May 31, 2015
Settle Down
Destroyer - "Trembling Peacock"
The Weakerthans - "Left and Leaving"
I had a whole other post ready to go and then this peacock escaped in my neighbourhood. If you live in Toronto you know all about this already, but if you don't, okay.
So there's this huge park, off-centre in the city, that has everything you could want in a park--coyotes, weird hidden diner, endless trees--plus an outdoor zoo. I don't want to brag, but I'm kiiiiind of an expert when it comes to this particular zoo. I grew up five blocks away from the park, I lost not one but two front teeth in the playground before it was its current sprawl of child-safe palaces, I spoke my first word ("ducks") at the duck pond. So I feel like if you're going to trust someone about this you should probably trust me. The thing about it is that there are bison and mountain goats and whatever and they're cool, but the peacocks are the main event. Everything else is flat brown, thick smell, matted fur, and then you get to these birds and it's a whole other thing. Like, all that colour? Those feathers? That squawk they make like an amplifier exploding? Forget about it. There's no contest. They hang out in groups, hooking up and strutting around and yelling, and the dynamics are amazing. It's like watching a little play every time. The peacock enclosure is big, or at least it seems big to me. But on the other hand, who knows what counts as big when you live with 12 of your closest friends and family?
So anyway, last week I guess one guy got out. Says the news: "He escaped for the first time on Wednesday, spending the night roosting in a residential tree before being coaxed back to the zoo Thursday. But the freedom-loving bird escaped again Friday."
I've only been back home for about a week. For the two before that, I was on this cruise with my mother and my grandmother. My grandmother wanted to see Budapest, she's seen most places but never Budapest, so that's what we did. It's very, very lucky to be able to do a thing like this, for whole bunch of reasons, but still, when people ask me how the trip was I kind of just laugh and go "weird!" because I'm not sure how to say it right. I always find it's hard to talk or write about family because no matter what I say I feel as though I'm betraying something. As in giving away, but also fucking up. You say "we're really close!" or "we drive each other crazy!" and it sounds so flimsy, not right at all. Or you try to give details, plot the points of how you are together, but still it never quite coheres. If you line the three of us--my mother, my grandmother and me--up shoulder to shoulder it can be hard to tell where one of us ends and the others begin. We spent two weeks like this, floating or walking, together. What's it like to do two weeks of pure, uncut family--to spend two weeks in the literally relentless company of people who know you so well they don't know you at all? Oh, you know, it was fun, we saw some castles. Nope.
It was weird, though. I can count the number of times on that trip when I got to be alone--like, really alone--on one hand. Being with anyone like this, like it's a long-distance marathon, can make you a little bit insane. I used to think that the luxury of being alone was that you got to just be you, full selfish and unchecked. But the older I get the more I also think it's that you don't have to be face-to-face with the way you are around other people all the time. Some days, out in the world, I would watch my mother staring at a statue or see my grandmother rifling through her purse for a kleenex and feel such an acute and overwhelming flood of joy that I was sure I'd burst into flame. Some days I'd just be so tired and tired-of that I'd work myself into such a silent sulk over nothing you couldn't look at me without catching a headache. Others, I'd find myself looking up at ancient buildings or European rain or the boat's weird breakfast bar and think of this phrase I was sure I'd come up with on my own: Fibres of a tremendous sadness. I carried that one around with me for practically the whole trip, turned it over and over in my mind.
Apparently the peacock's still out there; he "was last seen jumping from roof-to-roof in the Roncesvalles area," so he's not far from home. A few blocks from where I grew up, from where my mother still lives, and from the park, where everyone he knows still is. I think I get it. The question of how to be alone the right way--how to be kind to yourself and to those around you while you do it--is relentless and maybe unsolveable. Sometimes it's enough to make you feel like the world is trying to crush you into a small cube. It's all a huge mess, really. Is that just family?
When I got home I googled that line about sadness and it turns out it's from a poem I hadn't read or thought about in a million years:
Affection stung
like a rasp drawn over [inaudible]. I thinned the world of it.
Don't live as I did. Allow for terms
of relief. The black
maples aligned along streets, waddling skunks, their dark dusters
through the foxglove, your shoulder bag, shoes, the faces
of strangers; all may strike you as fibres
of a tremendous sadness.
That's you in among the weave of it, new.
It does strange things to you, to love and want to be alone at once. There's different kinds of freedom, all imperfect. No one right way to land in it. Maybe say that to the peacock, if you see him.
