POST HASTE.

Lets Hear it for the Girls (and boys): Songs of 2009

Here are some of my most listened to songs of the year. 

Sorry for the youtube format I've been out of the blogging for a bit...

and have less and less patience.

1. The XX Crystalised

2. Yeah Yeah Yeahs Heads Will Roll

3. Julian Casablancas 11th Dimension

4. Melody Gardot Who Will Comfort Me

5. Mayer Hawthorne The Ills

6. Mos Def Quiet Dog 

7. El Perro Del Mar Change of Heart

8. Jay Z Empire State of Mind

9. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart Young Adult Friction

10. St. Vincent Actor Out of Work

11. Camera Obscura French Navy

12. The Mumlers Don't Throw Me Away

13. Thao Cool Yourself

*Bonus The XX Islands

Hot Fun In The Summertime Wintertime

Most of the time when Sly and the Family Stone's song Hot Fun in the Summertime comes on my iPod and the season is not summer I have to change the song. I don't know why but it is the same thing with Earth Wind and Fire's September, when that song comes on and it's a month other than September I just can't listen.

Today Hot Fun in the Summertime is even more obviously juxtaposed than usual. The wind is shaking my little car as I drive 40 up 101 and my windshield wipers are moving as fast as they can moving diagonal streams. This time I listen to Hot Fun in the Summertime twice and as I drive to work I am transported to last summer, the Arena Green where my mom and boyfriend and I say Sly and the Family Stone at one of their rare shows. It's warm but not too hot and the crowd seems abnormally small we assume because they are not serving alcohol, but we already had that covered with shots of Patron at Mexico Lindo.  So many seats are free, we can sit anywhere.  In between talking and dancing and eating I see my middle school/high school crush sitting right behind us, we are surrounded by empty seats and there he is sitting directly behind my mom.

Back in middle school and high school I was borderline obsessive although I could probably leave out the word borderline and just say obsessive.  I wont go into all of the details but in my mind imagined the perfect senior year prom where him and I went together, rather than just another prom where I took a good friend. I had everything planned, though nothing ever went as such.  Sometimes I cried.  Good friends and cousins were probably sick of the repetitive conversations and I thank god I wasn't writing poetry then because it would only embarrass me now.

I told my mom later, "Isn't it a strange coincidence that he sat right there, out of all the places in the entire Arena Green?"

I may still be naive and admittedly obsessive, possibly a bit compulsive too, but my obsessions are far more intricate usually involving songs, books and writing ideas. Like not being able to hear September in October.

Critics panned the concert, they said Sly put on a shoddy performance and didn't give the fans enough time, they just went through a couple hits and Sly in his Mohawk and silver suit were off the stage. He looked old, slow but he still has his voice and I thought I got what I wanted out of the show. A summer day with my mom and boyfriend and the ability to look back at the girl I was in high school obsessing about a boy in every single way imaginable. Back then I always thought something was wrong with me. I thought I must be flawed, now I just look back and smile.

Here is my all time favorite Sly track, If you Want Me to Stay

Felt Absolute Master Pieces

Felt and their music exist largely in the realm of the existential. The reason for this may be two fold: Felt never received mainstream recognition despite a career spanning 1979-1989 and their titles were such as Crumbling Antiseptic Beauty and Forever Breathes the Lonely Word. Beyond sound word choice is what project Felt into a realm of mystery far greater than if they would have been on the cover of NME weeks straight singing the clichés of their contemporaries. Felt are amidst the what would have been artists begging for their story and records to be examined, their minimal yet melodic guitar solos and at times prog-rock at times motorik and at times folk sound begins to seem like something Sartre would have appreciated.

In what the news calls the largest storm in years I sit on my couch on the computer feeling anxious. I haven’t gotten new music in what seems like months and it is beginning to wear on my consciousness. I go out in search of a CD from a band called Felt, all I know is they were around in the early eighties and I really, really like the song Crystal Ball. This begins my journey. I forget how going to a music store makes me feel normal again and even though it ends up being expensive the physical search fulfills something much greater than space on my iPod. I go to the store that will have it for sure and it is not there, I drive to the second best option and the slot where Felt is written in Sharpie is empty. In a desperate effort I go across the street to a mass-market bookstore that also functions as a music shop, not there. The helpful sales associate tells me I can I order it online but I need it now. Along the way I have picked up many things so this trip has not been completely futile. I am almost home and I keep going to one last stop and they have nothing. I return home happy with my purchases but still wanting what I initially set out for, I go on iTunes and purchase it. Here I am full circle doing what I did not intend to do however, equally happy that the music now exists in my home.

