or how I learned to stop worrying and love the internet
my hair stood straight, it loves its wind. not the cool caress, exactly.
the smell of adventure, yes. the feeling of rushing excitement, the tastes of a million places on the tongue of each lock.
swirling unfocus, air twirl graffiti scribbling words and shapes and legend etched on - cityscape urbanthirst cave paintings.
people without faces, just stories that speak for themselves. leave the impression of persons.
—
(me, when my hair was longer. 5/11/12)
Tennis’ second LP has been pumped through my stereo for the last few months, and its incontestable charm has not worn in the least. I’ve fallen in love with the enchanting journal entries of Alaina Moore and husband, Patrick Riley. Young & Old encapsulates a trip to yesteryear, gently reminiscing about former love affairs and missed connections. The search for happiness is hardly tinged with melancholy, which is where this record stands out among a overabundance of sappy pop albums. Every heartfelt lyric is delivered with a wink and a smile, as if Tennis is completely aware of the possibility of crossing into a place of over-sentimentality. The feathery guitar and dancing drums ensure the utmost fun on this van-ride through the horse-and-buggy days of young, and old, love.
Tennis - Traveling from Young & Old (Fat Possum 2012)
July 10
Stuffed with plenty of spectacle and creative panache, Reptar’s debut full-length jumps into the music scene swinging both fists. Body Faucet stopped me in my tracks. The album’s name eloquently describes what the experience was like for me. The melodies, the elaborate voicings, and the dance choruses hit my body like cold water cascading from a once-tarnished-recently-polished spigot. It is surprising in all right ways. Like watching 8mm home movies of your parents throwing a house party in the 70’s; there is something recognizable, but it has adopted an unfamiliar shape. There is an initial surprise and then an ease as you settle into the strange, new, pleasant gratification it brings.
Reptar - Orifice Oragami from Body Faucet (Vagrant 2012)
All those Animal Collective lovers will be smiling today. All those Animal Collective doubters will, once again, be scratching their heads. The AC boys return with a 7” that takes the band in yet another acutely exploratory direction. They’ve reverted back to their Strawberry Jam guitar focus, but have evidently uncovered their own brand of hallelujah choruses and hyper-wordy verses from Dave Portner. The release is definitely a change from the awe-inspiring/dance success of Merriweather, but I’ve got to trust that AC will do me no wrong.
Animal Collective - Honeycomb/Gotham 7” (Domino 2012)
Josh Tillman, under the moniker ‘Father John Misty’, returns with an inventive release that brags prolific songwriting and a myriad of clever quips. The album is comfortably personal; with each track Tillman lays his cards on the table unapologetically. Fear Fun treats hopes and regrets with their due inevitability. Vices are confessed without an ounce of shame, but rather with glorification of their utter normalcy. Though the record collects patterns of understated rumination, it doesn’t grow dusty or worn. The consistent musical canvases are trimmed with splashes of bite and fire with every subtle growl of Tillman’s voice or scratch of soft distortion. Encouragingly, Fear Fun gets increasingly better with every listen, an impressive accomplishment for any artist. Tillman is a brilliant drum major, marshaling this parade of expertly designed, astutely honest songs.
Father John Misty - Nancy From Now On from Fear Fun (Sub Pop 2012)
When I was much younger, I wanted to go to the moon. Not the NASA astronaut way. My way. I wanted to build something that would take me there. A structure, tall enough to knock elbows with constellations; so I could drink soup out of the big dipper.
I knew it was impossible. I knew it was. Like worse than a childhood fantasy, like the stupidity of my age. Like worse than the backwards, little league baseball cap in hot pursuit of a Ken Griffey title. Like worse than the sawdust six string learning ‘Voodoo Child’ as the other kids enjoy the Saturday street-game delight. But I wanted to give it my best try.
I saw the faces. The schoolyard naysayers and doleful neighborkids gaped and guffawed. ‘Impossible’, they thought. ‘Idiocy’, they claimed. I turned away with pride; I didn’t want them to know how they bothered me.
I began to construct. Construct with such grace and such passion. Delicately setting each bone in its place. It was calculated, it was meticulous. Arguing with the binds of unknown physics and stretching the busiest imagination.
But I saw the faces. The rigid teachers and all the lonely parents that had lost their confidence and love of nonsense. ‘Disappointing’, they thought. ‘A waste’, they muttered. I whined. Could they not see the possibility here? It was impossible.
I returned to the comfort of my workshop. Tinkering with the shape, I wore my fingers as I molded the creation. A makeshift, Raggedy-Ann, criss-cross model. A chamber for food, an elevator for me, a ladder in cases of emergency. A work in progress, a prototype. Will it hold?
But I saw the faces. My smiling friends had aged a bit. Their smiles retained, but not for fantasy and make-believe and towers to the moon. ‘Repressed’, they thought. ‘Distracted’, they said. But I didn’t need help to get to space.
Back to the job. Collected the tools, combined my resources. The finishing touches were added. The game was almost done.
But I’ve seen the faces. And they’ve seen mine. The tower is complete, but it was never quite tall enough.
And I aged too. Not the same. I still find myself drawing pictures of my moon.
Observer Drift, making videos in the backyard with the family camcorder since 1996. Still loving this small-time album. Some sweetwave, white boy jams. I can’t tell what he’s running from; he doesn’t look that scared of whatever it is. But he sure goes to a lot of different places and changes into a ton of outfits along the way.
I imagine that Beards, Wives, Denim is what people in the late 60’s thought about outer space. There is a subtle human quality present, but it takes an unusual shape. Natural curiosity comes from the contemplation of the universe beyond, as seen through a telescope. At moments, Pond evokes some similar ideas heard from earlier iconic musical space voyages (think Gustav Holst and 2001: A Space Odyssey if those composers had chosen to use Fenders, tube amps, and electronic organ). The hyped-up, psychedelic nature of this space adventure reveals that it is simply three human lifeforms reflecting on the final frontier from an Earth-bound perspective for a strictly Earth-bound audience. It is a science-fiction/fantasy musical novella that creates the psychotomimetic illusion of space exploration.
