tom whitman's "aubade" (enough with the glockenspiel, guys) and the opening his opera (um, not sure about the next 75 minutes), and selections from cex, dälek, and parklife.
hanging/taboo plans seemed to be fizzling, but s-k popped up as we left k. joel writes music for soundtracks now, so skelly and i went off in search of fresh air (me) and inappropriateness (her). willets? no. phi psi? no (although apparently kellam thinks i'm 21, or maybe 12.) we stopped by the dana hq of sarah cohodes and brita (who has the campus record for kandinsky prints and recordings of the "internationale"), wandered through the halls of wharton ab (for no reason in particular), and then went down to the crum. we took the ornithology path, starting behind the fieldhouse, which is different in the dark. we lay in the meadow, had a planning meeting, and cheered whenever the (full!) moon made it into a clearing in the clouds. fantastic.
it was cute walking back and passing all sorts of swatties, in ones and twos, in various activities. back here, chatting with dan, alison, and jav; bowie and hubbard. i'll go to bed now. tomorrow should be fun fun fun.
out where the decent folks dance
that two-step revival
denial, deviation, temptation and trial
Friday, September 20
two hip-hop shows:
egon, madlib and peanut butter wolf @ olde club, wednesday night
blackalicious, dilated peoples, and public enemy @ electric factory, tonight
both were a lot of fun, and had a fair amount of variety. egon span 60s/70s funk rarities (and "funky drummer" on 45); madlib and dj static(?) hip-hop chestnuts and several cuts from things fall apart; pbw everything from blondie to the specials to chic to eric b. & rakim to a japanese version of "i want you back" to "we are siamese" vs. "bonita applebom" and the song that de la samples for "magic number." despite some nifty scratching and juggling especially from static, it was more of a dance party than a concert. too bad it was so dark and dry, and that there weren't even more people (though there were a lot.) and i wish they had been selling records.
i went to the electric factory tonight with ben, kate, and alex flurie. we were early, to buy tickets (i bought four for wilco as well) and vietnamese food, of which i didn't partake. also, bought some alcohol, then ran into some cool freshmen outside the show. a mediocre unannounced act was on as we entered after 9:00, and the show didn't end until four acts later, well after 1:00. thankfully, set change times were short (plus they had a kickass dj spinning in between sets - awesome scratching and great classic tunes, including "potholes in my lawn.") all three of the main acts were very entertaining, and had exceptional crowd rapport but each in quite different ways, as we discussed on the way home. all three were very hyped to be playing philly, and gave numerous shout-outs to the illadelph originators (cash money, schooly d, jazzy jeff, et al.) [can you imagine what it would be like if indie rock shows cultivated the same sense of history as hip-hop shows?]
blackalicious - enunciated, slightly goofy, "q&a," backup singers/greek chorus/letter holders, kindergarten teacher-esque. most insane proficiency: gab's überprecise helium flow.
dilated - traditionalist, party-people, sticker-throwing, tag-team, "i forgot to be your lover"-sampling closer. most insane proficiency: babu's sick sick and righteously legendary turntable prowess.
public enemy - still got it, live band, intense one-phrase choruses ("get it up," "shut 'em down," "son of a bush," and of course "fight the power"), effective political monologues, faulty pacing (the set was incredibly exciting considering its length, but it just sort of fizzled out). sadly, no flava flav (he's stuck in ny for violating traffic license parole). most insane proficiency: fifteen years on, and they seem to have as much impact as ever.
housemartins and klondike home. i'm listening to waiting for the sun now. so many great tunes; this afternoon, the tyranny of distance needed to be played, so it was.
~
weather report. (this thinly-veiled metaphor isn't really at all appropriate, but i think it's funny.) she continues to cloud my thoughts. wednesday breakfast we made four, with nicole and ragu; nicole and i did most of the talking but ok. i read becca's letter outside as she read chem. this morning i went to breakfast again, she wasn't there, and my orange juice was bitter. but she was in mccabe, and we chatted to class (she worked this summer in the same barnes and noble where i bought amnesiac and ali read prodigal summer), i called as we parted ways "we should hang out…" feeling sort of silly for it even as she "yeah." and so we shall.
assuming i get work done. the rest of my odd days (tuesday and thursday are even) are dada and surrealism - decent but not incredible seminar wednesday and nearly 100 pages of Duchamp interview today, plus articles (time in mccabe just flies by, though not as happily as the peopled beach to arepa 3000 or dinner date with smeagol.) I'm writing a response paper this week, on this, so hopefully i can finish off the readings tomorrow, write a chunk of the paper sunday morning, and get listening and practicing done in between. that means no college day in philly. but then i can play later.
oh, and it's well past 3am now (falsification of date/time once again), so my plan requires that i sleep, and not peruse weblogs like this.
if i could
you know i would
just hold your hand
and you'd understand:
i'm the man that loves you
egon, madlib and peanut butter wolf @ olde club, wednesday night
blackalicious, dilated peoples, and public enemy @ electric factory, tonight
both were a lot of fun, and had a fair amount of variety. egon span 60s/70s funk rarities (and "funky drummer" on 45); madlib and dj static(?) hip-hop chestnuts and several cuts from things fall apart; pbw everything from blondie to the specials to chic to eric b. & rakim to a japanese version of "i want you back" to "we are siamese" vs. "bonita applebom" and the song that de la samples for "magic number." despite some nifty scratching and juggling especially from static, it was more of a dance party than a concert. too bad it was so dark and dry, and that there weren't even more people (though there were a lot.) and i wish they had been selling records.
i went to the electric factory tonight with ben, kate, and alex flurie. we were early, to buy tickets (i bought four for wilco as well) and vietnamese food, of which i didn't partake. also, bought some alcohol, then ran into some cool freshmen outside the show. a mediocre unannounced act was on as we entered after 9:00, and the show didn't end until four acts later, well after 1:00. thankfully, set change times were short (plus they had a kickass dj spinning in between sets - awesome scratching and great classic tunes, including "potholes in my lawn.") all three of the main acts were very entertaining, and had exceptional crowd rapport but each in quite different ways, as we discussed on the way home. all three were very hyped to be playing philly, and gave numerous shout-outs to the illadelph originators (cash money, schooly d, jazzy jeff, et al.) [can you imagine what it would be like if indie rock shows cultivated the same sense of history as hip-hop shows?]
blackalicious - enunciated, slightly goofy, "q&a," backup singers/greek chorus/letter holders, kindergarten teacher-esque. most insane proficiency: gab's überprecise helium flow.
dilated - traditionalist, party-people, sticker-throwing, tag-team, "i forgot to be your lover"-sampling closer. most insane proficiency: babu's sick sick and righteously legendary turntable prowess.
public enemy - still got it, live band, intense one-phrase choruses ("get it up," "shut 'em down," "son of a bush," and of course "fight the power"), effective political monologues, faulty pacing (the set was incredibly exciting considering its length, but it just sort of fizzled out). sadly, no flava flav (he's stuck in ny for violating traffic license parole). most insane proficiency: fifteen years on, and they seem to have as much impact as ever.
housemartins and klondike home. i'm listening to waiting for the sun now. so many great tunes; this afternoon, the tyranny of distance needed to be played, so it was.
~
weather report. (this thinly-veiled metaphor isn't really at all appropriate, but i think it's funny.) she continues to cloud my thoughts. wednesday breakfast we made four, with nicole and ragu; nicole and i did most of the talking but ok. i read becca's letter outside as she read chem. this morning i went to breakfast again, she wasn't there, and my orange juice was bitter. but she was in mccabe, and we chatted to class (she worked this summer in the same barnes and noble where i bought amnesiac and ali read prodigal summer), i called as we parted ways "we should hang out…" feeling sort of silly for it even as she "yeah." and so we shall.
assuming i get work done. the rest of my odd days (tuesday and thursday are even) are dada and surrealism - decent but not incredible seminar wednesday and nearly 100 pages of Duchamp interview today, plus articles (time in mccabe just flies by, though not as happily as the peopled beach to arepa 3000 or dinner date with smeagol.) I'm writing a response paper this week, on this, so hopefully i can finish off the readings tomorrow, write a chunk of the paper sunday morning, and get listening and practicing done in between. that means no college day in philly. but then i can play later.
oh, and it's well past 3am now (falsification of date/time once again), so my plan requires that i sleep, and not peruse weblogs like this.
if i could
you know i would
just hold your hand
and you'd understand:
i'm the man that loves you
Super Furry Animals : Some Things Come From Nothing
Jason Falkner : She's Not The Enemy [dedicated to myself]
Enon : Natural Disasters (P)
Swearing at Motorists : Can't Get You Out of My Head (P)
Pulp : The Night that Minnie Timperley Died
Archer Prewitt : Gifts of Love (P)
Meat Puppets : Lost
Jim's Big Ego : After the Tornado [for martha, who was listening]
Tin Hat Trio : Fear of the South
Future Bible Heroes : I'm a Vampire
X-Press 2 : Muzikizum
Cex : One Cex [only slightly for ben, who called many times]
Radar Brothers : You and the Father (P)
Marc Ribot : Dame Un Cachaito Pa'huele
Elvis Costello and Brian Eno : My Dark Life
Reindeer Section : Where I Fall
Beck : Lost Cause
(The Real) Tuesday Weld : Daisies
GUIDED BY MOTHERFUCKING VOICES : Back to the Lake (P)
Tullycraft : Twee
Dismemberment Plan : Superpowers (R) [for duolan, apparently]
Sister Blue : Magic Wand (acoustic)
Joel X. Blecher : Midnight Class
Joel X. Blecher : The Adorable Queue
Rjd2 : Ghostwriter
Elliott Smith : I Didn't Understand
Galaxie 500 : Snowstorm
Songs: Ohia : Steve Albini's Blues
Wilco : Radio Cure
(radio report: it's good to be back; even if i'm not in love with my timeslot or show title, my heart still belongs to wsrn. and i made a bunch of monkey tape covers which will adorn my recorded shows. the dj after me seems cool too.)
Jason Falkner : She's Not The Enemy [dedicated to myself]
Enon : Natural Disasters (P)
Swearing at Motorists : Can't Get You Out of My Head (P)
Pulp : The Night that Minnie Timperley Died
Archer Prewitt : Gifts of Love (P)
Meat Puppets : Lost
Jim's Big Ego : After the Tornado [for martha, who was listening]
Tin Hat Trio : Fear of the South
Future Bible Heroes : I'm a Vampire
X-Press 2 : Muzikizum
Cex : One Cex [only slightly for ben, who called many times]
Radar Brothers : You and the Father (P)
Marc Ribot : Dame Un Cachaito Pa'huele
Elvis Costello and Brian Eno : My Dark Life
Reindeer Section : Where I Fall
Beck : Lost Cause
(The Real) Tuesday Weld : Daisies
GUIDED BY MOTHERFUCKING VOICES : Back to the Lake (P)
Tullycraft : Twee
Dismemberment Plan : Superpowers (R) [for duolan, apparently]
Sister Blue : Magic Wand (acoustic)
Joel X. Blecher : Midnight Class
Joel X. Blecher : The Adorable Queue
Rjd2 : Ghostwriter
Elliott Smith : I Didn't Understand
Galaxie 500 : Snowstorm
Songs: Ohia : Steve Albini's Blues
Wilco : Radio Cure
(radio report: it's good to be back; even if i'm not in love with my timeslot or show title, my heart still belongs to wsrn. and i made a bunch of monkey tape covers which will adorn my recorded shows. the dj after me seems cool too.)
Thursday, September 19
In 25 minutes, I'll go to Kohlberg for the second weekly scrabble session, and then I have my radio show at midnight, and at some point I have a French composition to write. I'm in Underhill listening to Gerry Levinson's 2nd Symphony now, and having some difficulty with it. It seems on first listen, to be pretty indistinct. Sometimes I don't know about contemporary music.
