Eminem - "Love Game (ft. Kendrick Lamar)"
I kinda like living in a place I kinda hate.
Co-dependent fire, drum pulse rare-flossed grin all blood in the teeth. Days that clamor, loud and long, either God or the mayor's fingernails ripped up track marks, pyloned craters that drip down iron to the Lake. People put on their jackets in community centers and think, "Well, a little bit is better than nothing." Drivers deaf and grimacing with Angry Young Man's disease, sceptre-swinging and power-stripped. "That's a million-dollar home. And that's a million-dollar home. And that's a million-dollar home." That? That's a leaf. "Sorry. Next to the leaf." And the weather screams, tortured and strapped to the ceiling.
(image from consume consume)
Clare Maguire - "The Last Time I Saw Richard". It was hard for me to imagine loving a faithful cover of Joni Mitchell's "The Last Time I Saw Richard". What was there to improve upon? But Clare Maguire has recorded an interpretation that glows with its care and feeling. Slow as clocks, fragile and deliberate. A long line of still & precarious thoughts.
Clare Maguire - "Half Hearted Love". Then this completely other things, Maguire summoning a different voice from deep in her chest. A tinny 60s sound, Phil Spector-sized, ten million miles from Maguire's terrible electropop debut. But it doesn't feel gimmicky or over-considered - it feels authentic, lived, loved. A song the singer wanted to sing, in a way that she daydreamed, rendered in adoring tape-hiss, in woodblock and piano, in the rose and sepia of a thrilled demo.
[website / soundcloud / thanks eoin]
A very sincere farewell and godspeed to Herohill. This was one of the most carefully-written music blogs on the internet, and one of the oldest, and a pillar for the Canadian scene. Thank you.
In Montreal, out friends at Eyesteelfilm are premiering Jingle Bell Rocks on Friday. A documentary about obsessive collectors of Christmas records, featuring the likes of Rev Run and John Waters. View the trailer here.
Sardines have a lot of predators, let's face it. But they have a built-in defense against these predators called baitballing. When they are under threat, they swirl rapidly in a large spherical mass, becoming, essentially, a weapon. Some predators either see the mass as a larger animal or can't process what's happening and move on. But often predators are familiar with the baitball and will pick off the undoubtedly slower, weaker swimmers on the outside. The baitball really only works for those on the inside. So why would the weaker, slower fish participate in the baitball? They're going to lose. But they don't know the numbers. And for fish, survival is all about the numbers. Thousands of eggs are laid by every mating pair, but only a few survive to adulthood. To a fish, there is no such thing as the odds of survival, and thank goodness, because they would just give up and die.
I swear to fucking God I could feel his cell phone vibrating in his pocket during the show. I could FEEL it. I was sitting next to him and I could hear it with my cheek, I felt it in my shoe. And I knew what was happening: "You're so good!" "You look cute up there!" "Haha, sry Ill wait til your finished" I was sweating. My thighs were sweating. Those fucking seats were making my thighs sweat and I thought Christmas is gonna suck. I'll be up there with my parents and CNN.com and fucking Ricky the dickhead, and all I'm gonna be able to think about is him and all he'll be doing is texting and texting her and they'll be sending each other fucking holiday selfies. "Should I eat this?" snapchat whole bowl of chocolates. "YA!" reply super-cute smile. Ugh, 1000-piece puzzle here I fucking come.
On the back of a receipt for iced tea and a Kit-Kat Chunky: "It's social suicide, it's very different."
New Dog - "Sleeping Bag".
A song that turns over, that shifts in its own shadow, as time goes on. It begins as direct address; it ends in solitary quiet, interwoven guitar. There is a guitar solo like a felled wood. There is movement in the air.
Sleeping bag is an ugly phrase. But is anything more intimate than a shared bedroll? Two cocooned shapes, tall sky, earth that seems to go on forever. Touch and murmur, equilibrium, dew. A closeness that can be too close, or next to too close.
A man in a sleeping bag knows the outside space like he is already in it. He feels the tremors in the air. He feels the dappled light. He feels the wind that passes between grassblades, doorposts, hills.
