This is a musicblog. Every weekday we post a couple of mp3s and write about them. Songs are only kept online for a short time. This is a page from our archives and thus the mp3s linked to may not longer be available. Visit our front page for new songs and words.

January 31, 2012


Xiu Xiu - "Born to Suffer"

Edmund alone. Reads an article about a teenager, looks like Evelyn, hospitalized for eating only chicken nuggets for 17 years. She had chronic fatigue and shortness of breath. Possible that eating healthy doesn't get you much farther. Checks the weather, with no plans of going outside. Checks facebook pages in this order:

Jen (3rd wife)
accused him of being mentally unstable, he replied "I've never even burnt toast in my life". Someone (Jean Guipta, unfortunate, hateable name) has posted a picture of Bruce Dern with a quote from Mohammed Ali, it's essentially meaningless. "Jen is now friends with Allan Hough." Allan doesn't seem to live here.

Evelyn (eldest daughter)
the most exciting page. Her three closest friends, Amy, Carla, and Devon mostly populate this wall. With cryptic posts like "puppy supper" (3 likes) and a video of Kurt Browning skating to Casablanca (comment: "I want that suit")

Alison (2nd wife)
if Edmund's mentally unstable, Alison's gotta be off the charts. Not a lot of action here, mostly motivational realizations as status updates. "I can do exactly what I can."

May (new girlfriend)
Why she comes so low on the list is a mystery, but Edmund takes comfort in that. It could be worse. Not much here, just lovely pictures.

Carolyn (1st wife)
actually enjoys a visit here. She's cross-country skiing. She's taking pictures of breakfast. Her father Kevin will post strange things ("Got it!") and mostly she spends her time liking things related to Evelyn.

Watches porn (anything with emotion is too depressing, anything too mechanical is a nightmare, it's usually an unsuccessful venture). Takes shower (sitting more often than not). Eats food (chocolate first, followed by anything else). Gets dressed (same as yesterday will do).

Edmund walks and sees dogs and children and snow. And thinks about sunlight and whether it's really as powerful as all that.

[Always Pre-Order, always]


ALSO: see Xiu Xiu's rabid political action request. Sometimes it feels like Xiu Xiu lives in a world 3 years ahead of ours, in which things have gotten much worse, and he's fighting at that level.

SATURDAY: RatTail is finally releasing their LP with a show and party at Double-Double Land in Toronto.

Posted by Dan at 11:34 AM | Comments (0)

January 30, 2012


Make Melbourne a better place.

Hooray for Earth - "True Loves". The notion with the laser-guns is that you'd get this device, point it at someone, and make that someone disappear. They'd be detonated, demolished, turned into spray. The first laser-guns were gigantic, big as rooms, but the scientists were certain that they'd improve. The laser-guns would get smaller, small as guns, and space-cowboys'd be able to carry them in holsters, swaggery. Unfortunately the laser-guns never got smaller. The technology just didn't scale down. So we haul our laser-guns, big as rooms. in wagons the size of dance-floors. They are heavy and cumbersome. They are impossible to get into position. Instead of shooting people, we usually spend our time orienting and aiming our room-size weapons. We chat and mingle. We fall in love with each other, we laser-gun operators. We are incorrigible, we're like a village, and we're very happy. [buy]

Waters - "For The One".

3. CATCH ANVILS (if appropriate).



Both of these songs come to me via the blog Hunt & Gather, whose Some of the Best Songs of 2011 That You May Not Have Heard Yet is the best such list that I've encountered. Not just because of the little unspoolings prose, but because the songs are great! And many of them I hadn't heard! Andrew likes the sorts of songs that I like, and if you're like us you'll like them too. Besides Waters and Hooray for Earth, my highlights are Nomadic Firs, One Room, Mr Little Jeans, Gross Magic, the War on Drugs, Dirty Beaches, Quilt, Purity Ring and Yohuna & Adelyn Rose. Go forth and enjoy.

Posted by Sean at 11:41 AM | Comments (3)

January 27, 2012

Three Notes

Edmund has written three suicide notes in his life. No one has seen them but him, and he never got so close that he even attempted any of their promise, but still he wrote them, actually on paper. And he thinks about them sometimes.


I'm sorry for all the trouble. I don't like putting up with me either. Hopefully Evelyn only has my eyes.

- Edmund

He thought of leaving it under the windshield wiper and remembered wondering if she would throw out his CDs or not.