Creating art exists both for the creator and the audience the problem is that, for the creator, the moment the piece is created the cycle begins again self satisfaction becomes a concept, an oasis, a place one can never truly get to. Following is a quote from an article written for NME April 1986 by Mick Sinclair:

“Because Felt are less a collection of people than a collection of songs. All of which carry a discernible spirit of Feltness refined and distilled into three or so minutes and recognised by a bristle of guitar chords – golden in texture and tastefully frayed at the edges – given meaning by a lyric seemingly dallying on the frontiers of some other dimension.

But while Felt believers and devotees al have their favourite example, the dysfunction of a unique sound is songs which sound the same. Felt's entire set (about 40 minutes) is a trail of discarded permutations in the search for the one magical combination which would have a sesame effect on the gates of perfection. So we're left with a succession of songs each not quite as good as the next one might be...

But never is.”

Felt may be remembered as a band who simply made music but their memory primarily lives on in the bands Felt has influenced. One can hear them in many bands, Belle and Sebastian, Pavement, Sea and Cake and the list goes on.

Following are two songs from the album Absolute Classic Master Pieces, Crystal Ball and Sunlight Bathed the Golden Glow.

Discography:

Let The Snakes Crinkle Their Heads To Death 2007
Crumbling The Antiseptic Beauty 2006
Stains on a Decade 2003
Absolute Classic Master Pieces 1992
Me And A Monkey On The Moon 1989
Train Above The City 1988
The Pictorial Jackson Review 1988
Gold Mine Trash 1987
Forever Breathes The Lonely Word 1986
The Splendour Of Fear 1984
The Strange Idols Pattern And Other Short Stories 1984
Crumbling The Antiseptic Beauty/The Splendour Of Fear 1982

Amy Winehouse's 2003 Release, Frank

  If you google Amy Winehouse right now chances are you'll land on a dozen sites related to her weight, druguse and hair extentions.  The truth is, Winehouse is very different from her Los Angeles counterparts because she is naturally talented.  On her album Frank which was only recently made available in the US Winehouse displays her jazz background as well as her ability to pen love songs that are not soaked in cliche or dependant on Timbaland remixes.  I eagerly anticipate another album from Winehouse and hope the personal drama and media pressure does not get in the way of this.

The track here is "F*** Me Pumps"

3 Weekend Songs

Yppah Its Not The Same    

Headlights TV

White Williams I Want Candy

 

 

 

The Nature of Helsinki: Husky Rescue

Hurricane (Dont Come Knocking)

Helsinki based Husky Rescue has pushed the limits of ephemeral sound yet again with their second and highly anticipated album, Ghost is Not Real released on UK based Catskills Records. In all truth, the audience who loved their previous album Country Falls may miss the slight pop aesthetic Husky Rescue met us with back in 2004 however, Husky Rescue has conjured up enough loyal listeners that have been waiting patiently and are ready and willing to go on the dark walk in the woods that is Ghost Is Not Real. The pre-released singles “Nightless Night” and the “Diamonds in the Sky” EP with all of the remixes only give listeners a limited idea of just how dark Husky Rescue can get. The Blueberry Tree triptych is hauntingly surreal and expresses three unique moods and arrangements. It is pure melody and well thought through execution.

With the second album including the same vocalist, Reeta-Leena Korhola, from many of the tracks on Country Falls we get a better sense of cohesiveness from Husky Rescue and the leader of the huskies, Marko Nyberg’s vision is clearer. Even the album artwork seems to promote the artistic, ethereal concept of art imitating life and visa versa. It helps that we see them as a five-piece unit each as valuable as any other. There is no star of the group per se, and it is a novel way to get listeners to focus on the sound. Korhola does not seem simply a beautiful front woman she is understated and this is good. In an old interview Nyberg attempted to explain the sound of Husky Rescue, he does it well with this one sentence, “It’s melancholic music but there’s always hope.” With Ghost is not Real we see just how much these Finns cherish and recognize the contrasts of nature and are devoted to creating something parallel to the darkness and light that is all around.

