one of my many japanese idols

Nikaido Kazumi !

Let's just pretend it didn't happen

This is your brain bouncing off on illicit substances:



And this is the tragic adverse effect:

Lovely Suburban Crazies and the Pressures of Boredom

So this blog has been infused with lots of heat lately--but my poor singed ears cannot be removed from the infectious beats of their latest offerings. Arcade Fire has become the very thing that's keeping me excited about not only new music, but new possibilities. Ecstatic and static piano tones on "We Used To Wait" reacquaints us with that familiar nostalgic optimism that both confuses and perfuses the soul. Much like your old-school obsession with 90's hip-hop. Sure, something pure can last, Win. That something pure rides somewhere between your larynx and the swirling sounds of your band.

With their new release, The Suburbs, due out in early August, summer suddenly has that sweet promise of fantastic memories, laced with that snow-cone and windows-down glory. Whoever said we were growing old, obviously hasn't ever listened to this band. Obviously, they're curmudgeons in training.

Which brings us to another great teaser: "Ready To Start". Keeping in tune with that vintage-vinyl feel, this angst-land anthem pays homage to that universal burden of youth: pressures to belong, but knowing in the end that non-conformity is your best bet. Better to expose yourself to vulnerability, than to suffer the inevitable isolation of guilt. Boredom, fear of loneliness, eternal longing--this covers it all and a pack of Bazooka Joe's.

Such delicate layering of universal experiences requires a type of crazy genius. Arcade Fire has once again created a sane retreat within the insane reality of this sometimes ugly existence. They aspire to create light where only darkness is allowed. They grow thriving communities of crowned Sea Monkeys where others can only see questionable shrimp-specks in murky water. So sit back with your Kool-Aid grin and let yourself begin again.

Bourgeois Banter: You've Been Forewarned--

I'm so glad I live in a time when these Montrealites are building entire cities with music. Around town and on the i-nets, two new songs have surfaced from the glorious gutters of suburban living via Arcade Fire. A person might take me for a glutton of musics because for the past two weeks, I have had nothing but "Neon Bible" blaring from the car, in anticipation of new AF material. Sinister and bourgeois, I am, but glouton? moi? OK, I guess I'm that, too. But even the angels of most high might look down upon me with favor, if I were to play them one song from this band. High fives in heaven for the Almighty Fire! And thus Win breathed down on the angels, and the clouds parted and the trumpets roared. Cherubs danced along, as he sang about being bored in "The Suburbs"! It sounds like bar-stool chatter in a diner, an old one, with vinyl seats ripped to the cushion at its seams. There's a glossy counter reflecting indifferent faces, picking at their plates, waiting for something to happen. It's a back-to-the-future clueless town, or a tormented Texan (or Arizonian) territory, bound to its own closed ideals and silently screaming. I can imagine Michael J. Fox yelling out to Doc in the parking lot of a local suburban shopping mall:  "Sometimes I can't believe it/I'm moving past the feeling!"

And don't for one minute think the month of May has ended--nay, it has just begun! In "Month of May": "Now, some things are pure and some things are right," sings Win Butler, Patron Saint of Kids with Their Arms Folded Tight. Gritty guitars made of Clash-y, static-y beats that would make even the tightly-folded and late Sid Vicious take heed: 'We are better than anyone, ain't we? Except for Arcade Fire, Arcade Fire are better than us.'

Don't say I didn't warn ya.

Gracias Por las Flores, Principe Guillermo

Bonnie "Prince" Billy in "Hombre Sencillo" is simply a magnificent study on cultural immersion. I won't delve too deep into his weird acting tactics (also see: "Wendy & Lucy") but he's just on another level of anti-Oscar material that is actually very refreshing. Much like a milk-spillage accident, it's almost too painfully silly to watch--yet you must. His pronunciation of Spanish nears impeccability with a swagger de un borrachito. Bonnie does the sombrero good. When he hands over a flower to the pretty ladies, he is as sincere as a mariachi, and his voice reflects only tenderness, which makes up for any tragic feigning. This piece pleases and teases the senses in a way that Mexico does when all that's left to do is leave. A bittersweet tear accompanied by a romantic longing for tacos and Oaxacan cheese.

FINALLY.

New Arcade Fire due sooooooon!! Yes.