I accomplished some things today: I took a quiz (in JVB's section, because I slept through part of Carole's), completed most of Andrew's Phoenix crossword, vented quietly about them replacing my title with something stupid again, before i decided it was okay; went to the hardware store to buy some nuts and washers for my bed, and some adhesive cord clips which worked beautifully for hanging up my string blue lights - the only problem is that when i was trying to screw in one of the bulbs which was having problems, the entire string went out. i hope it's not dead now. I also found out some (bad but not terrible) information about things like passports.
they had thai bar at sharples. at this rate they'll be having japanese next week. (i miss caribbean though, hope that comes around soon.) i'm mostly done with rebecca's letter; it's three and a half pages so far. yeah, so that's today. not super-exciting. i have my work cut out for me this weekend: hopefully i can finish the d+s reading in the next two days and have sunday and tuesday to write my seminar paper.
i'll come back later and write about yesterday, which was a good day.
if you want to talk to her
just go up and talk to her
she won't mind
I accomplished some things today: I took a quiz (in JVB's section, because I slept through part of Carole's), completed most of Andrew's Phoenix crossword, vented quietly about them replacing my title with something stupid again, before i decided it was okay; went to the hardware store to buy some nuts and washers for my bed, and some adhesive cord clips which worked beautifully for hanging up my string blue lights - the only problem is that when i was trying to screw in one of the bulbs which was having problems, the entire string went out. i hope it's not dead now. I also found out some (bad but not terrible) information about things like passports.
they had thai bar at sharples. at this rate they'll be having japanese next week. (i miss caribbean though, hope that comes around soon.) i'm mostly done with rebecca's letter; it's three and a half pages so far. yeah, so that's today. not super-exciting. i have my work cut out for me this weekend: hopefully i can finish the d+s reading in the next two days and have sunday and tuesday to write my seminar paper.
i'll come back later and write about yesterday, which was a good day.
if you want to talk to her
just go up and talk to her
she won't mind
Tuesday, September 17
As you can notice from my reviews below (which you may see again in Thursday's Phoenix, with better or worse layout), I'm pretty excited about music these days. There was a stretch there, maybe two months or so, when there wasn't a whole lot of new music that I was particularly excited about. But now it's pouring in again. Also, the moon is really nice, and I have a great view of it from my window.
I get up earlier in the mornings than I need to, even on 8:30 days like today; I use the extra time to wander around campus, do homework, listen to music, or lie in bed. There was some exciting mail today: two promo packages including the Rjd2 disc (yes, i just got it today), a funky copy of a paperback for dada, and most especially an aerogramme from Sri Lanka, which I have scarcely had the time to peruse. Review writing this morning, then the fastest-moving Bach class yet (and we still didn't get to all the material), on the wacky wacky 5th Brandenburg.
There was some frustrating miscommunication about Inflight rehearsal times, which resulted in me and Aaron hanging out in Olde Club waiting for nobody to show up. But we did chat for a while with a few alums who poked their heads in the door; comparing our reports of the bad new days with their reminisces of drunken keggers in Bond, Sharples 2 [now known as Olde Club - Sharples 1 is the WRC], Tarble [the original Tarble, before it burned, "a year, almost to the hour" before the burning (insurance fraud? he insinuated) of ML2 and ML3]; last-day-of-semester James Bond showings complete with DU catcalls and feminist outrage; on-campus performances by Gang of Four, Romeo Void, the Hooters, and the Dead Milkmen, whose lead vocalist is the reason the Olde Club chandeliers are so high; the systematic elimination of republicans and footballers, and so on. It was really interesting to hear their perspective. I wish Matt had been there, because I'm sure they would have had a lively conversation with him.
We did eventually rehearse, but I was mildly annoyed (for a few reasons) by that time, and my heart wasn't in it. I think we got some good work done though, and there are performance possibilities coming up. I cut out at nine to attend the Outsiders "first and only" meeting, where we shared scar stories and generally flittered away the better part of an hour, which was enjoyable although my ulterior motive didn't pay off. Topping off my seminar reading (only a response paper left to read, assuming it's being written) took fewer McCabe-hours than anticipated. So.
On the tropical storm front (this one blows from Anchorage, by way of Singapore): we breakfasted yesterday, and thanks to the lucky quirks of scheduling which I have to thank/blame for essentially this whole business, will presumably do so again tomorrow (despite Ester's alleged sighting at services, she was certainly not fasting for YK.) That's exciting. Also, a series of passings, hopefully none-too-awkward, when I ventured to PPR for QSA cookie-baking with SKelly. Eye contact is good, but I'm still working out further steps. Too bad Paces isn't open. Daydreaming, of course, is not productive, at least not very. I wonder if Amelia still reads this.
The cookie-making (to the unnanounced tunes of R-Block's SRN show - my second tune-in of the semester following Sidney's 9:00-hour fill-in in the morning, when I tested out both methods of broadcast and found them to be comparable though not in sync) was the chill-out precursor to an evening of activity - pakora-fighting outside Sharples, practicing and thus late for scaled-back jazz ensemble ("Spain" and "Fly me to the moon" sans saxes and most of the kit), then SAC meeting, which was demoralizing and frustrating, at least until I determine how personally emotionally involved I am in SAC's affairs. And QSA, where I banged out perhaps ten "Queer Safe Space" pieces of paper. Failed attempts at chiseled-stone and 70's-atrocity style were more than made up for by my successes: "quizeer sizafe spizace" with a glittery bolt, two or three abstract experiments with food coloring (one of which is now on the door to my space), and the Queer Space Ship, which is now Jenny's. I ourght to schleep. Au revoir. Aux rêves.
i know you're stressed
'cause there's only one cex
and your boyfriend's pissed
that you ain't him
I get up earlier in the mornings than I need to, even on 8:30 days like today; I use the extra time to wander around campus, do homework, listen to music, or lie in bed. There was some exciting mail today: two promo packages including the Rjd2 disc (yes, i just got it today), a funky copy of a paperback for dada, and most especially an aerogramme from Sri Lanka, which I have scarcely had the time to peruse. Review writing this morning, then the fastest-moving Bach class yet (and we still didn't get to all the material), on the wacky wacky 5th Brandenburg.
There was some frustrating miscommunication about Inflight rehearsal times, which resulted in me and Aaron hanging out in Olde Club waiting for nobody to show up. But we did chat for a while with a few alums who poked their heads in the door; comparing our reports of the bad new days with their reminisces of drunken keggers in Bond, Sharples 2 [now known as Olde Club - Sharples 1 is the WRC], Tarble [the original Tarble, before it burned, "a year, almost to the hour" before the burning (insurance fraud? he insinuated) of ML2 and ML3]; last-day-of-semester James Bond showings complete with DU catcalls and feminist outrage; on-campus performances by Gang of Four, Romeo Void, the Hooters, and the Dead Milkmen, whose lead vocalist is the reason the Olde Club chandeliers are so high; the systematic elimination of republicans and footballers, and so on. It was really interesting to hear their perspective. I wish Matt had been there, because I'm sure they would have had a lively conversation with him.
We did eventually rehearse, but I was mildly annoyed (for a few reasons) by that time, and my heart wasn't in it. I think we got some good work done though, and there are performance possibilities coming up. I cut out at nine to attend the Outsiders "first and only" meeting, where we shared scar stories and generally flittered away the better part of an hour, which was enjoyable although my ulterior motive didn't pay off. Topping off my seminar reading (only a response paper left to read, assuming it's being written) took fewer McCabe-hours than anticipated. So.
On the tropical storm front (this one blows from Anchorage, by way of Singapore): we breakfasted yesterday, and thanks to the lucky quirks of scheduling which I have to thank/blame for essentially this whole business, will presumably do so again tomorrow (despite Ester's alleged sighting at services, she was certainly not fasting for YK.) That's exciting. Also, a series of passings, hopefully none-too-awkward, when I ventured to PPR for QSA cookie-baking with SKelly. Eye contact is good, but I'm still working out further steps. Too bad Paces isn't open. Daydreaming, of course, is not productive, at least not very. I wonder if Amelia still reads this.
The cookie-making (to the unnanounced tunes of R-Block's SRN show - my second tune-in of the semester following Sidney's 9:00-hour fill-in in the morning, when I tested out both methods of broadcast and found them to be comparable though not in sync) was the chill-out precursor to an evening of activity - pakora-fighting outside Sharples, practicing and thus late for scaled-back jazz ensemble ("Spain" and "Fly me to the moon" sans saxes and most of the kit), then SAC meeting, which was demoralizing and frustrating, at least until I determine how personally emotionally involved I am in SAC's affairs. And QSA, where I banged out perhaps ten "Queer Safe Space" pieces of paper. Failed attempts at chiseled-stone and 70's-atrocity style were more than made up for by my successes: "quizeer sizafe spizace" with a glittery bolt, two or three abstract experiments with food coloring (one of which is now on the door to my space), and the Queer Space Ship, which is now Jenny's. I ourght to schleep. Au revoir. Aux rêves.
i know you're stressed
'cause there's only one cex
and your boyfriend's pissed
that you ain't him
Monday, September 16
Rjd2 - "Dead Ringer" (Definitive Jux, 2002) 9.5/10
Cex - "Tall, Dark, and Handcuffed" (Tigerbeat6, 2002) 8.5/10
Notwithstanding outstanding releases from Blackalicious, J-Live, and El-P, to name just a few, 2002 may go down in hip-hop history as a year whose most memorable contributions came from white folks. Noteworthy platters from the likes of Eminem, DJ Shadow, and Princess Superstar have each garnered considerable attention since their releases this winter or spring; the latest two to catch my ear are the current releases from the Ohio-born Rjd2 and the 20-yr-old Baltimorean upstart Cex. (If you notice a similarity in their cover art, that would be Cex giving smirking props to Rj, whose record dropped this summer.) Whether or not it matters if you're black or white is an issue still up for debate among the hip-hop community; but let's set the socio-political implications of my observation aside for the moment and peep the music.
In both cases, what has me so hyped about these two records isn't so much their innovation, vocabulary-wise, as the sheer energy and vitality they bring to a genre that has had its share of premature death knells and that can seem mired in a wasteland between the banging but ephemeral pop-rap last embodied by the Neptunes and the clunky, abrasive, political esthetic of Def Jux, Anticon, et al. In their point of origin these two records are closer to the latter milieu [Rjd2 is on Definitive Jux, the bastion of what's derogatorily termed backpacker hip-hop - ie. strictly for the college kids - though his sonic approach is markedly different from most of the label's output; Cex, whose previous outings have been primarily run-of-the-mill IDM and gleaky tweaking, makes his home at Tigerbeat6, the label best known for the manic shenanigans of art-prankster Kid606], but I can easily imagine many of these cuts bumping at Paces alongside Nelly and ilk, and everyone involved would be the better for it.
Until now, Rjyan Kidwell, a.k.a. Cex, whose new album's artwork belies at least part of its title, had yet to release a record to approximate the bombast and gleefulness of his not-to-be-missed live show (in concert, he just hits start on his PowerBook and lets loose on the mic; if Kate Duffy requests it, he'll even freestyle about Mr. Peanut.) His self-programmed beats are simple and hard-hitting, but quirky enough to be fresh despite their occasionally limited sonic range. Further production elements, ranging from the inevitable scratching and horn hits to some sweet jazzy guitar work, a striking harp sample, and the fly r'n'b vocalising of Craig Wedren, ensure that every track is at least aurally interesting, and make the majority of them are catchy as hell.