Sound of Silver The Best Album of 2007...So Far

Admittedly, I was not at all excited for LCD Soundsystem's newest release. LCD Soundsystem's latest and highly anticipated album Sound of Silver is the best album of 2007 so far. Unlike their self-titled album of 2005 Sound of Silver has strong cohesion and you can feel James Murphy's knowledgeable grasp of varying genres and across decades. Every track on this album is solidly put together unlike so much electronic dance music that is out right now. I can't think of another album from January until now this good. The lyrics in "New York, I Love You..." are honest and reflective of a person who has contemplated the state of their city and have grown a bittersweet love and connection to the geographic location. Murphy also exudes this sentiment in "North American Scum" it is ironic because you have to really love a place to  analyze  it and that's what Murphy does , he isn't scared to talk a little shit because ultimately he writes in a contrasting love hate way; loving music, hating fake scenes and loving New York City for the experiences it has given him but hating the fact that it has become too expensive for the spirit to truly  remain free.

Murphy is who he is and makes music that takes itself very seriously while seeming just as nonchalant as his youthful, less experienced counterparts.  Sound of Silver is well thought out and executed and we should be thankful that ethic still exists.

The Power of MySpace: Odd Modern

With a random series of clicks I arrived at the profile of Odd Modern from Los Angeles, CA. I have read in recent articles about the power of social networking sites such as MySpace in conjunction with fastidious bloggers to place otherwise unknown groups/musicians on the same level as their more established counterparts. MySpace is useful for something.

Odd Modern is working with a combination of elements that are popular right now, synth rhythm and a trusty vocoder, soft female vocals and guitar. It doesn't hurt that the singer, Vanina, is cute. Truth be told, there are a ton of electro/indie/synthy groups out there and it has become difficult to sift through the sheer amount, however the accesibility of the internet has made doing so much more cost effective and fast.

I checked out their website and realized that they did not have an album out in stores. They are selling only via MP3 online, they sent me a copy immediately after my request, literally, about 20 minutes after I sent the message on MySpace. It's a pretty solid album when one considers the honest do-it-yourself attitude that Odd Modern gives off. This might be the beauty of social networking sites; to allow geographically distant listeners a chance to hear their work and without even having to undertake the costs of actually printing CD's.

The best songs on the album are:

Rach ENROLL (pronounced Bach)

Depressed SEQUENCE

and

Biblical SENSE

Following is their bio as well as a link to their profile:

Odd Modern was formed in the summer of 2006 by Girardeau and Vanina after years of searching for the right musical counterpart. Girardeau has been a drummer/producer for over a decade and Vanina has been developing her voice for many years as well. When they met Girardeau had a large catalog of music that they developed into their new album titled Caspian Sea Sick. The album blends electronic instruments, odd melodies, and a strong rhythm section to carve out a unique style with familiar sounds. The lyrical content is personal and relatable at the same time.

http://www.myspace.com/oddmodern

A Healthy Obsesion

I have thought a lot about things.  A lot.  I have worried myself into corners…many times.  I know each corner well.  From them I saw myself in the distance in the form of something else.  Over this recent period of time I have thought about so many things, the things that I plan to do.  I keep saying, “I see it right here in the near future, one day it will come together.”

I can see it right here and ever since I was with Manic Panic hair and over-sized black concert t shirts I could see it, I could see it in the omnipresent smoke of live shows, in the sweat off the glistening faces on the stage at Cactus, I could hear in the voice of Kurt Cobain coming out of Montgomery Ward’s brand speakers in my tiny bedroom with dirty carpet, cutout magazine pictures scotch taped to my walls and cigarette ashes making black spots on my window seal.  I could see that music meant much more than blasting Dyers Eve to piss off my mom.  Even then I was too scared and immature to understand what it meant to me.