Ali, this should do the trick. -E

Written on the back of a bank statement, indicating a zero balance, because he had transferred all his money into her account. He ate a burger while he looked at it and thought about how people of other generations than his spent their lives fighting wars.

"There was obviously something else going on. It's not your fault." "No, I didn't, and yes, it was."

He remembered feeling their weight in his hand. It was like building a weapon. It could take any shape, it could be any strength. The only dissatisfying thing was having to shoot the weapon into the air without getting to see if it hit the target. There was a hand on top of his.

"Ed?" It was May. "Hm?" "What are you thinking about?" He smiled. "You. Always you."

Digital Leather - "Sweet Cheeks"

[Buy Too Beautiful to Work]
[Buy Modern Problems]

Posted by Dan at 2:44 AM | Comments (0)

January 26, 2012


Arms reaching

Actual Water - "La Violence sur les Champs-Élysées". At first it seemed like a regular charge, an army with pikes and muskets marching down the boulevard. But as they passed through the tulip gardens, the soldiers began to change. Musketmen blurred into pikemen. Generals became their uniforms. Greens, blacks and pinks seemed to smear together. There was still violence in the crowd, still gunsmoke and pride. But this wasn't a gang of gathered patriots. This was a hideous, splendid, multi-limbed thing, galloping through broken petals.

[Actual Water are from Toronto. They make lo-fi paisley pop, like a beautiful broken 45. Their new LP is out today / bandcamp / video / album release party at Toronto's Sneaky Dees, tonight!]

Augustine Enebeli Olisa & The Black Arrows - "Isiche". In a week of many beauties, this is the most beautiful thing I have heard. Shadows, starlings, looks in lamplight. The tenderness of the horns, the kindness of the guitars, the sureness of Olisa's voice. Fumbling and happy, I resort to old metaphors. ...the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down Jo me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. [out of print]


Unlikely solicitation: Do you live in Russia? I am hoping to make the journey this summer, to research my book. I'd love to connect with readers - please get in touch! The only for-sures on the itinerary are St Petersburg and Magadan, Siberia, which brings me to my second question. Magadan. That is a very faraway place - for me, at the edge of the known world. And so I'm working very hard to try to find contacts there - would-be friends, friends-of-friends, friends-of-friends-of-friends. Do you live near Magadan? Do you know someone near Magadan? Do you know someone who might know someone near Magadan? Family, friends, former research assistants? If so, I would be very grateful if you'd email me.

(image source)

Posted by Sean at 11:27 AM | Comments (3)

January 24, 2012

A Spirit in the Stuff


Zafari - "King Masaru"

At the Science Museum with Frank. He likes the buttons. He and Edmund walk the halls of snow-tracked carpet, and it feels like there's an unsettling kind of presence in the air of things, a sort of spirit in the stuff. It's early on a Sunday, in the hours before Frank has to go back to his mom, and the museum is not well-attended. The dinosaurs with their heads up in the darkness and the ducts, seem to bob and weave like boxers, the palm leaves seem to sway in time. The old trains seem to heat up, and shadow passengers seem to stare and hum and smoke. In the military section, a giant tank suddenly has a taxi sign and a driver in a cloth hat, arm slung out the window. The ring game and the motorbike circle and the gravity machine all seem perilous this Sunday morning, like crooked carnival games where you lose way more than two bucks a try. Miss the balloon, you'll be going home in a sling. Look sideways at an ex-president or the tallest man in history and you'll be wishing you were back in your mommy's arms. Edmund kept his coat on the whole time, and he wondered if Frank cared that they barely spoke.


(image by superhoop)

Posted by Dan at 3:00 AM | Comments (0)

January 23, 2012


Made in USA stickers

Lower Dens - "Brains". Like a skeleton opening the door and welcoming you inside, and he shows you a good time, with interesting guests & tasty snacks & the fancy kind of gin, sitting right out on the counter, and you forget he is a skeleton until it is time to leave, and he reaches for an embrace, and your arms are around his ribcage, and you smell that smell like chalk, fresh snow, old earth, and you realize that he is not your friend.

[website / Nootropics is due May 1 on Ribbon Music]

Reversing Falls - "Curse This Place" (Song removed at band request - for now!) You do not undo a thing by saying, F*ck this thing! You do not destroy a land by damning it. Reversing Falls grit their teeth, charge their guitars, but they know they cannot unmake the place they are cursing. It is bigger than they are, crueller, fiercer and louder and more motherfucking killer. That is what makes it worthy of cursing. As a band cowers in a basement rehearsal space, chugging, singing, spending one guitar-pick after another, the city stands permanent and beautiful around them. Its skyline is ambivalent, and its snowplows, and its nighttime spotlights, skimming the clouds. Curse the shine on this diamond, curse the love in these clutching hands.

