Regina Spektor - "Samson". So I went to see Ms Spektor last week, urged by a friend, and I knew next to nothing going in - a smidge, a smidgen; a peck, a kiss. I'll say it simple: I was dazzled. She was an artist of astonishing confidence, of deserving confidence, who despite her cold sang high and low, joked and cursed and lullabyed. I can't remember the last time I saw a performer who held such a fine conversation with the audience; a conversation made up of choruses and cadences, applause and laughter, eye contact and wide-mouthed grins. Who would swagger ballsy into a song, a mouthful of nonsense, knowing exactly how to lead it into tenderness and hush. I was hanging on every word - like an infatuated fool, a hooked fish.

I've spent the past week trying to find the same sparkle in her recorded material. I must admit that I've not had remarkable success. While her songs are sound, the strut and whimsy intact, something's missing in many of these recordings. The CD manufacturers were unable to catch the flash of her brown eyes. So it goes.

But there are exceptions, friends. "Samson" is one of these.

A piano ballad, yes, but one that's too oblique to just melt on your tongue. Instead it sits there like a pebble. Careful if you swallow it. Careful.

For a short time as a kid I was haunted by the story of Samson, I think mostly because of a depiction of Delilah that I saw in some bible-story comic book. She was very pretty, yes, but there was an evil in her dark eyes and plucked eyebrows. Forget the Ice Queen, forget Cruella Deville - it was this, the traitorous girlfriend, the lover who isn't - that terrified me.

Now, however, how willingly I give myself to her. In Regina's hands, the story is inverted. Delilah's lilting, dangerous name is never spoken. Samson goes to her willingly, tenderly. "You are my sweetest downfall," he says, looking into her brown eyes, at her red, red hair. He goes to her willingly, presents his head, and as she snips there's a new future unfurling. No collapsing columns, no fable to terrify poor little Sean; just lovers in a bed, limbs entwined, and a dawn that can stretch on forever.

[buy Songs]

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The Isles - "Eve of the Battle". When the boys from Interpol (the band, not the agency) wake up and go into their walk-in wardrobes, trying to choose a suit to wear, a song comes on the radio. It's a little distant, a little faraway, on the other side of the wardrobe door. But the boys from Interpol sing along, coming up with some fun and lazy lyrics to this fun and lazy guitar-pop beat. They're really getting into it as they try on neckties and dress-shirts. One of them tries a bit of handclaps. They grin into their mirrors. They remember the chorus and sing that. "Yeah," they think, tying the double Windsor.

Each one of them arrives to the studio with every intention of sharing the song they've come up with, but as they see the others arrive, everyone in suit and tie; as they remember the moody muddle that Interpol records are supposed to be; they let that pop song flutter away. This is no time for something like that.

But on the bright side someone else is walking down the NYC streets, scarf wrapped around his neck, and in comes that song, jerking-and-jangling, and it gets caught in this fellow's hair. His pal notices it there: "What's this?" And they start a band.

[buy stuff by The Isles]

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Last night? Clap Your Hands Say Mediocre. Could you at least have tried, fellows?

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Elsewhere:

After hearing Lajko Felix's "Etno Camp" at this blog, Ajit Anthony Prem went and cut a trailer for his short film, Dear Stranger, using guess-what as its score. The trailer looks every bit as sensuous as it ought to. Go see.

After a month's absence, Moebius Rex has returned with two terrific posts. Unmissable is the song that goes by the mouthful
James Murphy & Munk "Kick Out The Chairs (WhoMadeWho replay)". A sweeter pop-song than anything on the LCD Soundsystem LP (or singles!), Murphy struttin' like Charles Wright, organic funk with a chorus like fruit salad on a greygloomy Monday.

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Cat Power contest

A little over a week ago, I announced a contest for a copy of the new Cat Power album, The Greatest. The terms of the contest were that you had to submit two lines of lyrics for an imaginary song called "Bluebird Liquor and Black Crow Wine".

The response was amazing. We received well over a hundred entries, a remarkably high proportion of which I would love to hear in song. Sadly, for the moment, I must but imagine.

I enquired with the generous folks at Matador Records, and they have agreed to send out Cat Power posters to three runners' up.