[buy Left and Leaving / This Night]
(photo by my mother, yesterday.)
May 27, 2015
Fax Your Grandparents.
Nick Nicely - "on the beach(the ladder descends)" [Buy]
Summer. I was daydreaming in the elevator of my studio building. Just thinking about sunset on the beach and eating nice seafood or Okinawa Soba. My mom is from Okinawa which is an island in Southern Japan with warm weather all year round. One time I remember my cousin was wearing winter jacket in December on a day that it went down to 13 degrees Celsius but all I was wearing was a light cardigan and a Kurt Cobain t-shirt (I was a huge Nirvana fan, I relate to those "I miss you, Kurt" comments on YouTube. He understood me and I understood him. In my mind, we were on a first name-basis) I remember going to Okinawa in the summer time to visit my family. My grandparents both passed away on the same day a couple of years apart. My aunt said it was shortly after midnight that my grandma went to sleep forever. It was peaceful. When they passed away they were both close to 100 years old. They lived through two wars and so many new inventions like the telephone, TV, washing machine, Beta, VHS, DVDs, vinyl, cassettes, and CDs. Oh ya, and I forgot, laser-discs and mini-discs. Oh, also Fax machines. They still EXIST! some companies or government offices still ask me to fax stuff!
I will fax my grandparents in the afterlife and tell them that "my mom, my aunts, uncles, and my cousins miss them and love them." and also written,
"p.s. I miss you too, Kurt!"
May 26, 2015
BARCELONA
Barcelona - "Pasión"
Barcelona - "Seguidores del Orden"
I don't really know anything about Barcelona. I've read books set there and seen movies filmed in in its streets. I've read articles about the grassroots anti-eviction movement and the indignado protests against EU austerity. But this doesn't count as true knowledge. I've never wandered the city's neighbourhoods, seen how the sun falls across the sidewalk at midday, or heard Catalan spoken at the marketplace. I can't tell you anything about the place known as Barcelona, but I can tell you a little about the punk band who take their name from the city: they destroy.
There's a brashness to naming your band after the city you live in, a kind of "we run this town" swagger. Barcelona are made up of members of the city's best punk bands and the seven songs on their debut EP epitomize the dense, meticulously-constructed HC sound that has emerged in the city over the past decade. The bass-heavy rhythm of "Pasión" echoes Una Bestia Incontrollable, and the air raid siren guitars of "Bomba" and "Seguidores del Orden" sound like sped-up Destino Final riffs. But they also bring something new to the table, a female singer spitting hellfire all over these tracks. Her enraged, emotionally-raw delivery is the beating heart of this band.
May 25, 2015
HAUNTED HOOS
Tyler, the Creator - "Buffalo". Tyler jacks Pusha T's abrupt and cheering sample to offer his own disorienting, deteriorating cri-de-coeur. You have the feeling that Tyler's spirit's all scoured with Tide and Mr Clean, flecked with white powder, the give and weave fighting whatever cleaning agents got admitted to the studio. Self-doubt and criticism swing like medallions around his neck; every time his head droops to stare at them he distracts himself with another cheer, blurt or crash. A haunted house with a funk band in every rickety room, a hundred James Brown impersonators trying to keep you from looking at the ghouls. See here, see here, kinder glints than all the cruel flash on those swords. [buy]
May 22, 2015
SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER
Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons - "Grease".
Neil Cicierga - "Imagine All Star People".
Bee Gees - "Night Fever".
There were two perfect disco-related moments on my recent trip to New York. One was when I was running down Avenue A because it was raining and I didn't have an umbrella, so I kept trying to position myself under store awnings and billboards so I wouldn't get soaked. I had just bought a pair of high-waisted mom jeans that I tucked into a wife beater that I was 80 per cent sure I was pulling off and all the rain had slicked my short hair back, David Bowie style. (Now I'm like 8 per cent sure I just didn't look like a depressed Portuguese landlord, but whatever.) Anyways, suddenly I hear the Bee Gees' "Night Fever" blasting out of a hair salon, a purely iconic 70's New York disco song that sounds like someone whispering a compliment right into your ear. It's pretty much impossible not to feel crazysexycool while listening to it, even if you're wearing said recently acquired $10 mom jeans. Anyways, this Hispanic teenager suddenly runs out of the store and starts dancing hard in the rain to "Night Fever." I was feeling it, too. I watched him at the corner and as the light turned green I started bolting down the street in the rain as life felt pretty much perfect. Shout outs to the universe and Barry Gibb.