[website for this riffwave stuff / bandcamp / Reversing Falls are from Montreal / Southern Souls video for "Curse This Place"]

(image source)

Posted by Sean at 1:26 PM | Comments (2)

January 20, 2012

The Influence

Tomboyfriend - "Lovesickness"

Alison is currently smoking. And was smoking. And is also waiting to smoke. Her 9-year-old, Frank, is with Edmund, his father, for the weekend, and when he does that, Alison turns into a chimney. But tonight is particularly bad. Something about Frank leaving, it always feels like a tape is put on pause in her brain, like a Frank-sized hole opens up in the front hall, and it stands there. She kind of can't move, because any movement will be wrong. She opens her mouth like she's popping her ears, moves her jaw around, takes a drag. Tonight she went out to get something to eat, and she couldn't walk into a place. She physically couldn't walk into one of the ten places on her block. Sushi, too sit-down, I'll feel crazy. Pad Thai? Too heavy. Subway, fuck no. Vegan, too healthy, too sad. So she just walked around, in the freezing cold, sometimes she'd just turn on her heel on the sidewalk, go back the other way, see if passing a second time would change something. She was hyperventilating. Softly hyperventilating, trying not to heave, not to show it. Then, it's back to the house, back to the dining room table, the brown china cabinet, the computer and the cigarettes. It's as if her brain just stammers, like "I--I---uh---I--" from Friday at 6 until Sunday at 9, once a month.


Also, Tomboyfriend is playing tonight at the El Mocambo, releasing their new EP King of the Animals. 5$

Posted by Dan at 7:34 PM | Comments (2)

January 19, 2012


Satellite photo of Costa Concordia

Schoolboy Q - "There He Go". Now this is how you swagger. This is how you do braggadocio in 2012. Striding, driving, charging right up to the thing that you want; and taking it. Q is high and elite, hot and packing heat. He's a fucking asshole, stealing girls, slinging metaphor. Pistols, pistachio, "whatever occur". He's not wrong when he raps: "Magnificent / They be like, 'There he go!'".

[buy Schoolboy Q's outstanding LP, Habits & Contradictions, at iTunes]

Bernice - "Rêve Général". She found him in spite of it all. Parc Avenue was a warzone: battered shopfronts, cleaved sidewalks, broken glass. Pianos were still falling from the sky. Each one began as a distant black dot, almost imperceptible in the cloudcover. Then slowly it would get larger, and larger, all telltale shape. And the birds would get out of its way. And then suddenly the piano would be so close as to be unavoidable, hurtling, fated. Each one hit the street with a sound like the end of the world. One unthinkable chord, jarring the air. Everything splintering: wood, wire, ebony, ivory. This was happening all around her. It had been happening for days. The pianos began to fall and now they kept falling - a whimsical devastation but still utterly murderous, unkind, final. She walked along Parc Avenue, dodging each growing silhouette, watching cats lap at black lacquer, toward him; and she found him, in spite of it all, because of the seriousness in her eyes.

[Toronto's Bernice have made a marvellous thing, with THOMAS's Thom Gill, Daniel Fortin, Sister Suvi's Nico Dann, and the singer Robin Dann / buy]

Posted by Sean at 4:08 PM | Comments (2)

January 17, 2012

Nap Eyes

Nap Eyes - "Every Game Is A Game Of Stalemate"

Edmund wore 41 like a bicycle helmet on grey hair, like a backpack on a suit jacket, he wore it like sneakers at the bank. He had thick brown hair, in a coif atop his head, he wore the cheap version of men's magazine clothing. He looked like Bobby Fischer, but less haunted. More daunted, unwanted. He let himself in through the back door of his ex-father-in-law's house. From his first marriage; Carolyn, mother of Evelyn. No one is home, he's dropping off a birthday gift in the kitchen. Kevin's kitchen, where so much greatness had been stirred, heated and watched. Kevin and Edmund had remained close after the split and all these years. Kevin was a poet, and the kitchen was proof of that. It was cluttered with warmth, the shelves all stacked to the ceiling, the many shades of wood interlocking with other wood. On the cutting board was a note he'd left for Edmund, a typically risky move from Kevin, anyone could have seen it:

"It seems my daughter's found herself in another mess. A customs officer named Garry with whitened teeth and a scary-looking dog. In love, it seems she's far more interested in the falling than in the getting up."


