Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Someone asked me, "Where are you from?"

I almost said, "San Francisco." Then I remembered.

"New York City," I said.

For six years in SF, someone would ask me that question and I'd answer, automatically, "New York." But now it's different. When I think of Home, I don't think of my current retro enviroment, I think of the last place I, as an adult, called my own.

I was right all along. Home is just a matter of perspective.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Rule #6 In Music I Love:
A band doesn't need good lyrics, but it helps. A lot.

The Arcade Fire - "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)"
And if the snow buries my,
my neighborhood.
And if my parents are crying
then I'll dig a tunnel from my window to yours,
yeah a tunnel from my window to yours.
You climb out the chimney
and meet me in the middle,
the middle of town.
And since there's no one else around,
we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know,
then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

You change all the lead
sleepin' in my head,
as the day grows dim
I hear you sing a golden hymn.

Then we tried to name our babies,
but we forgot all the names that,
the names we used to know.
But sometimes, we remember our bedrooms,
and our parent's bedrooms,
and the bedrooms of our friends.
Then we think of our parents,
well what ever happened to them?!

You change all the lead
sleepin' in my head to gold,
as the day grows dim,
I hear you sing a golden hymn,
the song I've been trying to say.

Purify the colors, purify my mind.
Purify the colors, purify my mind,
and spread the ashes of the colors
over this heart of mine!

Death Cab for Cutie - "Styrofoam Plates"

there's a saltwater film on the jar of your
ashes: i threw them to sea but a gust
blew them backwards and the sting in my
eyes that you then inflicted was par for
the course just as when you were living.

it's no stretch to say you were not quite
a father but a donor of seeds to a poor
single mother that would raise us alone,
we'd never see the money that went
down your throat
through the hole in your belly.

thirteen years old in the suburbs of denver
standing in line for Thanksgiving dinner at the
catholic chuch. the servers wore crosses
to shield from the sufferance plauging the
others. styrofoam plates, cafateria tables
charity reeks of cheap wine and pity
and i'm thinking of you. i do every year
when we count all our blessings
and wonder what we're doing here.

you're a disgrace to the concept of family
the priest won't divulge that fact in his
homily and i'll stand up and scream
if the mourning remain quiet,
you can deck out a lie in a suit but i won't buy it.

i won't join in the procession that's
speaking their peace. using five dollar
words while praising his integrity. and just
cause he's gone it doesn't change the
fact: he was a bastard in life thus a
bastard in death.


Two examples.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

Death Cab for Cutie tonight. (Adjectives to follow). Great! Awesome! Super-duper! Ben Gibb-irifc!

It’s a wonderful, wonderful, feeling to see a band you love. It’s like they’re playing for YOU. Not anybody else in the audience. But you. You sing every lyric, you feel every timechange, you experience the moment to the best of your abilites. You make it a memory.

I feel privilged and proud to have taken my girlfriend to her first great indie rock show. We’ve tried once or twice before, not as much as I’d like, but when you live in a corner of the country, the shows are scare. (And nothing compares to my six years in San Francisco anyway.) BUT! Finally. Tonight, we saw a band that I’ve loved for a year – and seeing for my first time – one of her new favorite bands. Also lucky enough to see a band at a relatively small venue while they embark on their journey upwards in recognition and audience-size. The audience was huge. And the venue was amazing. Well-air-conditioned, a modified club or bar of the past with multiple levels, a huge stage, and a lot of elbow room. The place is called Revolution, in Fort Lauderdale. I have a feeling we’ll be there again.

Finally, the show: It’s a rare thing (unfortantely) in these days to find a band with a consistent career. Death Cab for Cutie have four, high-quality CD’s with the odd weak song, but for the most part, a very large and very A-material catalog. Even their B-sides are great (Check out Death Cab’s bjork cover, “All Is Full of Love” for a real treat.) They played for about an hour an half, focusing mainly on their last two albums, one of which is huge in the vast-growing indie rock eruption. (Latins have explosions, we’ve got a slow, gradual, imbuing of awesomness in main-stream music (see Franz Ferdinand)). Lots of people really into the new stuff and though I think they’re best work is The Photo Album, the new stuff feels real modern and fresh. The finale of the night, the title track, Transatlantisicm, was sweeping and gorgeous. And I’m not exaggerating. The guitarist and Decemberists producer Chris Walla was strange, with his zombie look and Interpol-like-guitar-in-hand-dancing. Ben Gibbard, famous now because of the sublime Postal Service, was equally and brilliantly impressive. He sang with a ferocity over raging guitars and with quiet gentles on slower, heart-ier, tracks. Highlights: “Blacking out the Friction,” “Lightness,” “Why’d You Want to Live Here?,” “Movie Script Ending,” “Title and Regristration,” and “Transatlanticism.”

They mentioned at the end of the show that they’d be back soon. Which could mean they’re touring around the country, possibly in support or preparation of new material. New album soon, I predict. Can’t wait.

Shout-out to Danya and Val, two girls with great taste in music.

Thursday, October 07, 2004

ohhh yeaahhhh (The Truth About Cheney's Untruths).

smell that? that's the smell of change.

Go Kerry/Edwards. Keep keeping it real.