But the real attraction here is Cex's flow. It's measured (as he puts it: "each line i spit was born with 20 brothers/in order for him to live i had to sacrifice the others/i love 'em like a mother from the moment that i wrote 'em/but still regulate the heat of my babies like a scrotum") but far from pretentious or pedantic (he admits: "I've been scared by my lack of gravity/but that's long past"); merging the easy-going populist tale-spinning of Q-Tip with quirkiness of Kool Keith. His subject matter encompasses fairly standard rap bravado, most notably on the triumphant opener "Brutal Exposure" (whose chorus slant-rhymes "honesty," "apostrophe," "Socrates," and "wallet, see"), as well as the predictable off-kilter sexual shockers, but also affectingly fresh topics such as grade school (on "K-12 Days of Hell," in which each grade gets eight bars) and bike riding (on standout track "Ghost Rider," which he told me in April was "already a hit in Thailand.") Injecting his own wry sensibility into an essentially traditionalist hip-hop record (complete with brilliantly devised self-effacing skits between tunes), Cex's position relative to the rap community at large may be ambiguous - is he, ultimately, merely a laptop dilettante, a hip-hop outsider? - but the vitality and fun of this record is anything but.
Rjd2 (presumably no relation to R2D2) fashions instrumental hip-hop, very much in the vein of DJ Shadow. The comparison is inevitable (and Rj splits the difference between the haunting, atmospheric genius of Endtroducing and the more lighthearted, eclectic Private Press), but whereas Shadow tends to linger and meditate on his samples, allowing his tracks to unfold gradually, Rjd2 is more likely to keep things moving, layer on more elements and switch up his arrangements, eradicating any possibility of monotony setting in. The process of sample collage, practiced by both artists, is more readily apparent here - if Shadow is more adept at cutting and pasting his samples so finely that they become completely subservient to his musical ends, the occasional sloppiness of Rjd2's technique lends many of his tracks an improvistory quality that translates into pure exuberance and excitement, as is perhaps most evident on the 70's soul party mash-up "Good Times Roll pt. 2."
Elsewhere, Rjd2 conjures up spy-movie sinister-synth (on lead track "The Horror"), laid-back blues, compelling trip-hop, and straight-up rap (with fine guest spots from MCs Blueprint, Jakki the Motormouth, and Copywrite), always with countless layers of intriguing texture, and never straying far from a sense of funk which is far more satisfactory and organic than most of Shadow's work. My current favorite cut (though it changes with each listen) is probably "Ghostwriter," which lays a blustery brass section and a choral sample from Elliott Smith's "I Didn't Understand" over a bed of acoustic guitar and a mellow but funky hip-house two-step. Besides a great knack for sampling, Rjd2's finest asset is probably his marvelous compositional sense - even the instrumental pieces (which form at least 80% of the record) feature intelligently plotted song structures that make them as rewarding for serious listening as for dancing. Achieving a balance between listening and dancing is perhaps the ultimate goal of rhythm-based music, and on this debut outing Mr. d2 accomplishes all the prerequisites common to both activities: variety, creativity, fun, and groove.
Pulp "We Love Life" (Sanctuary/Rough Trade 2002) 6.5/10
You might not remember this, but four years ago, before you came to college, there was a girl in your high school who wanted to sleep with Jarvis Cocker. She probably had dyed hair. (You know Jarvis; Pulp's bulgy-eyed but apparently sexy lead singer.) And there was that Anglophile on your bus route, reading an issue of New Music Express, with "Party Hard" in his headphones, thinking about how great it would be to play that at a dance party (but let's face it: the guitar just drowns out the beat too much.) You might not have been aware of it at the time. Or maybe that was you.
In any case, that was a long time ago. That's how long it's been since Pulp released This is Hardcore, doubtless one of the most intense and idiosyncratic masterpieces of the late 1990s. Four long years, and now Pulp are petitioning for you to allow them back into your headphones, sex fantasies, and/or obliviousness. That's pretty presumptious, if you ask me. (Okay, to be fair, We Love Life, Pulp's seventh full-length if I'm counting correctly, was released in the UK over a year ago; the delay stateside is at least partially due to label snafus of some sort.)
Right. So, what do they have on offer? Outsider anthems, unnervingly seedy sexuality, and tales of socio-economic disparity - the favored lyrical themes on Hardcore and 1995's social-dancing manifesto Different Class - are all represented, though somewhat toned down, and joined by something new: a fetishization of nature and natural life, whose manifestations range from slightly disturbing to simply but earnestly uplifting. The album opens with a two-part epic declaring "We are weeds!"; a sort of horticultural reworking of Class's opening anthem "Misfits." From there on in, tunes heartfeltly (and often too sappily) celebrating trees, birds, and sunrise (with and without relationship metaphors) trade off with numbers like the monologue "Wickerman," an eight-minute saga of nostalgia and untapped potential that comes off as a far more wholesome variant of "I Spy;" and the album's centerpiece and title track, with the life-affirming (um, literally) refrain "I love my life/it's the only reason I'm alive."
Musically, Cocker and Co. hit the mark somewhat less than in the past, but they still render their anthems plenty hummable. The arrangements, heavier on strings and lighter on synths, are in general refreshing, and only occasionally suffocatingly lush. The catchiest rock song here, a moving little story called "The Night That Minnie Timperley Died," steals its central riff from Led Zeppelin's "Over the Hills and Far Away," and lays it over a typically Pulpian bed of cheap beatbox and richly layered guitarwork, while the touching failed-relationship ballad "Roadkill" features a sparse setting with prominent acoustic guitar and subtle ambient strains of horn and cymbal. Despite laudable new directions, though, We Love Life does sound quite a bit like the last few Pulp albums, and it's just not always that convincing.
Jarvis Cocker is 39 this year. His sex symbol days may or may not be through (who knows what's going on over there in the UK), but it seems he still has some cache as a rock star. Pulp may have moved beyond the hedonistic impulses of past albums, and it may now be even less clear whom they're addressing with these urgent anthems, but they have somehow managed to retain much of their relevance, and most of their melodic sense. I guess four years isn't that long if you're a tree.
Cex - "Tall, Dark, and Handcuffed" (Tigerbeat6, 2002) 8.5/10
Notwithstanding outstanding releases from Blackalicious, J-Live, and El-P, to name just a few, 2002 may go down in hip-hop history as a year whose most memorable contributions came from white folks. Noteworthy platters from the likes of Eminem, DJ Shadow, and Princess Superstar have each garnered considerable attention since their releases this winter or spring; the latest two to catch my ear are the current releases from the Ohio-born Rjd2 and the 20-yr-old Baltimorean upstart Cex. (If you notice a similarity in their cover art, that would be Cex giving smirking props to Rj, whose record dropped this summer.) Whether or not it matters if you're black or white is an issue still up for debate among the hip-hop community; but let's set the socio-political implications of my observation aside for the moment and peep the music.
In both cases, what has me so hyped about these two records isn't so much their innovation, vocabulary-wise, as the sheer energy and vitality they bring to a genre that has had its share of premature death knells and that can seem mired in a wasteland between the banging but ephemeral pop-rap last embodied by the Neptunes and the clunky, abrasive, political esthetic of Def Jux, Anticon, et al. In their point of origin these two records are closer to the latter milieu [Rjd2 is on Definitive Jux, the bastion of what's derogatorily termed backpacker hip-hop - ie. strictly for the college kids - though his sonic approach is markedly different from most of the label's output; Cex, whose previous outings have been primarily run-of-the-mill IDM and gleaky tweaking, makes his home at Tigerbeat6, the label best known for the manic shenanigans of art-prankster Kid606], but I can easily imagine many of these cuts bumping at Paces alongside Nelly and ilk, and everyone involved would be the better for it.
Until now, Rjyan Kidwell, a.k.a. Cex, whose new album's artwork belies at least part of its title, had yet to release a record to approximate the bombast and gleefulness of his not-to-be-missed live show (in concert, he just hits start on his PowerBook and lets loose on the mic; if Kate Duffy requests it, he'll even freestyle about Mr. Peanut.) His self-programmed beats are simple and hard-hitting, but quirky enough to be fresh despite their occasionally limited sonic range. Further production elements, ranging from the inevitable scratching and horn hits to some sweet jazzy guitar work, a striking harp sample, and the fly r'n'b vocalising of Craig Wedren, ensure that every track is at least aurally interesting, and make the majority of them are catchy as hell.
But the real attraction here is Cex's flow. It's measured (as he puts it: "each line i spit was born with 20 brothers/in order for him to live i had to sacrifice the others/i love 'em like a mother from the moment that i wrote 'em/but still regulate the heat of my babies like a scrotum") but far from pretentious or pedantic (he admits: "I've been scared by my lack of gravity/but that's long past"); merging the easy-going populist tale-spinning of Q-Tip with quirkiness of Kool Keith. His subject matter encompasses fairly standard rap bravado, most notably on the triumphant opener "Brutal Exposure" (whose chorus slant-rhymes "honesty," "apostrophe," "Socrates," and "wallet, see"), as well as the predictable off-kilter sexual shockers, but also affectingly fresh topics such as grade school (on "K-12 Days of Hell," in which each grade gets eight bars) and bike riding (on standout track "Ghost Rider," which he told me in April was "already a hit in Thailand.") Injecting his own wry sensibility into an essentially traditionalist hip-hop record (complete with brilliantly devised self-effacing skits between tunes), Cex's position relative to the rap community at large may be ambiguous - is he, ultimately, merely a laptop dilettante, a hip-hop outsider? - but the vitality and fun of this record is anything but.
Rjd2 (presumably no relation to R2D2) fashions instrumental hip-hop, very much in the vein of DJ Shadow. The comparison is inevitable (and Rj splits the difference between the haunting, atmospheric genius of Endtroducing and the more lighthearted, eclectic Private Press), but whereas Shadow tends to linger and meditate on his samples, allowing his tracks to unfold gradually, Rjd2 is more likely to keep things moving, layer on more elements and switch up his arrangements, eradicating any possibility of monotony setting in. The process of sample collage, practiced by both artists, is more readily apparent here - if Shadow is more adept at cutting and pasting his samples so finely that they become completely subservient to his musical ends, the occasional sloppiness of Rjd2's technique lends many of his tracks an improvistory quality that translates into pure exuberance and excitement, as is perhaps most evident on the 70's soul party mash-up "Good Times Roll pt. 2."
Elsewhere, Rjd2 conjures up spy-movie sinister-synth (on lead track "The Horror"), laid-back blues, compelling trip-hop, and straight-up rap (with fine guest spots from MCs Blueprint, Jakki the Motormouth, and Copywrite), always with countless layers of intriguing texture, and never straying far from a sense of funk which is far more satisfactory and organic than most of Shadow's work. My current favorite cut (though it changes with each listen) is probably "Ghostwriter," which lays a blustery brass section and a choral sample from Elliott Smith's "I Didn't Understand" over a bed of acoustic guitar and a mellow but funky hip-house two-step. Besides a great knack for sampling, Rjd2's finest asset is probably his marvelous compositional sense - even the instrumental pieces (which form at least 80% of the record) feature intelligently plotted song structures that make them as rewarding for serious listening as for dancing. Achieving a balance between listening and dancing is perhaps the ultimate goal of rhythm-based music, and on this debut outing Mr. d2 accomplishes all the prerequisites common to both activities: variety, creativity, fun, and groove.
Pulp "We Love Life" (Sanctuary/Rough Trade 2002) 6.5/10
You might not remember this, but four years ago, before you came to college, there was a girl in your high school who wanted to sleep with Jarvis Cocker. She probably had dyed hair. (You know Jarvis; Pulp's bulgy-eyed but apparently sexy lead singer.) And there was that Anglophile on your bus route, reading an issue of New Music Express, with "Party Hard" in his headphones, thinking about how great it would be to play that at a dance party (but let's face it: the guitar just drowns out the beat too much.) You might not have been aware of it at the time. Or maybe that was you.