Posted by Dan at 8:29 PM | Comments (4)

January 16, 2012


Le Trombe del giudizio, by Michelangelo Pistoletto

Woodpigeon - "Are You There, God? It's Me, Mark". A song of seeking love, like so many others. But Mark Hamilton beseeches the universe in a tone that is unexpected, rough. "Are You There, God?" is gorgeous and furious. It's unsettled. These are the browns and navy blues of a painted shipwreck, a frozen shipwreck, a shipwreck at that moment where it is not yet wrecked; and the sun may rise, and the waves may settle, and the world may be kind, not cruel. Even the coda's sweetness is laced with something bitter; perhaps it is poison, perhaps it is nothing at all. Perhaps everything can work out OK.

[from Woodpigeon's beautiful & serious For Paolo EP / listen now / out Jan 23]

Water Liars/Phantom Limb - "Whoa Back" (Song removed at label request.) "Hi Julie. You need to update your message! Anyway, how are you? I never got to finish the story I was telling you this morning. I told you how Susan got a boat and then we found this nice little cottage timeshare on Craigslist. But what I didn't get to say is how we went down there in September, towing the boat. Two beautiful days in the countryside - rustling aspens, shouting bluejays, the whole caboodle. Very much in love. And then one afternoon we went out in the boat to the middle of the lake, and hoisted our fishing lines and Susan caught the end of a piece of rope. It wasn't a gross seaweedy rope - just a regular wet rope. When she tugged it, she could feel something on the end, down below. So we dragged it up into the boat. It was a giant ruby. I mean - we didn't know it was a ruby, it just looked like a beautiful shiny something, the size of a navel orange. The rope was tied to the ruby and then the ruby was tied to something else: the rope continued into the lake. So we pulled it out some more, and this time got a golden boot. A knee-high boot, made of gold. Like a sculpture. And more rope. So we pulled and pulled and kept getting these incredible treasures. A silver tiara, a diamond sceptre, a huge emerald and another giant ruby. Also some weirder things - a marble bust, a binder full of baseball cards, a locked jewellery-box that we still haven't opened. Soon the boat was way overburdened. Like, we were going to sink! We had enough treasure, anyway. So Susan snipped the rope and we rowed right back to shore. We waited a day or two. Then we drove everything into town. We're millionaires now and it's just the begin--" [message abruptly cuts off]

[Water Liars' excellent Phantom Limb LP recalls Phosphorescent, Songs:Ohia, Bedhead and the peppery smoke of heartbreak. Also, it is a collectors item. Formerly known as Phantom Limb, the band changed their name in December, after the CDs/LPs were printed. // Buy -- highly recommended.]

(photograph is Le Trombe del giudizio, by Michelangelo Pistoletto, 1968.)

Posted by Sean at 11:31 AM | Comments (0)

January 13, 2012

Transit Is the Only Love

The Doozies - "Independence Day"

"Edmund, you're a witch." Tate was a bright 3, his child from Jen, by whom he was divorced the previous year. "A witch?! But witches are women!" He sat on the arm of the armchair, his long belted coat draped like a flag over his shoulders; he couldn't stay long. "I don't care," said Tate, he had a way of not looking at you when he talked to you, which implied an intelligence, a rudeness, and also nothing at at all. "What makes you think I'm a witch?" said Edmund. "You move around really fast." There was only so much reasoning to expect from a 3-year-old, and one did a lot filling in the blanks, often too much. Edmund thought of how he might call and say he's somewhere and then quickly arrive. He thought of himself moving quickly around the house, picking Tate up and spinning him in the air. He thought about the last time he was on a plane, and how he had to piss worse than any other time in his life. He thought about the way traveling shakes the juices out of you. All the chemicals get shaken loose, and you could cry or shove somebody or just look at nothing and feel nothing. He looked at Tate, standing by an empty box, humming. "Hey, Tate?" Tate didn't look over, but Edmund could tell he was listening, as could he tell was Jen, moving silently in the kitchen round the corner, "Call me Dad."


Posted by Dan at 4:44 PM | Comments (0)

January 12, 2012


Cristo w Liberty

Hospitality - "Eighth Avenue". A jumbling season, winter gone summered. Tyrone is standing at the top of a skyscraper and he can't remember if it's November or July, if the city is glinting with sunlight or with ice. He has also forgotten the condition of his heart. Standing on the escalator, descending from the viewpoint, he passes an acquaintance, his former florist. "Hey how are you," says the florist, who is ascending. Tyrone nods a greeting. But he asks himself: How am I? It shouldn't be so hard to work out. Is he brokenhearted or in love? Is he sad or happy? When did he last visit the florist, and to what end? This damn city is confusing him; it's so beautiful, jumbled beautiful, with the skidding buses and crowing horns, the dusty smells, that he can't catch the gist of his own silhouette.

