A trail of jellybeans, a licorice rope tow, a bubble tape conveyor belt, a melty fudge path. Past shady lanes, perfect row houses, machine-made ponds and parks. A bright sunny day, but a nice dry heat. One appointment and it's not til later after supper. Passenger riding the path, the belt, the trail, to a particular quiet pink house on corner Birch and lane Hearth. Round the streetlight and set the sun down like a puppy, so it can run off and be free, and slide slowly up the driveway into the garage. The door closes, and it's dark, strike a match, only to read that you're surrounded by fireworks. [buy single for 3$]
Cotton Jones - "I Am The Changer"
This year, I'll make a resolution to have more conversations with living people than with dead ones. I'll start bottling fresh air when I find it. I'll only have dreams about things less exciting than what I'm actually doing. I'll grow a secret beard. I'll hit up strangers for favours I wouldn't ask of my own family. "Hey, could you call this number and tell the person that answers that it's not going to work out? I'd appreciate it." I'll help make one situation a day better and one situation worse. I'll grow a secret foot taller. I'll redefine "New Age". I'll gradually begin to float. I'll master taxonomy so I can tell people exactly what they are to me. I'll behave disarmingly, in doing my part for world peace. I'll get sick thinking about getting sick. I'll learn to braise all my food, like, all of it. I'll do it all to the toe-tap of "I Am The Changer". I'm running out of time. [pre-order]
Busta Rhymes - "Don't Touch Me (Throw Da Water On Em)" [buy]
When I blow out birthday candles later today I will wish for two things:
- Wisdom; and
- To be alive in the way that Busta Rhymes' words are alive in his throat & mouth; to be alive in the same way as those slipping, spinning, diving words, too fast to be pinned down in ink; to be too fast for painters, watercolourists, charcoalers, caricaturists, peeping typewriter-tappers; to be too fast for anyone to draw, sketch or name; no I'm loose, I'm alive, I'm 27 and wait until you get a load of this.
[photo is from Iraq, 1932; photographer unknown]
[LIFE magazine via the astounding nevver blog]
Abe Vigoda - "Wild Heart" (removed by request)
A stack of chips as tall as my chest. A wheelbarrow of chips, a hearty wagon, a shopping cart. I sold everything to get this many chips, sold my bike, my computer, even my winter boots. I take a free drink and head to the high rollers hallway, my pant cuffs wet with melting snow. My shirt sweaty and my heart beating fast. I sit next to a frowning man and another fatter man. I introduce myself to everyone, which I shouldn't do, I shouldn't do that. I check my wallet one last time, yep, this is it. I say, "room enough for a wheelbarrow?" which I shouldn't say either, the dealer looked like he chewed a peppercorn when I said that. "Chips on the table, please," says the dealer, do they call it a dealer when he just spins a wheel? It takes about ten minutes but I get all the chips on the table, and a crowd has gathered by this point. "He's awesome," I heard one lady say, which I try not to think about. I push my chips to the center of the table, somewhere among the numbers, and I suddenly wonder how long it would take to have a portrait of myself painted, how could I sit still for that long? The dealer waves his hand over the chips like he's casting some kind of spell, and with a wink, "no more bets."
[Buy old Abe Vigoda]
[previously (song)]
[previously (band)]
Gordon Downie - "Insomniacs of the World Good Night". And loving evenings falling down in piles, Downie sings. Amid these evenings, these mornings- and afternoons-after, let's imagine a year without restlessness. A world of peace and fulfillment, of sleep and dream. We'll eat lembas and drink white tea; we'll smell the blooms on flowering trees; we'll remember the feeling of when our lips touched our friends' cheeks, last night. We'll not forget the feeling, petalblush moment after its happening. We'll remember the feeling of our lips as they touched our friends' cheeks, the second when we meant it - so easily and so clearly - and no fireworks were needed, not a single one, to light the room. [buy]
Happy new year.
[photo from a sacrifice as part of this year's Eid al-Adha - not sure of the photographer]
A dense piece, this. Swinging on vines through the halls of a haunted house, a young gang of kids are the protectors and destroyers of a certain code of conduct. A complicated hierarchy of seniority, catalogued first by age then success then bad-ass-ness then assets then physical strength then proficiency with weapons and vehicles then just plain looks. Snogging and shagging on kitchen floors and bathroom walls, every painting with moving eyes being a secret passage to one of their bedrooms, tallscreen tvs and videoblades aplenty, weird shoes that you can wear like gloves or like helmets if you need them. Plans of attack and sabotage are cockily put into freestyles that are performed nightly at the Salad Bowl Stage, thirty stories under the basement floor. Parents have long given up the idea of trying to get their kids back from this place, despite the weaker members in their weaker moments wishing beyond hope that they would. [Buy in the UK]
O.W.L. are making something like what I can only think to describe as "elvin emo". Most of the tracks on the eponymously unabbreviated album Of Wondrous Legends are about things like Crimson Knights and the angel Gabriel and The Midnight Carnival, so this is the only one talking to the listener. And since the setting of the album is already heavily wooded and sun-dappled and cinched in leather with leather laces, this normally missable Yes b-side soundalike becomes for me a lovely strolling meander through the imaginary land of fantasy psychology. What does the advice "be alive" mean to a troll, to a guardbird, to a centaur prince? [Buy]
Adrian Crowley - "Electric Eels" [MySpace/buy]
Nick Drake - "Fruit Tree" [buy]
Does Crowley steal from Drake? I am still thinking about it. Besides, I haven't seen the full liner notes. But probably this falls somewhere between reincarnation, hômage and déjà vu. One song is dusky gold, the other undersea grey. One is a prophecy, the other a warning. One promises fruit, the other - flooding. Experimental data: in my fireplace, both songs take as long to burn.