In any case, that was a long time ago. That's how long it's been since Pulp released This is Hardcore, doubtless one of the most intense and idiosyncratic masterpieces of the late 1990s. Four long years, and now Pulp are petitioning for you to allow them back into your headphones, sex fantasies, and/or obliviousness. That's pretty presumptious, if you ask me. (Okay, to be fair, We Love Life, Pulp's seventh full-length if I'm counting correctly, was released in the UK over a year ago; the delay stateside is at least partially due to label snafus of some sort.)
Right. So, what do they have on offer? Outsider anthems, unnervingly seedy sexuality, and tales of socio-economic disparity - the favored lyrical themes on Hardcore and 1995's social-dancing manifesto Different Class - are all represented, though somewhat toned down, and joined by something new: a fetishization of nature and natural life, whose manifestations range from slightly disturbing to simply but earnestly uplifting. The album opens with a two-part epic declaring "We are weeds!"; a sort of horticultural reworking of Class's opening anthem "Misfits." From there on in, tunes heartfeltly (and often too sappily) celebrating trees, birds, and sunrise (with and without relationship metaphors) trade off with numbers like the monologue "Wickerman," an eight-minute saga of nostalgia and untapped potential that comes off as a far more wholesome variant of "I Spy;" and the album's centerpiece and title track, with the life-affirming (um, literally) refrain "I love my life/it's the only reason I'm alive."
Musically, Cocker and Co. hit the mark somewhat less than in the past, but they still render their anthems plenty hummable. The arrangements, heavier on strings and lighter on synths, are in general refreshing, and only occasionally suffocatingly lush. The catchiest rock song here, a moving little story called "The Night That Minnie Timperley Died," steals its central riff from Led Zeppelin's "Over the Hills and Far Away," and lays it over a typically Pulpian bed of cheap beatbox and richly layered guitarwork, while the touching failed-relationship ballad "Roadkill" features a sparse setting with prominent acoustic guitar and subtle ambient strains of horn and cymbal. Despite laudable new directions, though, We Love Life does sound quite a bit like the last few Pulp albums, and it's just not always that convincing.
Jarvis Cocker is 39 this year. His sex symbol days may or may not be through (who knows what's going on over there in the UK), but it seems he still has some cache as a rock star. Pulp may have moved beyond the hedonistic impulses of past albums, and it may now be even less clear whom they're addressing with these urgent anthems, but they have somehow managed to retain much of their relevance, and most of their melodic sense. I guess four years isn't that long if you're a tree.
Sunday, September 15
mmmm. hahaha. smitten, with all the physical (lightheaded, wooziness, pounding heartbeat) and mental (preoccupation, giddiness) symptoms. this hasn't happened in a long time, i think. (?) i wrote on my board: "smitten x10^?" [that's a historical reference, which of course aft got. yes, eh? indeed.]
this morning (when i started writing that) and last night, i was just stupid happy. stupid happy. i've come down a bit now (haven't seen her all day), but scrabble sidechats with ester, and sunny pop-rock (the real tuesday weld and jason falkner) are enough to bring the buzz back.
i think maybe i shouldn't write about this just yet. wait a little longer. i was successfully secretive for a while, but when my first co-conspirator ran away for the weekend without telling me, i caved and found a second and third. and now you. oh, okay…long story short: [after i spilled for the second time, and turned stef onto nmh,] she was at the tango last night, just unbelievably beautiful in formal green. we didn't dance but for a few moments by way of instruction; i did with her friend but she kept disappearing at inopportune times. we did talk later, and poked our heads in phi psi, where, inexplicably, a halfway-decent live band was performing for an exclusively male, swilling, inattentive audience. then i rejoined my friends and they theirs, but it was a start. okay, okay? don't ask me about it just yet.
the tango, even other than that, was fantastic. i had no shortage of partners (liza, laurel, two linds[a/e(?)]ys, at least two joannes, one or two elizabeths), just shortage of floor space - both of which mean there were a lot of people, which was great to see. after a handful of dances, i felt like my lead picked up to where it had been - if i had an experienced follower i could make stuff up; with an inexperienced follower i could usually refrain. and the band - fantastic too. i had to keep looking up to remind myself it was live. that maybe doesn't sound like a compliment, but anyway they were really good.
as for olde club (first a detour with ester to home and back; more tango between sets) : mazarin were nice, but only compelling some of the time. a funny pun on fret and frat. the walkmen were very enjoyable, though they're totally the strokes with slower tempos and more piano. u2 comparison is apt too. good singer. they did an encore of the kinks' "come dancing," which was way fun. and i bought the record, not on the strength of the show but of recs all around, and the persuasive salesfriend.
oh, and today. in bed i listened, then brunched, read, practiced, listened, read, dinnered, was giddy, came home and wrote a pulp review, played three playsite scrabble games with ester across campus (two abortive, one coincident with shargel visit.) i thought the weather was terrific, though maybe that makes me crazy. too cold inside, so i lay in the grass in kohlberg courtyard, in the heavy and not hot but humid, and read printed-out blackboard articles. it would drizzle, piddling precipitation that was more just the realization of moisture than anything falling - it made pleasing pops on my paper whose impact i couldn't even detect with sight or touch, or it dampened microspots through the backs of my sunday pants. later it got more intense; by the end of the second article the paper was getting flimsy and my backpack visibly patchy. dramatic weather. today was dramatic. today was dramatic, tomorrow will be okay. today is okay too.
[ester thinks i maybe should tone down the first few paragraphs of this post. i think so too maybe, but i wanted to preserve the way i was feeling this morning. it is a fine fine way to feel. but who knows what tomorrow may bring. no portents, no retroactive wincing please ross. i'm not concerned about that. i was talking to ester last night about how unspeakably thankful i am for this charmed life that i live.]
ifihadyouiwouldnevereveraskforanythingagainaslongasilive
this morning (when i started writing that) and last night, i was just stupid happy. stupid happy. i've come down a bit now (haven't seen her all day), but scrabble sidechats with ester, and sunny pop-rock (the real tuesday weld and jason falkner) are enough to bring the buzz back.
i think maybe i shouldn't write about this just yet. wait a little longer. i was successfully secretive for a while, but when my first co-conspirator ran away for the weekend without telling me, i caved and found a second and third. and now you. oh, okay…long story short: [after i spilled for the second time, and turned stef onto nmh,] she was at the tango last night, just unbelievably beautiful in formal green. we didn't dance but for a few moments by way of instruction; i did with her friend but she kept disappearing at inopportune times. we did talk later, and poked our heads in phi psi, where, inexplicably, a halfway-decent live band was performing for an exclusively male, swilling, inattentive audience. then i rejoined my friends and they theirs, but it was a start. okay, okay? don't ask me about it just yet.
the tango, even other than that, was fantastic. i had no shortage of partners (liza, laurel, two linds[a/e(?)]ys, at least two joannes, one or two elizabeths), just shortage of floor space - both of which mean there were a lot of people, which was great to see. after a handful of dances, i felt like my lead picked up to where it had been - if i had an experienced follower i could make stuff up; with an inexperienced follower i could usually refrain. and the band - fantastic too. i had to keep looking up to remind myself it was live. that maybe doesn't sound like a compliment, but anyway they were really good.
as for olde club (first a detour with ester to home and back; more tango between sets) : mazarin were nice, but only compelling some of the time. a funny pun on fret and frat. the walkmen were very enjoyable, though they're totally the strokes with slower tempos and more piano. u2 comparison is apt too. good singer. they did an encore of the kinks' "come dancing," which was way fun. and i bought the record, not on the strength of the show but of recs all around, and the persuasive salesfriend.
oh, and today. in bed i listened, then brunched, read, practiced, listened, read, dinnered, was giddy, came home and wrote a pulp review, played three playsite scrabble games with ester across campus (two abortive, one coincident with shargel visit.) i thought the weather was terrific, though maybe that makes me crazy. too cold inside, so i lay in the grass in kohlberg courtyard, in the heavy and not hot but humid, and read printed-out blackboard articles. it would drizzle, piddling precipitation that was more just the realization of moisture than anything falling - it made pleasing pops on my paper whose impact i couldn't even detect with sight or touch, or it dampened microspots through the backs of my sunday pants. later it got more intense; by the end of the second article the paper was getting flimsy and my backpack visibly patchy. dramatic weather. today was dramatic. today was dramatic, tomorrow will be okay. today is okay too.
[ester thinks i maybe should tone down the first few paragraphs of this post. i think so too maybe, but i wanted to preserve the way i was feeling this morning. it is a fine fine way to feel. but who knows what tomorrow may bring. no portents, no retroactive wincing please ross. i'm not concerned about that. i was talking to ester last night about how unspeakably thankful i am for this charmed life that i live.]
ifihadyouiwouldnevereveraskforanythingagainaslongasilive
Saturday, September 14
isn't this a lovely day to be caught in the rain? i thought it would be, and it was for a short while, when, about an hour ago, the performance in the ampitheatre was forced to disperse and i fled to lang. as i practiced my chopin and pischna, i thought of all the things to do if i couldn't leave lang because of the rain; and i started composing a letter in my head to write to rebecca. all the things i can tell her that i can't or don't tell you.
but it had stopped raining when i was done practicing, so i just took some music from underhill and came here to mccabe. it looks like it might be raining again now, but that's probably an illusion. it's still nice and warm outside (almost too cold in here) - i heard david mr. saying to his tour group this morning: "ugh. i feel like i'm drowning."
the performance, working backward, see, was a commedia play called "king stag," put on by i'm not sure who, and attended by a bunch of families with small children, and the stolen chair people, and maybe one or two other swatties besides me. marc had said they would be combining experimental, lecoq type techniques with childrens theatre, but it didn't seem very experimental to me. very entertaining though, and it was disappointing when it had to stop.
i read four articles for d+s this morning, lastly a benjamin piece that i got through most of whilst drinking a glass of orange juice behind sharples (she walked by and made a face at me), and the rest of after the first playsite game i've played in a while (my opponent conceded after i had a 150-pt. lead, including a fun play of WINDY to make PEW and EXILED, for 70 points.) listened to some prado too. but not many people around.
more scrabble gloating: the first official session of my swat scrabble club (which could use a name) went down thursday night, with four games going simultaneously and perhaps 12 people overall. suzanne found some hot competition in chris white (i'll have to take at least one of them on next week), while i drew remarkably good tiles to score in the 360s in two games (the second was a three-player game, too, but they let me get away with BLARNIES* and challenged UNTHinK, which turned out to be good.) if this [scrabbling] continues, i can only imagine what will happen. later that night, i watched a silly japanese movie with rob, gerritt, and karl, which kept me up past my bedtime.
yesterday was also nice. i started out with few plans, and ended up doing some things anyway. sold my metronome in french; completed at least half of the friday nyt x-word in kohlberg with nori, who was good to hang with. she broke her foot, and i did her a favor.
i must have missed a package slip earlier in the week, and that allowed a lot to accumulate: hardbound bach textbook, two clean-looking paperbacks by breton, and a meticulously packaged - crepe paper, bubblewrap, packing tape, and a snug cardboard box - book on d&s from phaidon press (all from half, and all great deals.) also; the new dälek disc, a worthless 7", and most excitingly the not-yet-released album from cex, which is completely awesome.
joel proposed an afternoon in the city, so i found myself back on south street, checking out the musical pawn shop, and the usual stores. Rather than a Heatmiser LP or the "I Am a Tree" 7", I just ended up, predictably, with four selections from the cat-pee-smelling back room of the book trader, for just under $20 - one bowie, one cohen, two cooder. also, an independent, which gave me and joel something to do after running back up to market east just in time for the 6:15 train, which was of course 20 minutes late.
more searching for adventure, after just making it to sharples on time for unappetizing dinner, brought me to 'srn, where ben pilfered nelly and linda thompson and i preserved slum village and the drive-by truckers; the remains of asian buffet and a lot of cex jokes on parrish first. we found the co-mo lovelies in dana, and drank up with them for a half-hour before they asked us to leave, albeit ben had bought the booze and i had been, i thought, implicitly invited that afternoon. too bad, because i was being boisterous and having fun.