[Love this song's blur of Belle & Sebastian and all sorts of other things, from Big Star to Beulah, dappled crashing / Buy]

Steve Gates - "You Were Always On My Mind (ft Catherine MacLellan)". Sometimes the things you've said before bear repeating. They are like flags, hoisted. There is no need to stand or salute; it is enough to know the pennant is there, spangled, rippling, matching the colour in your face.


Posted by Sean at 10:29 AM | Comments (0)

January 10, 2012

Hoppers Rug Art


The Last Names - "One Black Feather"

43-year-old teenager. After a shower, May lay steaming on the bed. The bed with the long-empty passenger seat, covers heaped in a twisted pile. She tapped through pictures of friends' families, their time magnets, their love wells. She read insincerity on the smiles of some, honesty on the goofy mugs of others. A goofy face was an honest face, if a tragic kind of twisted honesty. Like when you catch your face in two mirrors and it looks all lopsided.

She waited for Edmund and thought about what she would say if he arrived early and she was still naked. She thought about playing it up as some erotic joke, she fantasized briefly about just fucking him right there on the floor as soon as he walked in. She thought about the wry and smirking sexual talk she could give, I want you to-- and You make me so--. It would require that he say just the right things in return, though. Better to just get dressed.

[Preview Wilderness] [Cover-a-Week Project]

The Bats Pajamas - "Go Bowie Go"

Sex that felt like getting out of jail. Like a Nicolas Roeg scene. Pushing and lifting and brushing and breasts. Tits and teeth and smiles and foreheads pressed. Edmund ran after. He just ran. Past the car and down the street and past a dour-looking doorman and a broken pharmacy sign: "Hoppers Rug Art". Eventually he walked chilly back to the car, his open coat gathering the cold air like a parachute, but he felt like he worked, like he functioned, like he could make something else function. Like his car.

"Computer. Turn on heat."

"The heat is on."

"Then turn it up."


Posted by Dan at 1:14 AM | Comments (2)

January 9, 2012


Photograph by Horst P Horst

Neal Morgan - "Fathers Day". Sometimes you hear a song and you go: oh shit i need to buy this. Other times, like this time, you hear a song and go: oh shit i need to buy this and also i need to buy a drumkit. I went to Neal Morgan's website, clicked BLUE AUDIOPHILE LIMITED LP w/ mp3 because I am a sucker for limited edition things by artists that make the top of my head fly off, skimming out across the room to hit the painting over the lamp. After I had ordered Neal's record I went to and did a search for sweet drumkit and then clicked Buy It Now and ordered a vintage GRETSCH orange drumkit 60s, and three weeks later it arrived.

I set up the Gretsch drumkit on a rug in my living-room, beside the painting and the lamp and the top of my head. The reds and blacks in the rug worked well with the orange of the drums. I keep drumsticks in a beautiful chest and so I took the sticks out of the chest, smoothing the velvet with the back of my hand. I raised the drumstool until it was perfect and then I sat down. I raised the drumsticks. I hit the drums. I racketed and blitzed. I was remembering the way Neal Morgan coos and hoos and bloos, like a red and black bird. I was remembering the way he hits his cowbell, like he is rattling a golden egg. As I played the drums, I stood up and sat down. I rocked back and forth. I farted and died. I came back to life with a clear blue look in my eyes, the look of a lover or a killer, someone who is going to stroll into someone else's memories and point at the person who will cause them harm and say, into the camera of the rememberer's mind's eye, This person will do you harm, and then pull out a knife. That's the look I had, which is a complicated look, and not one you forget.

[you may have seen Neal Morgan on tour with Bill Callahan or as part of Joanna Newsom's band / holy shit, right? / buy]

(photograph by Horst P Horst

Posted by Sean at 10:37 AM | Comments (3)

January 6, 2012

Another Comedown Day


of Montreal - "Wintered Debts"


Edmund skipped up the steps and slipped his mitten round the ornate brass door handle. The smell of expensive coffee, specially vented towards his senses, designed to make him desire a fair trade roast, instead just made him feel like taking a shit. He smiled in advance, in case she saw him first.