Unfortunately, tonight there also comes the news that Chan Marshall has cancelled her US tour due to "health reasons". Matador is tight-lipped on the details, but Chan being Chan, I worry. Said the Gramophone hopes you get better soon, soon, soon. Be well.

But, yes, the contest winners. Without further ado -

"Blubird Liquor and Black Crow Wine"

First Prize (Cat Power - The Greatest [deluxe edition])
and we spun and we cried 'neath the oak and old pine
till the bluebirds bled brandy, and the black crows, sweet wine
by Yoshi

First Runner-up (Cat Power poster)
you can't farm sorrow, as dry as a bone
it gets stuck in your boots on the long walk home
by Merchant Marine

Second Runner-up (Cat Power poster)
we'll murder that bottle of blood-bellied drop,
and passion will steel us til pause turns to stop.
by Tim Byron

Third Runner-up (Cat Power poster)
We spent all summer in a run-down mine
Making bluebird liquor and a black crow wine
by Red Ruin

Fourth Runner-up (my applause!)
Lilac and moss shrouded our faces
Drunken and slurred, I undid her laces.
by Jeff

Fifth Runner-up (a dozen dozen tipping-of-hats)
Drunk on the poison that floats in the air
Her feathered robe's torn, there's smoke in her hair
by jane

Congratulations to the winners and thank you for all of the marvellous submissions. If anyone decides they want to draw upon this bounty to record a song, do let me know.

You can buy The Greatest at the Matador Store.

(To view all of the submissions, click through below the fold on this entry.)

"That Ole Bluebird Liquor spoke and told me you were mine,
Guess I should'na barfed up the Black Crow Wine."

One stone, two birds, one better than the other.
Both fall, down the wall, down the hatch flying southern.

Been dyin' from the Bluebird Liquor,
Black Crow wine just makin' me sicker.

I saw my honey at the five and dime
But she said "Buddy you're wasting your time."

The black bird and the bluebird bottled,
together all these troubles throttled.

Jesus was a rednecked Indian sinner/by the time he was through with me
And if you've ever been to Gary, Indiana/then you know about the Land of the Free

A hiss, a lisp, a blackened prayer
I washed the moon out of my hair

watching through glass bottle bones he's found no enemies
just fragrant, tangled stalks of his jostling memories

Twisting, swirling, drunk - hiding in plain view
Flailing through this field –trying to find you

My mirror girl, she's Lewis Carroll reincarnated
Moon babbled it to me when we were in the car naked

On toasty quills and clover stills where groggy flyers climb,
The moon is shining as it swells and sips the air of time....

She said, you look different when the shine wears off
but I can still love you through the forest frost

we'll murder that bottle of blood-bellied drop,
and passion will steel us til pause turns to stop.

Out of the brier and off the vine
Comes Bluebird Liquor and Black Crow Wine

Bored and broke with prom pictures in my head
Pour me a potion to free the things I should've said

I tried to reach by mail
But, they said you went to jail

wings scratch my throat, I wonder which is the acider and which is the baser
the bluebird jabs down, loses a feather, so I follow it with a black crow chaser

I tell you all of my stories and you don't seem to mind
We'll dance after dinner if you'll spare the time

fly into the bottle like you're flying into power lines.
wings were made for singers who have lived and died in pines.

summers lost through an alcoholics lust
smiles rain down and turned his dreams into rust

Riding high on the wings of inebriation
Falling deeper into a world of intoxication.

Chase a shot of Bluebird Liquor with a bottle of Black Crow Wine,
Celebrate that you’ve gone and I’m feeling just fine.

Diaphragm choking on the drip grey
...the syllable that squandered the matinee

Lilac and moss shrouded our faces
Drunken and slurred, I undid her laces.

They saved the bluebird liquor for that fraud Herr Frankenstein,
While Igor, and the monster, and I swill black crow wine.

rising rasping birdsong in this glass somehow--
here's one for tomorrow, and one for now.

The bluebird liquor went down the fastest,
but the black crow wine made night the blackest.