Today I read music articles with apprehension and when I do I absorb every miniscule, obscure reference and every single word with absolute attention.  I am a desperate wannabe writer salivating at every article I can like a house-wife window shopping at Santana Row drooling over a handbag.  Before the Radiohead concert last week I swiftly glanced at a few concert reviews online on NME and some other sites, I glanced fast the way a man secretly looks at his wife’s friend’s cleavage. I have become good at this, nobody knows.  My obsessive observation is an interlocking string of stolen glances.  I will not admit much at this point I am just beginning to see it.

When I went to Radiohead I was careful to note that it was a finite event and I might not be fully satisfied so I prepared myself in advance.  This was just a concert, like Stevie B. or Duran Duran or Paul McCartney.  I also noted the fog and price of beer and was sure to purchase a shirt for tangible evidence something that I could have the following Monday something I could hang on to.  I didn’t always look directly at Thom, I looked at the way people reacted. I saw that the cell phone had taken place of the lighter or maybe that was just a Berkeley thing that people are more polite than to light up a cigarette in such close proximity to people who spent well over a hundred dollars on tickets and may or may not be smokers.  This created a mosaic of rectangle blue lights all capturing a different distorted view of Mr. Yorke. When I was in the bathroom I noticed how preppily collegiate everyone seemed and how planned their shoes were and began to feel self conscious about my own deliberate nature.  Everything is in its right place.

I thought about my own camera tucked into my purse and wondered if I was willing to attempt to capture what my ears couldn’t in a highly pixilated visual form.  Yes, I did attempt and what I saw on my camera later did not explain anything to me beyond the literal. I guess that’s why I am not a photographer. I saw the fog come and go in steamy billows wrapping around tree-tops and speaker towers.  I was just one of them singing along almost silently.

Obsession is a strange thing because before you know it, you are consumed and I like that. I see a healthy obsession as a form of intelligence.

When I read things I think of how I might have done it differently, and I pray that I don’t end up like Al Bundy stuck on my old open-mic poetry days the way he was stuck on his high school football persona.  Sometimes I really do pray. 

The articles that stick with me most are ironically music articles, not literary or academically journalistic the way I would like.  The articles that I remember as a teenager reading Rolling Stone that depicted the humble introverted nature of some rock star in their hotel room drinking a glass of water with lemon right hand fidgeting with a loose thread or zipper on a sweatshirt are the ones that I have kept on cerebral file.  I felt like I knew them so well after reading those articles, those people whom I allowed into my bedroom time and time again.  When I read those words I felt as if I had just met the singer’s mother and could smell the scent of Jovan or patchouli on her neck could see the pride in her round face that her child was doing something big.  I was there.  Those images and comparisons were tangible artifacts that I could hang on to, a 15 year-old Mexican girl in a rented two-bedroom house in San Jose, I could be two places at once. In essence that was music writing to me.

Later what I began to love about music writing was not that they would be able to tell me what high school in Seattle the band met at but more importantly the authors word and reference choice the effortless exclusionary tendency that all good music writing beholds.  I am sad to admit that I cannot keep up.  Illegally downloading music has become my life secondary to worry.  However I can only safely ingest so many new bands, Lo-Fi, Avant-Rock, what have you.  I am a bare bones lyrics and guitar kind of person.

When the Radiohead concert ended I didn’t feel anything.  It was over just like a good article ends too fast or a can of plain Pringles.  It was done.  I thought about going the second night, but I cannot consecutively eat two cans of Pringles, I cannot extend something with finite end.  All I can do is find within myself what I like about good music and good music writing and that is the depth and constant search for something better right here with the material that exists at this moment. 

I worry about backing myself into a corner every time I open my computer and sit down with a specific plan. Now that I think about it I am in a corner as I type this, but it is a familiar corner cozy and shaded by the artifacts that I have accrued, earned even.   For every time I made my mom drive me to Streetlight with a stack of my CD’s so I could trade for just one full priced 17.99 CD so that I would have something new to listen to besides the radio and cassettes that I taped off college stations. I have earned this viewpoint, have paid my dues and now painfully choose each word and know that I will hate every one, but I can see an airplane distantly pass in the sky and I think about the people who are on it, about where it is going and about what music I should download tonight and where I would like to go one day and I know that my heart belongs to obsessive observation.