Pond - Elegant Design from Beards, Wives, Denim (Modular 2012)
In a single moment I saw a diverse world.
A backdrop. Color. Monochromatic at first, and then the lines of change and detail. Structure, nondescript in shape. Not ominous, but lacking the friendly comfort of a known. Lo, it is a bus stop. Familiarity is the most welcomed sensation.
A man stalks at my side, shuffling over-sized feet and dragging behind a lifetime of hard-earned complacency. He winks at no one in particular. A creature of gesture, I suppose to myself. A tip of the brow. A general nod. A wave.
A leprechaun hat walks into a bar. No joke here. A man was under the hat, I will not cannot see past the green mass. Alluring curiosity, I imagine, swarmed my own consciousness only to distract from the human form beneath.
A someone moves in the corner. Attention shifts. I think an offensive word. My community socialized me to associate that word with a person. My Jiminy Cricket taught me not to use it. I wish I’d never heard it.
There goes curly blonde. Streaks in the view. Reading signage.
Another costume passes. America. Glitter. Suit jacket, I think. Costumes on this day?
Mohawk negotiates with a quiet bus driver.
Man, homeless, is helped off the bus by four pairs of hands:
Two, compassionate
One, careless.
One, following.
Not for love, but to keep the bus rolling.
This is making a lot of sense to me right now. Maybe its the confusing comfort of the pink geometric euphoria. Maybe it’s the saddled llama. I know I’ve had dreams of drawn muppet-looking characters singing to me on trains. But I think they were just angry because I didn’t buy them any chocolate frogs when the sweets trolley rolled down our aisle.
M. Ward - The First Time I Ran Away from A Wasteland Companion (Merge 2012)
There’s something special here. Something that I do not hear everyday. There is a ‘try anything’ kind of confidence in the air. You can taste it with every harp flourish and reckless synth riff. Unreserved, heartfelt puissance behind every gradation in tone and theme. Kishi Bashi wants connectivity, an intersection of perceived realities, an openness and a collaboration with obstacle. The human condition is a playground, property of the human actors and a product of the purest elation in experimentation. The world is not scary; it is an ally. Use circumstance, use chaos, use the unknown and create an unpredictable treasure. Musically, 151a is nothing short of genius. The exceptional use of digital instrumental technology and its marriage with the rawest of human sounds are landmarks in 21st Century composition. The journey is unimaginable; the emotional prowess of the record is extremely moving. 151a is not to be missed.
Kishi Bashi - It All Began With A Burst from 151a (Joyful Noise Recordings 2012)
Unbeknownst to me, in 2011, a couple of dudes from Atlanta got together to throw together an album of tiny little pop gems. The third character in this story is the artful degraded fidelity that makes a generous appearance in every one of New Animal’s jams. Glistening and glowing with every splash in the water and tromp through the twilit woods. The calm and cool New Animal curiously searches for properties with which to adorn the creations. When you ride this particular tune, you will be accompanied by a spirited glockenspiel and the gentle hum of a dancing melodica; they will both be familiar friends by the end of the song. These are just two of the many playful sounds New Animal tries on over the duration of the album. It’s like a Where’s Waldo of quirky instruments.
New Animal - All I Want Is Gone from New Animal (2011)
After a long and fulfilling break from school, I return with desire for change.
I’ve spent the last few days in reflection and in conversation with some very wise individuals. Drawing conclusions has never been my forte, especially when it comes to articulating contemplative observations about myself. But I made some interesting discoveries in response to three different stimuli.
The following conclusions are ordered chronologically in which they were experienced:
In response to an essay by Lucius Annaeus Seneca entitled “On the Shortness of Life,” I have concluded that when I perceive experiences of anxiety or unhappiness, in reality, I elect to acknowledge and delve into detrimental atmosphere. Often, I waste time and energy burying into the negativity that I create through perception. However, I always have the opportunity to make a different choice; I have free agency to reject the power of irritation/disappointment/general displeasure by simply choosing not to let it unreasonably affect me.
In response to film/visual album created by Danny Perez and the band Animal Collective entitled ODDSAC, I have concluded that I rely too heavily on the security of plans and controllable order. I go to great lengths to apply formula and communicative understanding to an inevitably fluid, inconsistent world. The circumstances with which I interact and the environment in which I function is, ultimately, an obstinate, uncontrollable animal. My constant insistence to tame and cage the wild animal of life is an act of futility. Instead, I should learn how to practice the art of play, the openness and flexibility that will render any problem solvable, make any task achievable. The world is infinite, and the answers will never appear as I would have planned for them. Often I must destroy the parameters of expectation in order to create anything of which I can be truly proud.
In response to a conversation with a close friend who is wise beyond his years, I have concluded that I should avoid ‘settling.’ I often seek comfort in habit and routine, in schedules and dates on a calender. I’ve started to realize how this mentality detracts from the beauty in my surroundings, or rather, my appreciation of such beauty. I would like to prioritize a ‘wandering’ philosophy in my day-to-day life. I’d like to jump on opportunities as they walk by me or follow impulses to pursue new possibilities. Spontaneity is daunting, a quality indicative of much growth to be had. If I desire to experience or do or see something, I want to learn to set down irrational inhibitions and simply run after those prospects. There are obviously moral bounds and obligatory limitations informing this concept, but I believe this mindset to be healthfully freeing and ontologically encouraging.
I’m excited for changes. I hope to reflect and capture these ideas in artistic projects to be shared on later occasions.
ttfn