A song like this, you wonder: what would we do without guitars? How would we show the world?
[New Dog is new music from Anar Badalov, who played songs with Travels and Metal Hearts. / It recalls Yo La Tengo, Julie Doiron, mid-period Cat Power. / buy at Bandcamp.]
(photo by Filippo Minelli)
11:10 AM on Nov 28, 2013
Okkervil River - "Down Down the Deep River". A song like a TV themesong, a glitzy red carpet for a stream of live audience-members, a deckled invitation to a man with a thin-stem microphone. The walls have hieroglyphics in fake neon, pink and orange. The cages are filled with tigers and lions. There are roars, there are cheers, there is the crash of pop-song cymbal and the ripple of pop-song guitar. People are waving placards, people are waving their smiles, smiles and placards catching the fake neon light. The man with the thin-stem microphone wants to give the crowd some wisdom, to use this moment for something besides corvettes and kitchen sets. Forget the spay & neuter, he's got something bigger to share. Something that harkens back to riverside makeouts and childhood camping trips, backyard crushes and lockercrisp longing, something involving a driveway and a girl and an autumn, something like that, just as soon as he can remember it. [buy The Silver Gymnasium]
Talmud Beach - "How Long?". Dry dogfood blues. Enough wink and slip to make it mesmerising; enough noise in the signal. This clock deserves a second look. This burro has boogie. Hide Beck in Finland, like Rip Van Winkle, and after a few decades, with sand in his eyes, he might make a thing like this. [buy]
10:51 AM on Nov 25, 2013
Freelove Fenner - "Mary". Is it wrong to call Freelove Fenner's guitar-lines "cartographic"? Does it make sense? Maybe it's just me who hears these trills and reversals as twisting roads, corners on a map, the thrust and parry of royal blue highways. A Freelove Fenner song feels like a neighbourhood, a city flattened out and populated; there's a topography, hills and valleys, furrows for rain to follow.
Maybe I'm alone in my synesthesia. Maybe, for you, "Mary"'s blues and reds are metaphors. Maybe you hear no winding lines, see no knots. But when I say this song is loose, does that compute? When I say it is loose and also tight? Montreal's Freelove Fenner are extraordinary architects of sonic space - their songs are filled with neat little figures, perfect and separate, or interlocking. They are stubbornly sweet-and-sour. Their sentiments are obtuse. Do Not Affect A Breezy Manner reminds me of Mary Timony's Helium, Let's Active, and Young Marble Giants, but never of other people's records - just the memory of their sound.
11:53 AM on Nov 21, 2013
Don Cavalli - "You And My Zundapp"
I've laid in bed ten thousand times and clucked the moon under my tongue. It's sugary with every bed-partner I've ever had and they all get stirred up and together like ocean dust. I've felt the same way every night, I watched-pot myself to sleep from four feet in the air, thinking maybe I'll be able to see it happen, learn how. And there is no lesson from the flicker and the uplights that jag ceiling corners, there is only wouldn't that be slutty, and text messages, the new erections.
[Buy Temperamental from Insound]
(photo by Jérémie Souteyrat of a park in Fukushima)
about said the gramophone
this is a daily sampler of really good songs
. all tracks are posted out of love
. please go out and buy the records
to play a song in your browser, click the
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all songs are removed within a week or two of posting.
said the gramophone
launched in march 2003, and added songs in november of that year. it was one of the world's very first mp3blogs.
if you would like to say hello, find out our mailing addresses or invite us to shows, please get in touch:
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"and i shall watch the ferry-boats / and they'll get high on a bluer ocean / against tomorrow's sky / and i will never grow so old again."
about the authors
lives in Montreal. His debut novel, Us Conductors
, will be published by Random House Canada/Tin House Books in spring 2014. His work also occasionally appears at McSweeney's
. Follow him on Twitter
or reach him here
is an actor and writer living in Toronto. Any claim he makes about his life on here is probably untrue. Email him here
lives in Toronto. He is an opinion editor at the Toronto Star
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. The header graphic is randomized: this one is by Daria Tessler
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things we like in Montreal
le pick up
au pied de cochon
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blue skies turn black
montreal improv theatre
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