we tried brigid and cronies and their game of cranium, but all we could do was mime earthquakes in the corner. finally, we went to the basement, where a gang of freshmen were preparing to watch goldfinger. they invited us to join and share their popcorn and butterfly chair, and there was a lot of enjoyable banter at/with/about the movie as it unfolded its mostly trivial plot, nearly unrecognizable connery, awful puns, and interesting sexual/sexist attitude. a good time. i clearly haven't seen enough james bond films (just this and tomorrow never dies, which still has the best title ever), as i couldn't even come up with DRNO as "007 foe" in nori's crossword.
for a nonstellar weekend, this one is turning out to be pretty good. hopefully tango and olde club tonight will be fun. maybe dinner soon.
how can a girl have sex
with these pathetic teenage wrecks?
but it had stopped raining when i was done practicing, so i just took some music from underhill and came here to mccabe. it looks like it might be raining again now, but that's probably an illusion. it's still nice and warm outside (almost too cold in here) - i heard david mr. saying to his tour group this morning: "ugh. i feel like i'm drowning."
the performance, working backward, see, was a commedia play called "king stag," put on by i'm not sure who, and attended by a bunch of families with small children, and the stolen chair people, and maybe one or two other swatties besides me. marc had said they would be combining experimental, lecoq type techniques with childrens theatre, but it didn't seem very experimental to me. very entertaining though, and it was disappointing when it had to stop.
i read four articles for d+s this morning, lastly a benjamin piece that i got through most of whilst drinking a glass of orange juice behind sharples (she walked by and made a face at me), and the rest of after the first playsite game i've played in a while (my opponent conceded after i had a 150-pt. lead, including a fun play of WINDY to make PEW and EXILED, for 70 points.) listened to some prado too. but not many people around.
more scrabble gloating: the first official session of my swat scrabble club (which could use a name) went down thursday night, with four games going simultaneously and perhaps 12 people overall. suzanne found some hot competition in chris white (i'll have to take at least one of them on next week), while i drew remarkably good tiles to score in the 360s in two games (the second was a three-player game, too, but they let me get away with BLARNIES* and challenged UNTHinK, which turned out to be good.) if this [scrabbling] continues, i can only imagine what will happen. later that night, i watched a silly japanese movie with rob, gerritt, and karl, which kept me up past my bedtime.
yesterday was also nice. i started out with few plans, and ended up doing some things anyway. sold my metronome in french; completed at least half of the friday nyt x-word in kohlberg with nori, who was good to hang with. she broke her foot, and i did her a favor.
i must have missed a package slip earlier in the week, and that allowed a lot to accumulate: hardbound bach textbook, two clean-looking paperbacks by breton, and a meticulously packaged - crepe paper, bubblewrap, packing tape, and a snug cardboard box - book on d&s from phaidon press (all from half, and all great deals.) also; the new dälek disc, a worthless 7", and most excitingly the not-yet-released album from cex, which is completely awesome.
joel proposed an afternoon in the city, so i found myself back on south street, checking out the musical pawn shop, and the usual stores. Rather than a Heatmiser LP or the "I Am a Tree" 7", I just ended up, predictably, with four selections from the cat-pee-smelling back room of the book trader, for just under $20 - one bowie, one cohen, two cooder. also, an independent, which gave me and joel something to do after running back up to market east just in time for the 6:15 train, which was of course 20 minutes late.
more searching for adventure, after just making it to sharples on time for unappetizing dinner, brought me to 'srn, where ben pilfered nelly and linda thompson and i preserved slum village and the drive-by truckers; the remains of asian buffet and a lot of cex jokes on parrish first. we found the co-mo lovelies in dana, and drank up with them for a half-hour before they asked us to leave, albeit ben had bought the booze and i had been, i thought, implicitly invited that afternoon. too bad, because i was being boisterous and having fun.
we tried brigid and cronies and their game of cranium, but all we could do was mime earthquakes in the corner. finally, we went to the basement, where a gang of freshmen were preparing to watch goldfinger. they invited us to join and share their popcorn and butterfly chair, and there was a lot of enjoyable banter at/with/about the movie as it unfolded its mostly trivial plot, nearly unrecognizable connery, awful puns, and interesting sexual/sexist attitude. a good time. i clearly haven't seen enough james bond films (just this and tomorrow never dies, which still has the best title ever), as i couldn't even come up with DRNO as "007 foe" in nori's crossword.
for a nonstellar weekend, this one is turning out to be pretty good. hopefully tango and olde club tonight will be fun. maybe dinner soon.
how can a girl have sex
with these pathetic teenage wrecks?
Thursday, September 12
i just realized that there's an electrical outlet right behind my desk. that took long enough.
i found the counterweight for the arm, so that's better now.
i just switched on hotmail's junk mail filter for the first time, on the low setting, since i've all of a sudden started to get some junk mail after well over a year of nearly junk-free hotmail. except so far all ten messages that have appeared in my junk box that are not junk mail, and the one that has appeared in my main inbox is junk mail. hmm.
the time between 9:20 and 1:15 is sufficient for a lot of business (finishing a blitz roll, starting another, turning in add-drop, being painlessly vaccinated, and practicing for long enough to miss the first ten minutes of bach) in addition to a lot of aimless wandering around campus. and an extended lunch with holts and lindsey and mo in the sun. and reading the phoenix, which only made one error with my reviews (misprinting the name of one of the albums), but did include at least one preposterous editorial.
after lunch i played some piano music for liza, and visited sarah wood in the barn, where they have pale yellow walls, green apples, limeade, brownies and crossword puzzles. the weekend really does start on thursday.
although i'm taken aback, i'm not taking you back
i found the counterweight for the arm, so that's better now.
i just switched on hotmail's junk mail filter for the first time, on the low setting, since i've all of a sudden started to get some junk mail after well over a year of nearly junk-free hotmail. except so far all ten messages that have appeared in my junk box that are not junk mail, and the one that has appeared in my main inbox is junk mail. hmm.
the time between 9:20 and 1:15 is sufficient for a lot of business (finishing a blitz roll, starting another, turning in add-drop, being painlessly vaccinated, and practicing for long enough to miss the first ten minutes of bach) in addition to a lot of aimless wandering around campus. and an extended lunch with holts and lindsey and mo in the sun. and reading the phoenix, which only made one error with my reviews (misprinting the name of one of the albums), but did include at least one preposterous editorial.
after lunch i played some piano music for liza, and visited sarah wood in the barn, where they have pale yellow walls, green apples, limeade, brownies and crossword puzzles. the weekend really does start on thursday.
although i'm taken aback, i'm not taking you back
Wednesday, September 11
airplanes are supposed to leave jet trails, right? those white streaks in the sky. i saw four or five airplanes today, in a very short span of time, which didn't have any trails, and that sort of freaked me out. but i guess it makes sense that in certain conditions of humidity the vapors in the trail would evanesce so fast that the trail wouldn't be visible. anyone know about this? ester and i came up with some alternative explanations too.
the second week of classes (which reminds me: i need to fill out my add/drop form, not to mention register for music 48, and get my meningococcal vaccination shot) and they're already started to interact. today in dada and surrealism, we (well, mostly olivia and i) talked about musical techniques with analogues in dada methods, including composers we've discussed in my contemporary composers class (schönberg, cage, stravinsky), as well as bach. (the seminar went well - i co-led discussion for the first two hours or so, which was pretty successful, and i made friends with janine.)
more strikingly; i composed my second poeme dadaïste of the semester yesterday morning, this time in french, and in my french class. i rather liked this one - i came up with a slightly new technique, although it differed from tzara's instructions less than the rest of the class: i cut up the words of half of a small sidebar, let them slide a few at a time from a folded piece of paper, and recorded them in the order i saw them, but only the ones that landed face up. then, i put all the words back in the paper and again spilled them onto the paper on which i had written the poem, but all in one splotch, and then taped them that way. so, of the words in the article, some appear in both the written part of the poem and in the splotch, some only in one or the other, and some not at all; they're only visible as green. supposedly carol is going to scan the poems, so maybe there will be a picture up here soon.
a few discussions of last year punctuated today, because it felt like they had to. as ester and i agreed, it seems like some groups and people, in their approach to this certainly somehow-significant day, are missing the point; but of course there is no point. it's just a day. today is september eleventh. what should i feel?
as ben pointed out, this day last year was a lot like this. i don't remember it being this hot. i do remember eating cereal, and having french class. like on that day, i had a long phone conversation with my parents, but (this time) not about anything related.
a big arm day: our aussie/quebecois sub in yoga led an intense class with lots of tense muscles and almost no pause between asanas. then i drummed for the beginning of african ii, along with a full batterie including addie addie and broken-footed nori. that was really nice and home-like. but i had to leave early to have a piano lesson. hooray for tony barone.
the other big news is that my turntable arrived today. the dustcover is broken into a few pieces (one of them very large), which is a problem, and i have lodged a complaint which will hopefully register. there is also a problem with the arm-lifting lever - it does go up and down, but it's not high enough to lift the arm. i feel like there's an easy way to fix that. the stylus, finally, probably needs to be replaced. but the main thing is it works. so far it seems perfectly capable of reproducing bob dylan, xtc, and miles davis. now i'm back to digital though, listening to ll cool j's mama said knock you out. which seems to sample the "funky drummer" break on at least four tracks.
gadji beri bimba glandridi laula lonni cadori
gadjama gramma berida bimbala glandri galassassa laulitalomini
gadji beri bin blassa glassala laula lonni cadorsu sassala bim
gadjama tuffm i zimzalla binban gligla wowolimai bin beri ban
o katalominai rhinozerossola hopsamen laulitalomini hoooo
gadjama rhinozerossola hopsamen
bluku terullala blaulala loooo
the second week of classes (which reminds me: i need to fill out my add/drop form, not to mention register for music 48, and get my meningococcal vaccination shot) and they're already started to interact. today in dada and surrealism, we (well, mostly olivia and i) talked about musical techniques with analogues in dada methods, including composers we've discussed in my contemporary composers class (schönberg, cage, stravinsky), as well as bach. (the seminar went well - i co-led discussion for the first two hours or so, which was pretty successful, and i made friends with janine.)
more strikingly; i composed my second poeme dadaïste of the semester yesterday morning, this time in french, and in my french class. i rather liked this one - i came up with a slightly new technique, although it differed from tzara's instructions less than the rest of the class: i cut up the words of half of a small sidebar, let them slide a few at a time from a folded piece of paper, and recorded them in the order i saw them, but only the ones that landed face up. then, i put all the words back in the paper and again spilled them onto the paper on which i had written the poem, but all in one splotch, and then taped them that way. so, of the words in the article, some appear in both the written part of the poem and in the splotch, some only in one or the other, and some not at all; they're only visible as green. supposedly carol is going to scan the poems, so maybe there will be a picture up here soon.
a few discussions of last year punctuated today, because it felt like they had to. as ester and i agreed, it seems like some groups and people, in their approach to this certainly somehow-significant day, are missing the point; but of course there is no point. it's just a day. today is september eleventh. what should i feel?
as ben pointed out, this day last year was a lot like this. i don't remember it being this hot. i do remember eating cereal, and having french class. like on that day, i had a long phone conversation with my parents, but (this time) not about anything related.
a big arm day: our aussie/quebecois sub in yoga led an intense class with lots of tense muscles and almost no pause between asanas. then i drummed for the beginning of african ii, along with a full batterie including addie addie and broken-footed nori. that was really nice and home-like. but i had to leave early to have a piano lesson. hooray for tony barone.
the other big news is that my turntable arrived today. the dustcover is broken into a few pieces (one of them very large), which is a problem, and i have lodged a complaint which will hopefully register. there is also a problem with the arm-lifting lever - it does go up and down, but it's not high enough to lift the arm. i feel like there's an easy way to fix that. the stylus, finally, probably needs to be replaced. but the main thing is it works. so far it seems perfectly capable of reproducing bob dylan, xtc, and miles davis. now i'm back to digital though, listening to ll cool j's mama said knock you out. which seems to sample the "funky drummer" break on at least four tracks.
gadji beri bimba glandridi laula lonni cadori
gadjama gramma berida bimbala glandri galassassa laulitalomini
gadji beri bin blassa glassala laula lonni cadorsu sassala bim
gadjama tuffm i zimzalla binban gligla wowolimai bin beri ban
o katalominai rhinozerossola hopsamen laulitalomini hoooo
gadjama rhinozerossola hopsamen
bluku terullala blaulala loooo
Tuesday, September 10
transmissions from ma vie super-fantastique:
my outfit was cause for a few comments today - karen hatwell thought they were my pajamas at 8:30, and ben called it my lucky seminar outfit, in reference to something - but mostly i noticed that a green bag-lunch granny smith nicely complemented the baby blue wsblairn shirt and red plaid pants, and that the pants were heavy and woolen for a sweltery day, and the duct tape at the bottom is causing problems.
rachel's visit, since i know you're all dying to know, was swell. literally minutes before her arrival and again minutes after her departure, by train, i wrote the first and second halves, respectively, of a menial french composition. but in between, there was none of that. we had worth barbeque, took a tour around campus (she was a pseudo-spec) which including my first time this year seeing some of my favorite places, and went to wharton ab 2nd lounge to talk about APs.