The second moment involved driving in my cousin Kent's car through Brooklyn, listening to the radio, windows down, an inexplicably hot May day. The song "Grease" by Frankie Valli comes on the FM gold station he's particularly into, a track that I literally haven't listened to in years. My cousin tells me that for months he thought this was just an incredible 70's disco song. And I can feel that. Like the best pop songs, it evokes a powerful feeling while having particularly dumb lyrics. For instance, I remember saying "H to the Izzo" for years. Just casually, to like parents and teachers and stuff.
Anyways, my cousin Kent didn't know that this was obviously from the hit musical Grease, a song therefore loaded with signifiers like Bad Sandy and how a hickey from Kenickie's like a Hallmark card. Now every time I listen to it, I like to imagine hearing "Grease" in its absolutely pure state, free from meaning. "Grease is the word" could mean sex, power, cash, hair oil, a sweat-slicked dance floor or even a possible Studio 54-related STD. I always feel like people give each other songs like presents and my cousin Kent just bequeathed me an impossible summer jam.
Picture yourself at my funeral. Stop crying. Okay, please cry harder, it would be nice if somebody looked really upset about this 'cuz I'm not coming back, okay? Pull all the hotties to the front. Tell my mom to be cool and stop messing with the catering. (BTW if there is lasagna or mac and cheese being served, I will literally ghost-flip the table. I understand those are the carb-y comfort foods that might be needed during the truly traumatic fact of my early death when I resembled a young Catherine Keener and my ass was in fact a badonk-a-donk, but I think both foods are disgusting and I would appreciate if you respected my wishes, okay? Why not serve clubhouse sandwiches with like, a ton of mayonnaise to piss off my ex-boyfriend? Or just like a giant malted milkshake served in a bathtub that everyone drinks out of with cute little pink straws? Even though I currently have a problem digesting milk, I'm sure ghost-me will not be lactose intolerant.)
Then at just the right moment, let the priest or John Stamos or whatever, dim the lights and ask for a moment of silence at the request of the deceased. Tell my aunts and uncles and Maltese grandmother to shut it. I mean, really Tommy, is this the right time to tell everyone you used to be a rodeo clown? This is my moment! Get one of my autistic cousins to hit play on my iPhone and then this jam kicks in. At first, listening to all those soft pianos, the people weep respectfully. "Chandler's really classy," they think. But then, slowly but surely they realize it is Smash Mouth's "All-Star" being played over John Lennon's "Imagine" in the most necessary mash-up of our time. The brutal irony is not lost on anyone because this is the perfect Tim and Eric-ish track to go out. Mic drop. We out. I will haunt you all forever.
Love, Ghost Chandler
May 21, 2015
The Chronicals of Hernia
I wish I spoke every single language in the world. Every time, I listen to songs in a foreign language, I always wonder what they are singing about. I remember when I was growing up, I listened to The Smiths. I didn't understand the lyrics but still enjoyed the melody and Marr's guitar work, but when I learned English I realized the brilliance of the lyrics and I enjoyed it even more. Sometimes though, it is better to leave certain songs untranslated like the first line of the song 'Stand by me', which goes "When the night.." but to japanese ears it sounds like "benza nai..." which translates to "there is no toilet seat".
I listened to this Polish band, 'Kryzys', their song "Mam dość", (there are accents on S and C so I had to copy and paste) and as I was listening I wanted to know what the lyrics meant. So I auto-detect-language-Google-translated the song title and the result came up "I've had enough". So then, I started to wonder what has he/she had enough of? Ate too much ice cream? Ate too many Camembert cheese slices and Rice Krispies before starting to cook dinner because he/she was hungry when he/she went grocery shopping and bought too many snacks? Maybe it wasn't about food, I don't know. It could have been about a Centaur who has had enough of people telling him/her, that he/she has bad posture. Since birth, people had been telling the Centaur he/she has bad posture, his/her mom Centaur told him/her to sit up at dinner table, while studying, and while riding on the bus. Kind of like human moms do everywhere in the world, but when he/she became an adult Centaur and people were still telling him/her to stand up straight! Maybe he/she became fed up and said, "I've had enough!" then went to get wasted at a bar, shit on this dance floor, danced really crazy and inspired this song. Then accidentally kicked some bouncers and got booted out of the bar. Then went to eat pogos and pizza at a late night diner but ran into some mean people who saw him/her, pointed, and said "Oh my god! that Centaur has such bad posture! I've never seen a Centaur with such bad posture!"