(Thanks, Davin.)
Paul & Linda McCartney - "Ram On"
The year is rushing and draining quickly out of the bath. The water is dragging as much of the leftover filth as it can pull along with it, and I'm suddenly miniscule and standing fast at the edge of the drain, letting it rush all through my hair and around my tiny fingers or cilia or whatever. A thunderous torrent of other people's memories that greys the sky with their dirt. No, their stuff. This song plays for the final minutes. It's not of this year, but for some reason it stands for it. Or at least for the end of it. The way all colours make white or time passing makes light, it just feels like going up to Heaven, or at least to the next level. As in Level 3, World 4, Stage 1, Chapter 2009: Humility, Hope, and The Tippy-Toes of Justice. [Buy]
My quiet gaunt face, swaying eyes closed in the middle of a community dance, the room near empty save a few wallflowers, the shameless persistent disco ball and embarrassing light show. An old man with his older wife are trying to slow dance off to the side. My perfect hair and outstanding suit. My calm smooth motions belie the laboured organ, played a hair too slow by some crummy slickster in plaid. But that doesn't even register for me. Look at me. I'm fucking hot. [free]
Parvati Khan - "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Aaja"
My face is red isn't it I can feel it. I can't help it when I get excited I get like all beet red. It's cause I didn't think she'd agree to this and now she's supposed to be here any second and I haven't thought about at all what I'm gonna say or how I'm gonna act. I'm smiling too much, I know that for sure. She's like all over the place, you know, completely everywhere and we said we love each other the other day and I think I'll order pancakes for her while I'm waiting. God, I think if she looks as pretty as I think she will I'll just cry just bawl right here at the table. If we finish in time we can see the sun set! I think I'm crying now. damn that. [emusic]
National Beekeepers Society - "Lazy". We don't call it lazy when a dune is all sanding in the sun, there, or when a tomato-plant bobs its furry leaves in the breeze. We don't call it lazy when oil slicks over the sea, when a cassette plays through in the Buick's tape-deck. So why does my mother call it lazy when I take the Greyhound for four days, cross-country; when I break into the art deco skyscraper and go down to the basement; when I plug in the fat cable of my amp & electric guitar; when I play with my rock band in the gold and steel; when I King Kong it to the top, dangle from the spire, and sand, bob, slick & play through. [buy this great fuzzy album here / MySpace]
Lake - "Heaven". Good morning, Montreal! It's a beautiful snow-soaked Monday in December. Looks good for a White Christmas, doesn't it folks? Later we're going to have local actor Dan Beirne in the studio talking about his new project but first we've got Billy Joel, the Divinyls and Mirah comin' up, not to mention the new track by Lake. Traffic's moving smoothly on the Decarie, the white stuff's getting cleared up, and you know that junk I said yesterday about wanting to kill myself? Well - forget about it. Thanks for all your letters. This morning I fell in love with the sticky handwriting of a girl called Katie, from Côte St-Luc. I gave her a call and we're meeting at 5:30 to have pretzels in the studio, listen to Laura, Buzz & the Shark - and then we're going for latkes. Yup, I feel things are a-changing. [buy]
Tokin' Black Guy - "Turn My Music High"
I'm scared to post this, because I don't know anything about it. Granted, I don't know anything about any of the stuff I post, but I can't find anything about this guy or this song. All I get is this strange email from someone named Ken Ken with this song attached, and the subject line "tip". I feel like I'm getting scammed, like this is just a joke to see how many bloggers they can get to post a song by an artist with as terrible a name as "tokin' black guy" (seriously, if you're for real, change your name NOW) and I'm the first and probably only one to fall for it. I mean, yeah, let's write a super-fun, completely danceable, by-all-rights grade-A song and then see how many people we can get to be fooled by it. Well, you did it, I'm dancing, I'm smiling, you win, I give in. [MySpace (nothing more mysterious than keeping Tom in your top friends)]
Mt. Cooper - "Lower Plenty Rd."
Again, nothing. I feel more at home feeling scared with this track, though. I recognize this alien metal factory, this gleaming alley at night, this strange cab ride through strange streets. I'm used to these wet shoes, these eyeless kisses, this stabbing painful breath on the back of my neck. Yes, those inkbled pages are mine, yes I'll keep them, thanks, I think I can still make out what it says. [MySpace]
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