Ben came out and we sat outside the map room reading the first two acts of Henry IV, part i, which was riotous. declamations and defamations from falstaff and hotspur; fidgeting fingers underneath the book. We were late to the radio meeting, but had a brief Ester-meeting instead, and then found ourselves locked out of Amélie. and so to bed, for a long night, interspersed sleep and non-sleep that still found me at least very well rested in the morning. good conversation, despite apologies, and we settled for a dance to grappelli.
I've been taking pictures for the Swat photo blitz, which is fun and a great idea. Mostly i stumble on to things - a Smirnoff-fueled 21st for Danielle in the trailer; a big comfy QSA meeting (although i didn't photograph either of those.) Ester and I miss each other, but I keep running in to Skelly. I want to know more. I wrote some reviews; I sat through Bach. I'm leading discussion in seminar tomorrow, along with a fellow Steve who turned out to be quite agreeable; we should have a nice talk.
more later.
do you want to know what comes next?
no beats
no beats
do you want to know what comes next?
no beats
no beats
my outfit was cause for a few comments today - karen hatwell thought they were my pajamas at 8:30, and ben called it my lucky seminar outfit, in reference to something - but mostly i noticed that a green bag-lunch granny smith nicely complemented the baby blue wsblairn shirt and red plaid pants, and that the pants were heavy and woolen for a sweltery day, and the duct tape at the bottom is causing problems.
rachel's visit, since i know you're all dying to know, was swell. literally minutes before her arrival and again minutes after her departure, by train, i wrote the first and second halves, respectively, of a menial french composition. but in between, there was none of that. we had worth barbeque, took a tour around campus (she was a pseudo-spec) which including my first time this year seeing some of my favorite places, and went to wharton ab 2nd lounge to talk about APs.
Ben came out and we sat outside the map room reading the first two acts of Henry IV, part i, which was riotous. declamations and defamations from falstaff and hotspur; fidgeting fingers underneath the book. We were late to the radio meeting, but had a brief Ester-meeting instead, and then found ourselves locked out of Amélie. and so to bed, for a long night, interspersed sleep and non-sleep that still found me at least very well rested in the morning. good conversation, despite apologies, and we settled for a dance to grappelli.
I've been taking pictures for the Swat photo blitz, which is fun and a great idea. Mostly i stumble on to things - a Smirnoff-fueled 21st for Danielle in the trailer; a big comfy QSA meeting (although i didn't photograph either of those.) Ester and I miss each other, but I keep running in to Skelly. I want to know more. I wrote some reviews; I sat through Bach. I'm leading discussion in seminar tomorrow, along with a fellow Steve who turned out to be quite agreeable; we should have a nice talk.
more later.
do you want to know what comes next?
no beats
no beats
do you want to know what comes next?
no beats
no beats
is "polygamy" a good name for my radio show?
Monday, September 9
Sleatter-Kinney - One Beat
Some commendable qualities of the Portland, OR Ensemble Sleater-Kinney, pertaining to their new record, One Beat:
•Consistency: Sleater-Kinney have been out kicking the jams since 1995, and none of their six offerings to date represent an appreciable dip in quality. This year's model, at least in comparison to '99's All Hands On the Bad One, explores territory more similar to their early work (ie. the modern punk classic Dig Me Out, 1996): it's a bit noiser, a bit simpler ("one beat" = two chords), and a bit more rock'n'roll fun. That's not a good thing or a bad thing. Or it's both.
•Savvy: From their indie benchmark fashion sense to confusing perhaps-anthems like "Ballad of a Ladyman", S-K always seem to occupy precisely the right über-correct-yet-still-hip position vis-à-vis such complicated issues as sex & gender politics and rock & roll. Lyrically, the new record ranges from the touching tale of a repressed co-ed ("Prisstina") to the call to arms/call to the dancefloor "Step Aside" ("why don't you shake a tail for peace and love.") They even take on the events of a year ago yesterday, in the roiling, urgent "Far Away": "turn on the TV/watch the world explode in flames/and don't leave the house."
•Self-sufficiency: As announced by the titular tattoo on the first track, as it is soon augmented with propulsive, precisionist riffage from the band's dual-guitar frontline, S-K's long-standing arranging formula (intertwining guitar and vocal lines, backed by the formidable drumming of Ms. Janet Weiss) still reigns supreme. Despite instrumental embellishments from a couple guests - theremin from Janet's ex-husband/quasi-bandmate Sam Coomes and, most noticably, a killer new-wave synth line on "Oh!" (the album's catchiest tune) - the sonic palette of "One Beat" is overwhelmingly monolithic. And as amply demonstrated by their blistering set on Coney Island this summer, these arrangements are at least twice as effective in person as they are blasting from your car stereo. [hint: They're playing the Trocadero on October 19th.]
•Unassailability: I really can't say anything bad about Sleater-Kinney. For one thing, I can think of a handful of people on this campus who would probably beat me up. For another, as a fledging music critic, it would be rather gauche to malign the group that practically defines the phrase "critics darlings." (And, er, speaking of darlings; it's eminently noteworthy, and all too unusual, that I've gotten through this whole review without mentioning that Sleater-Kinney are all female.) So, despite the fact that their voices are still as grating as ever, and though they still offer too little variation from song to song and from album to album for my taste (though I do appreciate the effort, ladies), you'll notice the all-powerful rating appended to this review: a perfect ten, give or take one beat.
Future Bible Heroes - Eternal Youth
Praise be! Stephin Merritt, the patron saint of Swarthmore indie-rock, has returned! For his first proper release - lackluster soundtracks to seemingly nonexistent films don't count - since his magnum opus, the Magnetic Fields' 69 Love Songs (required listening; I'll expect a five-page analysis by Monday), the St. Stephin has reunited with synth-guy Chris Ewen and MF chanteuse Claudia Gonson to grace us with a second installment of neo-synthpop from the Future Bible Heroes. To open the record, with the sweet-voiced Claudia as his mouthpiece (Merritt's baritone is absent this time around; she always got the good songs anyway), he spaketh thus: you know me/I take nothing seriously.
True enough, but in this case, Stephin's trademark frivolity (though not his wit) has been noticably toned down, making this perhaps the most "serious" work in his oeuvre. At least, as serious as a synth-pop record with green-skinned Hawaiian baby dolls on the cover can get. Ewen's arrangements are lush and complex - dare I say sophisticated? - and deserve at least as much attention as Merritt's impeccable melodies. The tunes, in turn, are for the most part fairly solemn. To boot, this is almost a concept record, with themes of immortality and the supernatural linking many of the songs (as well as an unhealthy obsession with the age seventeen.) As an additional unifying factor, six short but interesting instrumental tracks are interspersed throughout, previously unheard of in a Merritt release (again discounting that alleged soundtrack.)
Of course, it wouldn't be a Stephin Merritt album without a few inanely catchy pop ditties, and the exception that proves the (frankly, pretty much erroneous) rule about this being a serious record is also the album's centerpiece, and the principal reason why anyone should be interested in it all: the just plain super-fantastic "I'm a Vampire." This song combines all three of the record's themes, and has each of the three Heroes making their finest contributions - Ewen a swell bouncy rhythm track, Gonson one of her finest performances yet, and Merrit a top-notch melody (which you've probably heard me whistling around campus this week) and such self-promoting bon-mots as "blanche/with a bloodflow no-one can stanch/a blood flood, a blood avalanche/i'm a tidalwave of tarantulas." It's pop manna. Amen.
Some commendable qualities of the Portland, OR Ensemble Sleater-Kinney, pertaining to their new record, One Beat:
•Consistency: Sleater-Kinney have been out kicking the jams since 1995, and none of their six offerings to date represent an appreciable dip in quality. This year's model, at least in comparison to '99's All Hands On the Bad One, explores territory more similar to their early work (ie. the modern punk classic Dig Me Out, 1996): it's a bit noiser, a bit simpler ("one beat" = two chords), and a bit more rock'n'roll fun. That's not a good thing or a bad thing. Or it's both.
•Savvy: From their indie benchmark fashion sense to confusing perhaps-anthems like "Ballad of a Ladyman", S-K always seem to occupy precisely the right über-correct-yet-still-hip position vis-à-vis such complicated issues as sex & gender politics and rock & roll. Lyrically, the new record ranges from the touching tale of a repressed co-ed ("Prisstina") to the call to arms/call to the dancefloor "Step Aside" ("why don't you shake a tail for peace and love.") They even take on the events of a year ago yesterday, in the roiling, urgent "Far Away": "turn on the TV/watch the world explode in flames/and don't leave the house."
•Self-sufficiency: As announced by the titular tattoo on the first track, as it is soon augmented with propulsive, precisionist riffage from the band's dual-guitar frontline, S-K's long-standing arranging formula (intertwining guitar and vocal lines, backed by the formidable drumming of Ms. Janet Weiss) still reigns supreme. Despite instrumental embellishments from a couple guests - theremin from Janet's ex-husband/quasi-bandmate Sam Coomes and, most noticably, a killer new-wave synth line on "Oh!" (the album's catchiest tune) - the sonic palette of "One Beat" is overwhelmingly monolithic. And as amply demonstrated by their blistering set on Coney Island this summer, these arrangements are at least twice as effective in person as they are blasting from your car stereo. [hint: They're playing the Trocadero on October 19th.]
•Unassailability: I really can't say anything bad about Sleater-Kinney. For one thing, I can think of a handful of people on this campus who would probably beat me up. For another, as a fledging music critic, it would be rather gauche to malign the group that practically defines the phrase "critics darlings." (And, er, speaking of darlings; it's eminently noteworthy, and all too unusual, that I've gotten through this whole review without mentioning that Sleater-Kinney are all female.) So, despite the fact that their voices are still as grating as ever, and though they still offer too little variation from song to song and from album to album for my taste (though I do appreciate the effort, ladies), you'll notice the all-powerful rating appended to this review: a perfect ten, give or take one beat.