Films for Skeptic Lazies

I remain skeptical (as I am always) of films utilizing online worldz as pro-/antagonist (i.e. Feardotcom). They have a tendency to feel like I'm watching...the internet? I just can't get past watching people using computers on a screen. Seems like the ultimate lazy to me. And I'm pretty lazy. Don't get me wrong--I can appreciate a good sci-fi scenario when I come across one (J.J. Abrams' Star Trek had this non-trekkie trooling). But too many cuts to d-loading suspense tricks will have me yawning. That said, "L'Autre Monde" might be based on a mysterious gaming site, but my interest peaks at the surrounding details: music by M83, Melvil Poupaud AND it's French. Always good to brush up on the French and Frenchies. So in this case, I think I can make an exception:

Rill Rill / Ring Ring / Can You Get to That

There's simply nothing better for summer than this Sleigh Bells jam and a tall, icy glass of hibiscus, slightly modified with a storm of quality tequila.





Except for maybe this!!

shiny coals, lofty goals

Foals - "Black Gold" and "The Orient"

I've considered it, but I don't think I'll ramble on too much about Total Life Forever, because it's not making me move at the moment...Doesn't mean you oughtn't give it a go, though--it does present a handful of more than savory bites. "Black Gold" glistens unassuming for a bit, shimmers with deft bridges and repeatedly asks "What's happened to you?" while its tremendous build up at the 3:32 mark, promising change and gold, gives us an anti-climactic return to normalcy. It works here, actually. In the lighthearted "The Orient" Wes Anderson-ian flicks come to vague memory, but this is a bit better, I think, because there's no script to lay claim on its scene, no Bill Murray feigning facial paralysis to trouble the words: it's all yours.

TREAT EM

Today prepare ya feets fo TREATS --

Debut Sleigh Bells album now streaming on NPR.

You already know my unabashed lust.

gogogoooooo -------> YAH! <-------

when we're out together dancing geek to geek

Diving into The National's High Violet without any real expectations can have some glorious side-effects. "I'm Afraid of Everyone" begins with a helpless dirge, with hopeful choirs, then sorting itself out with the pressures of youth and wistful substance-yearning. The contrasts are alarming and yet pleasant. I take from it a sense of rainy-day submission with a keep on keeping-on motivation. And if you've just been drenched by the storm and acid, "England" drags you under shy-sun rays just peeking out through the Tower Bridge. (Man, I just realized this song mentioned rain after my rainy-day analogy of the previous tune, am I a warped psychic? or just a psyched wizard--stay tuned.) I feel like I really enjoy this song because I miss London and Brits in general a jolly-heap. I'm crazy about Earl Grey mornings and Big Ben striking my hours away until midnight, when he turns off his lights. I confess I haven't a clue as to what Matt Berninger is on about here, save maybe angels and sinners, but I just had a fit of sinister cravings over heavenly Jaffa cakes so now I need to book a plane there asap.

Perhaps in "Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks," the name says it all, but still, you've got to listen to the ending to really know how much beauty The National is really capable of. "I'll explain everything to the geeks." Come on ! It doesn't get any better than that !

Cities of the Plain: Beam me up!

I have said it before, and will say it again: Iron & Wine songs make me wish I was laid out in a grassy field, rolling under trees with one eye closed and one eye gathering all the world's beauty. When others attempt something similar, it too often ends in clumsy and ineffective placements. Upon listening, I end up in a field of horse manure, or worse, knee-deep in mud with the bad aftertaste of hay in my mouth. No thanks. But Sam, you can bring out that country plain, a breezy and warm living, and a timeless moment with endless dreaming. I'm reminded of a longing Cormac McCarthy would extend to John Grady. A defeated sigh but knee-deep in love with the land and leaves. He manages to serenade the senses while freeing them to live the life on a rustic path. Here is another perfect example, a new one called "Half Moon":

computer face it,

Flying Lotus - "...And The World Laughs With You" ft. Thom Yorke

Swig of whiskey to the esophagus. Yorke's voice lends itself well to the ghoulish Lotus track. Layers of cacophonous digital symphony. There's no drama in this relationship: it's all a solitary delusion. Shoot up and repent, GALAGA lasers represent!

Flying Lotus - "Computer Face//Pure Being"

Truth be told, I just really wanted to write about something entitled Computer Face. These are sonic sensations to pleasure your flacid neurons. Its real specialty boils at it's closing--a bolus rush of ball-breaking beats. Mince. Slather. Repeat!

Flying Lotus - "Galaxy in Janaki"

Engorge yourself on the sweetest guitar riffs swinging through a pixelated universe. You'll find star-gazing lilies floating above, and a cosmic bass brooding below. FL is truly the ambassador of intergalactic s-s-s-sound.

bulletprooooof

Oui oui, j'aime Jean-Pierre Jeunet.

lesson no.1 on this third of may twenty-twelve:

MGMT - "I Found a Whistle"

"Such conviction/To paint all the walls with the blood/of the young and the faithful and the good." So who gave MGMT a puff of that Beatles pipe? Good thing, because it's an exquisite diamond amidst a Valium of a record. I can get used to this arranging of dream-scape wordplay. There's still a pinch of psychedelia with a gentle strum that cradles your ears like a lullaby. Its bursting end may be one of my favorites this year: "I've got it, I've got it! This time." And when he lifts that pistol to your heart, you seem pretty relieved that he actually cares.