Evelyn, the daughter from his first marriage, now 17. Her long, straight hair, an aberration from girls her age, gave her a confidence and a classical air that made him proud. But today, she was crying in a Starbucks.

"He's just such a fucking asshole!" She swore around him as a kind of challenge, a sort of maturity game, would he react to form or content? "Evelyn," he said gravely, an attempt to react to both at once. "What are you going to do now?" Edmund felt his keys in his pocket, cold from the car. "I wanna die," said Evelyn, her misty eyes the same colour as the stripes in her sweater. "You talk like that, you're gonna get committed," and he reached across the table and sipped her coffee. Two could play at the maturity game. It seemed to genuinely scare her, as she talked only about how she would finish senior year and go traveling from then on.

"You need a ride somewhere?"


RED In the car, they rode, unspeaking, to whale sounds. Edmund had downloaded it as a relaxation technique, and he was still trying to find a single relaxing quality about it. PROTECTED LEFT He just imagined their titanic bodies, far too large to fit in his car or his bedroom, YELLOW and their primal clicking and moaning. It was anything but relaxing. BLACK


Black? crash.

A pair of cars in front of them. T-bone. Edmund and Evelyn unharmed.

If the victims had been asked to empty their heads like they would their wallets, just what they had on them: "I was just at swimming. Beat my time." "My kids believe in magic." "Are these all coupons?" "Thirty comes fast." "A dog is only as good as its terrible owner." "I can't wait to see that."


(carving by Guy Laramee)

Posted by Dan at 9:39 AM | Comments (0)

January 5, 2012


Obliteration Room, by Yayoi Kusama

Way Yes - "Important". Scrumble pat, slip-slip, dub. Grounge the words when the feelings are wrong. Build a site, love, fip it to the rex. No scruffs. No doubts. Yearner high, lift, point upsing til the lopers move. Move it, lopers! Never a gibberish singing less than yes. It don't matter lest you nor, and even then you lose trips burring swift.

[EP out soon on Lefse Records]

Sean Nicholas Savage - "Common Ground (Disco Promise)". Sean Nicholas Savage coos his song for 25-year-olds, and I'm listening today, on my 30th birthday, half bemused and half Right-On!, because Sean Savage is too young to know anything, that singy twerp; he's seen only 5/6ths of the shine I've seen; he's a kid with a catchy tune and white sneakers, probably, unscuffed. Then again, Sean Savage has the wisdom of the crooner. The things he sings seem true, because we can string them across our rooms. Pop-singers have a certain prophetic power: we hook their hooks on things. We sing along, no matter where we're at.

"Everything's going to change again
That's the meaning of life
So go on pick up a knife
Carve yourself a chance
Carve a circumstance."
As we get older, we mustn't forget how to sharpen those daggers.

[buy Flamingo on cassette/pay-what-you-want download]


Elsewhere: I wrote a cover story for Hour on this week's (sold out) tributes to the late Lhasa de Sela.

(photo source - from an installation by Yayoi Kusama)

Posted by Sean at 11:47 AM | Comments (1)

January 3, 2012

Bred To Break


Jackson C. Frank - "You Never Wanted Me"

When Edmund told his first wife that he loved her they were driving through a wooded highway, the trees like thin sentinels, still and stoic, on guard. Shoes were off, and the hood of her sweatshirt hid all but the most important parts of her face. She was squished into the corner between the seat and the door, and making up a story about what actually happened to Kurt Cobain, and then he said it.

When Edmund told his second wife that he loved her she'd been crying. It was her father's death that had brought them together, and it was on the third day that they knew each other. She smiled and said I thought so.

When Edmund told his third wife that he loved her it was dark and she gasped.

And now Edmund looked down at his phone, that third marriage over and gone, at a text saying: "I'd really like to see you tonight," and he thought in rapid succession about his first car, the way an IV feels in your hand, and the kind of elevator nausea you get from anything important. [buy]

(painting by Michaël Borremans)

Posted by Dan at 3:44 PM | Comments (7)

January 2, 2012


Frank Fairfield - "Poor Old Lance". Elbow your way into this new year. Elbow. Raise those prickles, point and push. Tuck through leaves & bushes, friends & enemies, jab your way to that straight horizon. There is no snow on a clear day, just clean air, and you can take it fully into your lungs.

[I discovered this song thanks to No Words' excellent Best Folk Songs of 2011 / buy]

(photo by Vincent Munier)

Posted by Sean at 2:47 PM | Comments (2)