Bluebird crying sounds like an ocean's break
Blackbird breathes just for breathing's sake

the stickier the liquor
the finer the whine-uor

...og mér mun ekki líka gjörðir mínar sveittur
þegar ég vakna á morgun, hlandblautur og þreyttur
(icelandic!)

Two for a bruise and none of a kind
Booze by his words matched the slack of her mind

Methinks the crow knows too much, the bluebird
doesn't stand a chance.
all he can do is sing and dance...

It was not my love of ornithology
That led to Friday night's apology...

When I slam back this concoction it goes right down to my spine,
but to bring myself together I just might have to bump a line

Swinging slowly in time with the laughing beat
i lifted the bottle and both of my feet

Acataleptic syntax rifles like wind through my hair
rhythm grounds the meaning and my feet in the air

Me and epsilon over three /
are drinking incoherently.

We found them drowned in barrels; their wings bound with twine
In the woods behind the water tower, the crescent sickle shines

The battle was lost on a liquor world tour
when it failed in Europe cause they hated liqueur

I flew off, lifted by its vapours
Far from my troubles, on the wing of a liquor

"CAW!" the old bird cried, as I crushed the grapes between my feet /
Cobalt juice to be distilled, aged then served -- but only ever neat.

Heady perfumes permeate the love-drunk air;
Twilight falling as bluebirds and black crows fix their gaze in a bittersweet stare.

Red beak told the dream and said,
"Drink its song. The bird is dead."

Only two reasons birds drink booze
Beaks you win; tails you lose

That hawk you caught, it ran off with our favorite turquoise cuff
And so I dreamt to take revenge on all: get out the old bathtub

Blood red earth and a blackbird sky
Bluebird whispers, it don't know why

You looked like you been twisted for a day if not a week
Instead of smoke, when we kissed, I could only taste his beak

This will take more than just one drink.
There ain't enough liquor to let her know what I think.

Drank, Drunk, Drink
Alcohol and liquor, can't stand the stink

Yes, feathers everywhere: starts in the ears;
Down the back like an ink-blot, catching the beers...

He's wearing birds for beards and a glint in his eye;
a dynamic twist on wanting to die...

'Pulled herself out the floor, said "You all smell of brine -
now lend me twelve farthings for bible-black wine..."'

there were birds in my mind there was nothing I said
she just drank the thounghs up right out of my head

The gurglings of my old man's bluebird still,
Twisted copper tubes creakin' crow's songs over foggy Johnson's hill.

You had no reason and you had no right
But you had enough drink for one night

Drip drops the feathers and I’m caught in tumbles
Treehouse that fell my wine sold in numbers.

my favorite pub, this winter night, him hunched over his wine.
I took a breath and said hello, the pleasure is all mine.

somedays the sky fills up with everything that's passed us by,
and I play drinking games with every bird that sounds its cry

I dont think I can make such bird juice
but with cat power I should not lose

Bird-drained whiskey works twice the quicker,
But bruises and bone-aches need two drinks thicker.

Drunk on the poison that floats in the air
Her feathered robe's torn, there's smoke in her hair

ain't got much to crow about
the change in the couch don't even count

the raven, that villain, with mawkish propriety,
obsequious, pallid did quoth - "no sobriety"

The bird died even so. The bird died even so.
The wasted empty bottle fell discarded to the floor.

The Riddler spoke of motion as intelligent fire-but no measure of mine
Could prevent the blue nail polish shards that dipped in black crow wine.

i was drinkin' all night almost got in a fight
But by dawns light everything seemed alright

A Cranberry Apple curved slightly at the tip
was a suitable space for a Black Crow to sit

But the phyche of the Bluebird was external.
encountering and distorting the deranged and delusional.

Hold me, shaken soul of mine.
What started out so pretty, now my deadly crime.

Go right ahead but I don't think you're able,
Cuz these two birds'll put ya under the table.

I met a raven-haired girl with a crow on her sweater,
Over the shirt is *nice*, BUT.. underneath is much better.

Inky frantic feathers in a window montage,
She left me on the bed by her discarded corsage.

you can't farm sorrow, as dry as a bone
it gets stuck in your boots on the long walk home

i flushed my tired tainted intelligent design
with a case of bluebird liquor and blackcrow wine

We shed our feathers in your cellar drowned in Black Crow County wine,
While the bluejays sang the weather our innocence slowly died.

the bluebird liquor went down the fastest,
but the black crow wine made night the blackest.