Fang Island - "Daisy"

Fun and free and harmonies and rock and claps and yelps and jumps and high-fives. A few bites from these fangs will inject you with an overdosage of HAPPY. Play it at church and save your congregation. Most of their music seems to intend bringing you to your bruised knees and making you flutter off in toothy-grin territory. Also try "Life Coach" and feel the heaviness lifted from your spine. Fang Island enjoys kicking you out of bed for good.

seewhatimean?

Fang Island:

Captura el Gringo

(via @calle13oficial)

Hace Que Salga el Sol

I'm listening to Julieta Venegas on Morning Becomes Eclectic and am reminded why I have admired this gal for years now. Her roots stem across Long Beach to Tijuana to Mexico City--her life must have wild juxtapositions unknown to most. With an excellent sense of melody and a voice unlike any other female vocalist I know, everything she does pretty much turns to gold. What probably endears to me most is how she is able to accurately capture nostalgia in every situation. A few years ago, "Me Voy" was a life-lesson-anthem for me--realizing it's better to let go of dumb decisions and yeah, I might deserve some of that pain that goes along with it. I have some of her lyrics firmly ingrained in my head to offset my romantically-challenged worldview. It's no surprise she reads Dostoevsky or jets off to Buenos Aires to experiment with songs. That's exactly what she reflects: a contradiction of beauties, una mezcla de mundos y sentimientos, a simple love of intricate shades and balances.

Bite-sized Booyakahh!

Interpol - "Lights"

Wow, excited vocals! It can almost past for an off-Broadway musical number. Enter: Paul Banks, romanticizing. I'm not a fan of this side of him. I miss the familiar stoic, doomsday tone of "Into the Bright Lights" Interpol. Also vanished are the throbbing bass lines that so endeared to me when analyzing the fate of doomed relationships. I suppose I should keep my mind free from past regret and focus on the evolution. Perhaps this time, the lights reflect a saved-by-grace Banks turning off the bright lights to hold the heck out of the one he loves? I'm already on my third listen, but it has yet to convince me it's going to be something more than a one-night stand. Yeah, I miss 2002 like I miss an ex.

Sleigh Bells - "Tell 'Em"

This is getting so good. Each time I listen to another Sleigh Bells tune, I get giddy. "Tell 'Em" is like getting blasted by lasers and at the same time, healed by the magnificent prospect of a fresh tune to invent a new dance to. How about a spastic, wigged-out Kid-n-Play? A Pon-de-Floor-style Roger Rabbit? The possibilities are without end!!!

a classic dance move i aim to claim

I just believe that even attempting this outside of Brazil would defeat its purpose.

for the munchies

Photo: Dave Gillespie

Broken Social Scene - "World Sick"
Begins and ends in watery, sun-glimmering-off-the-sea-surface guitars. You can definitely find parts of it awash with Do Make Say Think-ish riffs. It's a gradual formation of undulating swells until you hit mid-song where a crash of tides bring it all to a soaring crash of everything we love about rock. It even sets off a car alarm, or so my ears hear each time it subsides. I love this song for it’s wanting to rock out. It totally wants people to shake their heads in unison, making whole venues leap for what’s still right in this sick, sick world. <3

M.I.A. - "Born Free"

Ah, M.I.A. What can I say? I watched this song’s video one morning prior to feeding time and immediately misplaced my appetite. If I had anything at all inside my belly, I think the yammies would have taken care of all that. But we’re talking about the song here, not the tummy-churning visual prop. I’d say I’ve liked many of her other offerings above this, but you know, it’s effin M.I.A.! Her bombastic, cap-lockin’ charm is where it’s at. She yells into a loudspeaker like PSA doing you a true service. “You might try to find ways to be happier you might end up somewhere in Ethiopia.” It may all sound a bit anti-autotune but the best part is when she flips her hair like that. No one, I mean no one can do it the same. Trust.