Future Bible Heroes - Eternal Youth
Praise be! Stephin Merritt, the patron saint of Swarthmore indie-rock, has returned! For his first proper release - lackluster soundtracks to seemingly nonexistent films don't count - since his magnum opus, the Magnetic Fields' 69 Love Songs (required listening; I'll expect a five-page analysis by Monday), the St. Stephin has reunited with synth-guy Chris Ewen and MF chanteuse Claudia Gonson to grace us with a second installment of neo-synthpop from the Future Bible Heroes. To open the record, with the sweet-voiced Claudia as his mouthpiece (Merritt's baritone is absent this time around; she always got the good songs anyway), he spaketh thus: you know me/I take nothing seriously.
True enough, but in this case, Stephin's trademark frivolity (though not his wit) has been noticably toned down, making this perhaps the most "serious" work in his oeuvre. At least, as serious as a synth-pop record with green-skinned Hawaiian baby dolls on the cover can get. Ewen's arrangements are lush and complex - dare I say sophisticated? - and deserve at least as much attention as Merritt's impeccable melodies. The tunes, in turn, are for the most part fairly solemn. To boot, this is almost a concept record, with themes of immortality and the supernatural linking many of the songs (as well as an unhealthy obsession with the age seventeen.) As an additional unifying factor, six short but interesting instrumental tracks are interspersed throughout, previously unheard of in a Merritt release (again discounting that alleged soundtrack.)
Of course, it wouldn't be a Stephin Merritt album without a few inanely catchy pop ditties, and the exception that proves the (frankly, pretty much erroneous) rule about this being a serious record is also the album's centerpiece, and the principal reason why anyone should be interested in it all: the just plain super-fantastic "I'm a Vampire." This song combines all three of the record's themes, and has each of the three Heroes making their finest contributions - Ewen a swell bouncy rhythm track, Gonson one of her finest performances yet, and Merrit a top-notch melody (which you've probably heard me whistling around campus this week) and such self-promoting bon-mots as "blanche/with a bloodflow no-one can stanch/a blood flood, a blood avalanche/i'm a tidalwave of tarantulas." It's pop manna. Amen.
Sunday, September 8
mmmm. i woke up earlyish (9:30?), hit play and lay back in bed listening to Messiaen's powerful Quator pour la fin du temps. it is unusually and successfully programmatic (with movements meant to evoke birdsong, angels, trumpets, rainbows, and jesus) but not "embarrasing"-ly, as the liner notes suggest of the program.
now i have on the impossibly gorgeous Verklärte Nacht of Schoenberg, in his arrangement for string orchestra. the fullest, loudest passages seem to be physically affecting my speakers, the music gushes out and suffuses my room and leaks out into the sundrenched courtyard (which, happily, is far less strewn with kegs, cans, and broken bottles than it was yesterday morning.)
this has been (and is being) a swell weekend. i managed yesterday afternoon to read everything required for wednesday's seminar excepting a couple articles on the featured artist for the week; even taking it slowly, and pausing for a nap on the floor of mccabe in the little 3rd-floor nook overlooking worth health center.
i walked over to underhill just as the girl on duty was closing it up, and she let me in to borrow a stack of cds overnight. serendipitous timing feels good. i went to a practice room and played my current repertoire. a roundabout way through the dappled sun (why dappled? is that like the horses?) and up the beach, but i discovered i didn't have my novel with me, so i lay and talked with stef instead.
a pleasing meal, too, avec ben et rabi, who told us about unitarianism. we saw what we decided was a shrew (my googlesearch findings: shrew seems likely, but perhaps it could have been a vole.)
back home for l'Histoire du Soldat (a recording featuring ian mckellen, vanessa redgrave, and sting) and some eRes, including a fantastic sound file of "l'admiral cherche un maison à louer," a simultaneous poem by tzara, huelsenbeck, and janco, with people speaking in three languages and making a lot of silly noises. another fun bit of zurich dada: hugo ball's "sound poem" "gadji beri bimba" provided the lyrics for the talking heads song "i zimbra."
since i finished the reading i wanted to accomplish, and stef talked me into it, i went to see jenny yim's comedian in lpac. he was okay, some pretty funny jokes i guess, but it all seemed really really ordinary, the most stereotypical standup comedy i can imagine. is that what all standup is like? i don't think i like standup comedy, anyway. but i had fun making side jokes with stef, zab, and kara, and singing along to supremes songs with the words of other supremes songs.
that got me to olde club just before the boggs started up. they were noisy and sloppy but interesting, i warmed to it. nice extended solo pieces on banjo, dobro, and guitar. the drummer was a riot, no mounted toms (= greater visibility) but a big fast two-step racket for a pair of hot rods. i was less impressed with aloha; they seemed like a talented and rhythmically invented post-rock band trying to hard to make noisy emotional normal rock music. but the frequent moments of stripped-down polyrhythm, with vibes and congas, were nice.
olde club, cleaned again by the srn kids, looks better than i've ever seen it, and it was as packed as one would expect on a first-weekend-of-school show, with, notably, lots of freshman. this was helped by the adjacent swim team party in the wrc, which meant drunken folks in bikinis and aloha shirts and leis, funny for an indie show and funny for a suddenly cold evening. i was wearing a hawaiian shirt too, which made me feel a bit askew. but it all made for a nice harmonic energy. a good vibes show. (as thom yorke said about "i might be wrong" when i saw them.)
closers/headliners enon (stress on the e, apparently) were even funkier and funner than when i saw them with the lips two years back, although they were a person less. colorful instruments, and all that. basically, it rocked, and i was front and center (precisely) dancing, like the girl in the dalmatian shirt that the lead singer patted on the head, but not like her compadre next to me who somehow managed to remain motionless in that onslaught of groove. i bought their record, and their cd. i'm toying with the thought of only buying music at olde club for the rest of the semester.
i better get some brunch and return these cds by 1:30.
l'admrial a rien trouve
now i have on the impossibly gorgeous Verklärte Nacht of Schoenberg, in his arrangement for string orchestra. the fullest, loudest passages seem to be physically affecting my speakers, the music gushes out and suffuses my room and leaks out into the sundrenched courtyard (which, happily, is far less strewn with kegs, cans, and broken bottles than it was yesterday morning.)
this has been (and is being) a swell weekend. i managed yesterday afternoon to read everything required for wednesday's seminar excepting a couple articles on the featured artist for the week; even taking it slowly, and pausing for a nap on the floor of mccabe in the little 3rd-floor nook overlooking worth health center.
i walked over to underhill just as the girl on duty was closing it up, and she let me in to borrow a stack of cds overnight. serendipitous timing feels good. i went to a practice room and played my current repertoire. a roundabout way through the dappled sun (why dappled? is that like the horses?) and up the beach, but i discovered i didn't have my novel with me, so i lay and talked with stef instead.
a pleasing meal, too, avec ben et rabi, who told us about unitarianism. we saw what we decided was a shrew (my googlesearch findings: shrew seems likely, but perhaps it could have been a vole.)
back home for l'Histoire du Soldat (a recording featuring ian mckellen, vanessa redgrave, and sting) and some eRes, including a fantastic sound file of "l'admiral cherche un maison à louer," a simultaneous poem by tzara, huelsenbeck, and janco, with people speaking in three languages and making a lot of silly noises. another fun bit of zurich dada: hugo ball's "sound poem" "gadji beri bimba" provided the lyrics for the talking heads song "i zimbra."
since i finished the reading i wanted to accomplish, and stef talked me into it, i went to see jenny yim's comedian in lpac. he was okay, some pretty funny jokes i guess, but it all seemed really really ordinary, the most stereotypical standup comedy i can imagine. is that what all standup is like? i don't think i like standup comedy, anyway. but i had fun making side jokes with stef, zab, and kara, and singing along to supremes songs with the words of other supremes songs.
that got me to olde club just before the boggs started up. they were noisy and sloppy but interesting, i warmed to it. nice extended solo pieces on banjo, dobro, and guitar. the drummer was a riot, no mounted toms (= greater visibility) but a big fast two-step racket for a pair of hot rods. i was less impressed with aloha; they seemed like a talented and rhythmically invented post-rock band trying to hard to make noisy emotional normal rock music. but the frequent moments of stripped-down polyrhythm, with vibes and congas, were nice.
olde club, cleaned again by the srn kids, looks better than i've ever seen it, and it was as packed as one would expect on a first-weekend-of-school show, with, notably, lots of freshman. this was helped by the adjacent swim team party in the wrc, which meant drunken folks in bikinis and aloha shirts and leis, funny for an indie show and funny for a suddenly cold evening. i was wearing a hawaiian shirt too, which made me feel a bit askew. but it all made for a nice harmonic energy. a good vibes show. (as thom yorke said about "i might be wrong" when i saw them.)
closers/headliners enon (stress on the e, apparently) were even funkier and funner than when i saw them with the lips two years back, although they were a person less. colorful instruments, and all that. basically, it rocked, and i was front and center (precisely) dancing, like the girl in the dalmatian shirt that the lead singer patted on the head, but not like her compadre next to me who somehow managed to remain motionless in that onslaught of groove. i bought their record, and their cd. i'm toying with the thought of only buying music at olde club for the rest of the semester.
i better get some brunch and return these cds by 1:30.
l'admrial a rien trouve
Saturday, September 7
posting less determinedly, and thus trying to find ways to write other than just cataloguing the days. it being 2:25 on saturday, and not having done schoolwork yet, makes this a more or less predictable day, which suggests that i will get some, but not a lot, done later.
the program is like any weekend; alternate work (c.a.c. listening - copland and cowell yesterday - and d+s reading - which, so far, on zurich dada, has been pretty interesting) with fun (empty-handed record-shopping on south street with co-djs; big fun inflight reunion rehearsal yesterday.)
the other night, suz and ester and andrew and i played scrabble on my bed. then i walked to the 'well with ester, for fun talking with stef and zab, and eventually the amphitheater with ben, where i think we found some contentment.
wrsn (sic) party last night. i danced with addie and shorn skelly while ben played biz markie and p-funk and "where it's at." the room was packed and i played blackalicious and gladys knight and "praise you" and "son of a gun" and "dayglo hell" and "down on the corner." i played with crepe paper and smiled at a girl while mark played dimitri and ozomatli. the crowd thinned a bit and i played "i'm a vampire" and "we luv deez hoez" and "40 boys in 40 nights." i played "i could never take the place of your man" and "little wonder," each of which made one person in the room yelp for happiness. the booze ran out and the floor was deserted for the last hour (except one couple in the back who would grind to anything we played), but ben and i ran around and kept the energy up with "sunshine underground" and "lazy."
and coping with the physical repercussions. i feel more bodily tired now and this morning than i have in a good while. my feet were so tired last night that i could barely go to sleep.
rachel's coming tomorrow, which makes me actually very happy. i'm heading out to mccabe and underhill now, hopefully to get most stuff out of the way today and tomorrow morning. with enon in between.
blanche
with a bloodflow no-one can stanch
a blood flood, a blood avalanche
the program is like any weekend; alternate work (c.a.c. listening - copland and cowell yesterday - and d+s reading - which, so far, on zurich dada, has been pretty interesting) with fun (empty-handed record-shopping on south street with co-djs; big fun inflight reunion rehearsal yesterday.)
the other night, suz and ester and andrew and i played scrabble on my bed. then i walked to the 'well with ester, for fun talking with stef and zab, and eventually the amphitheater with ben, where i think we found some contentment.
wrsn (sic) party last night. i danced with addie and shorn skelly while ben played biz markie and p-funk and "where it's at." the room was packed and i played blackalicious and gladys knight and "praise you" and "son of a gun" and "dayglo hell" and "down on the corner." i played with crepe paper and smiled at a girl while mark played dimitri and ozomatli. the crowd thinned a bit and i played "i'm a vampire" and "we luv deez hoez" and "40 boys in 40 nights." i played "i could never take the place of your man" and "little wonder," each of which made one person in the room yelp for happiness. the booze ran out and the floor was deserted for the last hour (except one couple in the back who would grind to anything we played), but ben and i ran around and kept the energy up with "sunshine underground" and "lazy."