Driftwood rickshaw rubs over frozenmud,
Cellar lamps throw shadows like spilled blood.

I promise to be here tomorrow to see off the black crow that keeps you awake,
The fear that you feel is as right as it's real but the bluebird is easy to shake!

Cardinal Rum, Sparrow Beer, and Finch Tequila are all fine
But nothing compares to Bluebird Liquor and Black Crow Wine

drunk on the trees, whispering your name
neck stretched on this rope, i claw at my pain

in his drink induced stupour the bad haired barber
slipped on crows feet through the ashen faced harbour

Whilst the Bluebird drank her liquor, and the Black Crow drunk his wine
The Green Finch sipped from the absinthe bottle and lo' his eyes did shine

The drugged river follows you down through the hills
Snake saints and coiled guns lay in wait at the stills

In far valley away stand the giants with liqueur
Invite you in for the night, stay for twenty years or more

the blurbird liquor stole his mind;
he said "I'll get her back with this Black Crow Wine"

The essence of aviarian delight
aged with wings soaring in flight.

the smile sitting on my window sill
has nothing on the brew is in my basement still

never was green-faced sicker with blackout blinds
can't remember your touch but this drink reminds

under the influenza too thrushed to walk or to drive
gonna have to wing it this time if I want to get home alive

Tom Tit said I better leave it alone
but a little birdie told me there was nobody home

I can wish and can beg and can fight for that moment to stay,
but the bird is out of the bottle and she's flown away,

You got your tastes and I got mine
We're sky-high drunk all of the time

Your favorite song, forgot. That daydream god is raw...
Or is he a dog? His feathered mouthful snatched your unflown thought.

I went pirate for to stay
on seas filled to keep me at bay.

Under the apple, a bird on its back,
stuck in red meat, those beak points black.

we slapped and wrestled all night
no one won the sexual frustration fight

that bottle at your feet
has never tasted so sweet.

when there's something interceptin' on the telephone line
babah's paddin' out his bed things with wet paper and pine

Down in the holler where my sweetheart bides
My face in the mud, coughin' up my insides

She says we can't marry and no I can't kiss her
So gone are the nights when I'll lie with my sister

I'll wash down my sorrow with pleasures refined
Like bluebird liquor and black crow wine

"drown my sins in bathtub gin,"
prays the weak, above the din.

my dream, my liquor,thank you blurbird
my awaking, my wine, crow you blackbird

black crow wine, it comes from the hills
bluebird liquor, it comes from the mills

When we took to the sky we gave up the pleasure of ground/
Not a loss, just a trade, floating azure for standing brown.

The bird whispered I know what your thinkin',
Maybe it was me but I know I'd been drinkin'

Blurbird liqour and Black Crown Wine,
Bundled in wicker and golden twine.

Always drives me out of my mind, that
Blurbird liquor and Black Crow wine.

Drink of the bluebird til morning comes,
Yum Yum Yum, Cannibalism!

Biotech chef's beverage menu free prize
64 oz. with purchase of cuckoo fries

Go, drink the potion, sip the flame,
To understand that you are the same.

I was so sick I drank the wine,
I couldnt see but I was fine

She was looking fine after Black Crow Wine,
but the Bluebird Liquor got her in my bed quicker.

she sipped till she shimmered, till her soul fit to shine
and to wit whispered "hither" and collapsed into mine

and we spun and we cried 'neath the oak and old pine
till the bluebirds bled brandy, and the black crows, sweet wine

Raven haired and fair, sipping cabernet,
shy smiles to hide a heart of cold dismay

ashplant lover on the deepening night,
your eyelash flicker in the breath of black light.

Drown your minions, surrender the crush
Paint your mirrors with that old toothbrush.

Walking down the street again with my good old friends
bottles clanking, feet dusty, grins never end

I prefered Bluebirds, and she prefered Crows,
But crows are superior, as everyone knows.

We spent all summer in a run-down mine
Making bluebird liquor and a black crow wine