Sleigh Bells - "A B Machine"

Tough boombox beats warping ‘round looping western guitar. Lift up that rift and say: HOOOoooOH! This can sound off nicely in a car-ride bound for desert or dessert, whatever fits your bumping fancy. Its sweet voices make my ears ache with equal bouts of admiration and envy. What’s it like to have M.I.A. on your side? Must be n.e.e.t. Also check out the contagious “Crown on the Ground” which I assume has no relation to the freaky-leaky offensive tune “Pants on the Ground”. I like my beats hard, and by the end my tympanic membranes are fully satiated. If this is what “Bionic riff missiles” sound like, I’m ready for more superhuman auricle fatalities. Make way for the future, are ya listening? Ho ho ho!

Phantom Limb Wipes Out The Eraser

Atoms for Peace at Santa Barbara Bowl
April 17, 2010

Surrounding us: trees high up above and around, a cool sea breeze beckoning. It is an ordinary Saturday afternoon that would soon turn into an extraordinary evening at the Santa Barbara Bowl. Atoms for Peace were about to possess the stage and make us kneel in wonderment. Which begged the question: What on earth could Thom Yorke and friends do with quiet, bedroom-electronica? I wondered about this through the traffic-ridden tortuous-ass ride from LA. The Eraser, I admit, was not a direct hit to the heart. It had the soft, hypnotic beats I enjoy from electronic music, but not the soul-shattering melodies of say, Kid A. I suppose it was not meant to shatter, but soothe, and it would occupy a space in my ipod, but leave a small, distracting hole in my Radiohead-shaped heart. Perhaps my expectations were misplaced. For all my Yorke-obsessed rantings, I decided that the effort was, as a whole, all right. To be fair, I did enjoy a few tracks, namely “Harrowdown Hill” and “Analyse”. Usually it had been raining, and I had just arrived home from a long work day, ready to turn in.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, I would wake up startled at familiar yet remodeled architecture of sounds. Eyelids wide open then closed in euphoric disbelief. My body, too, engaged in various strings of unexpected behavior: Jumping and shaking to the hardcore drumbeats. I could hardly contain myself. Layers were laid and molded to sink itself perfectly into my ears. Each song that seeped through those speakers, seeped inside me--It shook my blood into a coagulated blob of bliss.

Thom introduced his teammates with sincere affection: “This Flea…This Joey…This Mauro…This Nigel…This (finger pointing down above his head) Thom!” You know you were in for a treat when Thom wears a smile. We spotted wild arm-flailing from Thom and ceaseless head-spasms from Flea. The blue-haired, red-hot bassist banging his brain until I swear it would turn to porridge. Flea seemed to have a genuine affinity to this music, and he was delving into its depths. Thom fed off of this energy and manically shifted his feet off the floor like two polar-charged magnets coming together. Swaying, swinging, soaring, swoon.

“The Clock” struck us all with tribal-like pulsating beats, enough to make the sky open up and weep. Nigel working magic on keyboards and a maze of other instruments--he remained stooped behind a curtain of sound--a wizard of gadgetry. Mauro and Joey on guitars and percussion from hell. Flea all the while, still fully engaged in fitful head-swirling, drawing imaginary blue lightening. The audience, denizens of a restless night, fall back appeased.

Another sweet surprise: “And it Rained all Night”. The dark, gritty bumps dumped us into a grooved-out underground tunnel rave. I could destroy floors dancing to this music. I wanted to stomp on everything, keel over and do somersaults, then assault the instruments that made those sounds. The blur of zigzag blue lights only added to my daze-ment. You almost forget Thom is even singing--while dancing he could be making incoherent proclamations in tongue and you couldn't care less. You'd still want to give him a bear hug when at last he sings: “I can never reach you."

Encore time. A pink brazier floated down landing just in front of Thom. He paused a bit, walked away chuckling and then picked it up: “I’m still puzzled how they can do that.” Enter: "Give Up the Ghost". A recorded falsetto vocal loop and light guitar strum following. This is wistful Thom. This one is for those and thems that never did you any good.

Thom may wish to do side projects and he may wish to create something apart from the over-analyzed entity that is Radiohead, but one thing is for certain: He cannot completely separate himself from it. If Radiohead is the body, then this project is its phantom limb, it’s familiar yet haunting member--it’s ghost. Thom sits down at his piano and plays a few instantly recognizable notes: “Videotape”. Let me just indulge myself further in saying that few other songs can reach out and grab the insides of you (heart, kidneys, lungs--all of it) and then returns them to you in the form of multicolored longing…in red blue green. It is just perfect on tape, a sweet eulogy for the mourning. But hearing the song live--it takes on an ethereal form that brings the newly departed down to hell and forces them to look back up at the still-living ashes of regret.

It is raining now as I write this and I’m reaching for my Eraser disc that spent too much time hibernating. This time, I am nowhere near the end of the day and I’m ready to dance again.