and coping with the physical repercussions. i feel more bodily tired now and this morning than i have in a good while. my feet were so tired last night that i could barely go to sleep.
rachel's coming tomorrow, which makes me actually very happy. i'm heading out to mccabe and underhill now, hopefully to get most stuff out of the way today and tomorrow morning. with enon in between.
blanche
with a bloodflow no-one can stanch
a blood flood, a blood avalanche
Thursday, September 5
yyyip! i say, although yoga is a far cry from kemal's african classes. super relax. but that's a fair substitute for lunch, twice a week, especially since it seems i'll always have seminar break to quell my hunger, an hour or two later. i haven't found any of the asanas so far particularly trying, but i guess that's good for the first week.
getting up early for 8:30 french wasn't too big a deal this morning. it gave me a nice long stretch of time to check email, write the bulk of this post only to turn off the computer inadvertently and lose it, and to listen to two ives pieces and le sacre du printemps in the basement of underhill before bach class. that was, again, amusing (funny german words, preposterously high recorder and violin parts, and mm's measured, precise, and copious speech.)
as previously reported, robbie (his nu name of choice) took me to pick up my p-book, and hence i am back in bizness. i just need to get it plugged in, since now my two sockets are occupied by reciever, cd player and alarm clock. when i get my powerstrip back from milena, who's still using it in the barn, all will be well.
rae's visit was brief but productive. not only did she fulfill her (self-proclaimed) duty as a car-bearing friend by helping me remove items from storage (amp and keys now in the corner of my room; jewel cases slowly but surely being filled and shelved) and going for a closing-hour rampage to target for toiletries and pillows and things - we also found time to dig the new future bible heroes record (disturbingly many references to 17), shoot the schmit with robbie, make a rather awkward sojourn over to M, mumble sleepily to Ben, and partake of her "first sharples breakfast since orientation week."
and then she was gone, and i was off to my full wednesday slate o'class: french with antonia, who couldn't be gentler; yoga (see above); and - oh - semin. our first meeting (all two hours of it) bodes well: good people (though we're one over the high limit of ten) and a fantastic syllabus. a ton of reading, but not much other work, and a lot of fun extras. we started class with tzara's dada poem exercise, rushed through a discussion of the reading, looked a couple slides, and that was that.
suzanne and i played scrabble in the amphitheatre, while her kitten pounced around, bit people, and showed absolutely no interest in its "purrfect" treat. it was an intense game: i had the lead for most of the game (she surged with NIGHTiES, i regained with StINGER.) i played SQUIB, i played VELDT. I had awesome bingo tiles for the whole second half, but i couldn't play them anywhere, so i was reduced to making risky 'strategic' moves to try to open up a possibility that never materialized, as my lead dwindled. the endgame was where it really got intense though; where i really felt the deficiencies in my playing. it was poorly-played; long and drawn-out; we took turns laying down one tile at a time, trading tiny spreads, until i finally played out, still leaving her with a two-point lead. 368-366 or something.
meanwhile, Ben was doing LSAT work, which is intriguing. i ate possibly the best sharples meal ever - did anyone else find the salmon and pesto very uncharacteristically tasty? and brought skelly home with me, for a good long discussion of the limitations of folk music and the particulars of our personal lives. i missed SAC because i was confused about the meeting time, but instead i went to help clean up wsrn. i netregistered the station computer under my own name, and put away a bunch of records.
and then, then ben came over and we made some signs, like he mentioned. mine was pretty stupid but saved from total inanity by some spots inspired by this enoch light album cover:
i get up when i want
except on wednesdays when i'm rudely awakened by the dustman
getting up early for 8:30 french wasn't too big a deal this morning. it gave me a nice long stretch of time to check email, write the bulk of this post only to turn off the computer inadvertently and lose it, and to listen to two ives pieces and le sacre du printemps in the basement of underhill before bach class. that was, again, amusing (funny german words, preposterously high recorder and violin parts, and mm's measured, precise, and copious speech.)
as previously reported, robbie (his nu name of choice) took me to pick up my p-book, and hence i am back in bizness. i just need to get it plugged in, since now my two sockets are occupied by reciever, cd player and alarm clock. when i get my powerstrip back from milena, who's still using it in the barn, all will be well.
rae's visit was brief but productive. not only did she fulfill her (self-proclaimed) duty as a car-bearing friend by helping me remove items from storage (amp and keys now in the corner of my room; jewel cases slowly but surely being filled and shelved) and going for a closing-hour rampage to target for toiletries and pillows and things - we also found time to dig the new future bible heroes record (disturbingly many references to 17), shoot the schmit with robbie, make a rather awkward sojourn over to M, mumble sleepily to Ben, and partake of her "first sharples breakfast since orientation week."
and then she was gone, and i was off to my full wednesday slate o'class: french with antonia, who couldn't be gentler; yoga (see above); and - oh - semin. our first meeting (all two hours of it) bodes well: good people (though we're one over the high limit of ten) and a fantastic syllabus. a ton of reading, but not much other work, and a lot of fun extras. we started class with tzara's dada poem exercise, rushed through a discussion of the reading, looked a couple slides, and that was that.
suzanne and i played scrabble in the amphitheatre, while her kitten pounced around, bit people, and showed absolutely no interest in its "purrfect" treat. it was an intense game: i had the lead for most of the game (she surged with NIGHTiES, i regained with StINGER.) i played SQUIB, i played VELDT. I had awesome bingo tiles for the whole second half, but i couldn't play them anywhere, so i was reduced to making risky 'strategic' moves to try to open up a possibility that never materialized, as my lead dwindled. the endgame was where it really got intense though; where i really felt the deficiencies in my playing. it was poorly-played; long and drawn-out; we took turns laying down one tile at a time, trading tiny spreads, until i finally played out, still leaving her with a two-point lead. 368-366 or something.
meanwhile, Ben was doing LSAT work, which is intriguing. i ate possibly the best sharples meal ever - did anyone else find the salmon and pesto very uncharacteristically tasty? and brought skelly home with me, for a good long discussion of the limitations of folk music and the particulars of our personal lives. i missed SAC because i was confused about the meeting time, but instead i went to help clean up wsrn. i netregistered the station computer under my own name, and put away a bunch of records.
and then, then ben came over and we made some signs, like he mentioned. mine was pretty stupid but saved from total inanity by some spots inspired by this enoch light album cover:
i get up when i want
except on wednesdays when i'm rudely awakened by the dustman
Tuesday, September 3
i'm having problems with time. jean-vincent asked me to switch to the 830 section of french 3 this morning because the later class is too big and i haven't registered yet. i must have just missed two phone calls from rae because i was across the hall in rob's room. the french grammar book i need is sold out at the book store, and now i'm in the language lab to do that work and les petites filles are using all the cassettes.
on the other hand, there are good things: dr. strangelove, the "aesthetic thrills" of bach cantatas (although prof. m. talks a lot, and has many students, it seems like a good class), the more relaxed reunion talks with folks i managed to miss in the first few days of good-to-see-you madness (zabby, ali, rblock), a big pile of promos only some of which i requested (ranging from s-k to fbh to j.s. bach) and which i'll hopefully be able to write about for the phoen. also: that rae is around and that rob is about to take me to get my computer. on that note…
i'm not just made of hearts
on the other hand, there are good things: dr. strangelove, the "aesthetic thrills" of bach cantatas (although prof. m. talks a lot, and has many students, it seems like a good class), the more relaxed reunion talks with folks i managed to miss in the first few days of good-to-see-you madness (zabby, ali, rblock), a big pile of promos only some of which i requested (ranging from s-k to fbh to j.s. bach) and which i'll hopefully be able to write about for the phoen. also: that rae is around and that rob is about to take me to get my computer. on that note…
i'm not just made of hearts
Monday, September 2
i wrote this but it was erased but i'm waiting for an e-bay auction to end so i'll write some more even though i'm not feeling very motived to.
back to swat. i've been doing a lot of walking (through the rain, through the nice), but not a lot of computer activity. hence. what do you want to know about?
my room is fantastic. i've got a southwest view of roof and worthyard, a crumbling wall, stereo and sanctuary. my possessions haven't all trickled in yet (joanne and ken sharpe helped me evacuate the b-house yesterday, but i didn't take my stuff out of storage, so that will have to be tomorrow,) but the room is in use.
i am without a social focus, as often. but (apart from conversations with ester) i find myself in groups: [claudia danielle alison dan dave etc.] at a birthday party in h'well basement with strawberry cake and champagne; [ester stef addie sarah etc.] in a tangle of bodies watching the graduate in utacs last night; [ben blair mara] at breakfast this morning.
and, dip, which was terrific - i was there at midnight, shortly joined by [nori alyssa jenny amelia roban paul ed], and as we got out a while later, another group of maybe 15 people showed up to dip, few of whom i knew. the tradition, apparently, is alive and well. and so so pleasant too - it was a little bit cold for august, but still warm for dip, and most enjoyable.
at the activities fair yesterday, itself a madcap romp of activity, i "tabled" for dip (on nori's urging), soundmachine (with joel, once matt had racked up his ifrb signatures) and scrabble (in absentia.) we'll see what comes of those. i wore a squ sticker that said "save the homos."
today was classes: day one. i had three. nice and low-key. french was like old times with only a few new faces - since i knew tout le monde i was paired for a partner presentation with a chemistry prof. yoga was very pleasant, despite being awfully scheduled during the lunch hour. and hopefully i can take it. american contemporary composers was also very mellow, a good group, and a cool syllabus (they mean contemporary literally - all the composers we study will come in to talk with us.) so that's good. tomorrow is bach and shopping (literally and metaphorically.) rae's coming. and that other one later.
she's mine.
alive aloof. beautiful mutual. amorphous friendly. hall meeting at nine.
put your ear up to the radio
you know more than you think you know
back to swat. i've been doing a lot of walking (through the rain, through the nice), but not a lot of computer activity. hence. what do you want to know about?
my room is fantastic. i've got a southwest view of roof and worthyard, a crumbling wall, stereo and sanctuary. my possessions haven't all trickled in yet (joanne and ken sharpe helped me evacuate the b-house yesterday, but i didn't take my stuff out of storage, so that will have to be tomorrow,) but the room is in use.
i am without a social focus, as often. but (apart from conversations with ester) i find myself in groups: [claudia danielle alison dan dave etc.] at a birthday party in h'well basement with strawberry cake and champagne; [ester stef addie sarah etc.] in a tangle of bodies watching the graduate in utacs last night; [ben blair mara] at breakfast this morning.
and, dip, which was terrific - i was there at midnight, shortly joined by [nori alyssa jenny amelia roban paul ed], and as we got out a while later, another group of maybe 15 people showed up to dip, few of whom i knew. the tradition, apparently, is alive and well. and so so pleasant too - it was a little bit cold for august, but still warm for dip, and most enjoyable.
at the activities fair yesterday, itself a madcap romp of activity, i "tabled" for dip (on nori's urging), soundmachine (with joel, once matt had racked up his ifrb signatures) and scrabble (in absentia.) we'll see what comes of those. i wore a squ sticker that said "save the homos."
today was classes: day one. i had three. nice and low-key. french was like old times with only a few new faces - since i knew tout le monde i was paired for a partner presentation with a chemistry prof. yoga was very pleasant, despite being awfully scheduled during the lunch hour. and hopefully i can take it. american contemporary composers was also very mellow, a good group, and a cool syllabus (they mean contemporary literally - all the composers we study will come in to talk with us.) so that's good. tomorrow is bach and shopping (literally and metaphorically.) rae's coming. and that other one later.
she's mine.
alive aloof. beautiful mutual. amorphous friendly. hall meeting at nine.
put your ear up to the radio
you know more than you think you know