This song is probably not about that, but it is good, I think. (<--worst song review line in history)
The End.
(photo source) <--proof of Centaur, right here.
May 19, 2015
SPIT YOU OUT
This is queasy-making music. "Spit You Out" is built on an unrelenting bass riff that bores a hole straight into your brain. Churning along with the giant drums is a slimy guitar riff, and ragged vocals that teeter between belligerent and vulnerable, before resolving into sweet harmony.
There's a loping menace to this jam that makes me feel tough, like I'm a mutant in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. I almost wish I was still a suburban teenager so I could listen to this while walking around my shitty neighbourhood late at night, hating everything, and stopping to cuddle the local housecats.
METZ are the current standard-bearers for a whole lineage of bands I listened to on my Walkman as a teen - Jehu, Unwound, Fugazi - masters of repeating a part, upping the tension, until it feels like you're going to rip your eyes out if the song doesn't hit the rock-out part soon.
--
Dang, METZ totally did it. The new album is even better than the first, which was a tall order. They're on tour until the end of the world so go see them if they're in your town. You will not be disappointed.
[buy]
May 18, 2015
GUMSHOE
David Thomas Broughton - "Ain't Got No Sole". A song of losing your shoe. Maybe it starts as something more than that - a song of dark heart, fatal intention. But before long it's haphazard and scrapped, distracted, a loafer bobbing away in the water. I think it's the story of a narrow escape, a near-miss. Life's daft logic can lead you to the end of your rope but by the same token it can save you. Every day we get fucked by unfair, arbitrary and incompetent moments; then sometimes we get rescued by them. Broughton's tune feels light as a schooner, uncapsizing. It feels as giddy as a backwards clock. [buy]
May 15, 2015
GIVE ME ALL YOUR LOVE
Alabama Shakes - "Give Me All Your Love"
Bobby Womack - "That's The Way I Feel About 'Cha".
There is a particular genre of music that I love the most. In fact, it's a steadfast killer on a jukebox and a near covert affairs mission when you're listening on headphones during a long walk in the late bloom of spring. Sometimes, it's a gut punch to the heart. Sometimes, it's a drive-by shooting at 4 am down the freeway. I've been slayed by both of these songs, which bear some similarity. Impassioned vocals. A strong voice. One a soft sell, the other a blistering demand for what's yours. Songs about people who want their love, own their feelings - the idea that someone could give you all their love and no one gets hurt!
In his great 1972 soul single, Bobby Womack explains over and over that even though everybody wants love (but is also inherently afraid of love,) he still can't help the way he feels about 'cha. (The 'cha is an important distinction, I think.)* In these songs, their subject has no choice but to relent. Both are incredibly vulnerable and intense and scary (especially when Alabama Shakes' frontwoman Brittany Howard laughs like an evil clown). There are beautiful, soft, quavering guitars. They groove. They explain that there's no shame in loving who you love as long as the target is focused and your aim is true. You can assassinate someone with honesty. ("Don't take my love as a sign of weakness, check into the situation girl and dig a little bit deeper," sings Womack.)
I guess I'm thinking about this, writing to you from Greenpoint actually, because I've been reading/writing and plain ol' fashioned ruminating. At age 28, I think I'm slowly regressing into my 16-year-old self. I feel tender? I bought a notebook? I am writing down my feelings (blergh) while drinking an egg cream in Veselka, the way I did when I was 20 and openly wore a halter/tube dress combination from American Apparel but I have grey rings under my eyes from sleep deprivation and making eye contact with the waiter makes me nervous. I'm underlining passages in Bluets, a great book by Maggie Nelson, which helpfully makes the distinction between loneliness and solitude. Solitude is the good kind of lonely, the practical one where you might take a long walk through a Botanical Garden and call your mother afterwards. I remember that feeling when I biked around Berlin's Museum Island (also alone) with a goddamn rose in my pocket at one in the morning, taking beautific proto-selfies with the flash on. Loneliness is pathetic, the feeling I get when I go to the McDonald's at Delancey and Essex to use the wifi and see if I can text my friends. There's loneliness and solitude, the difference between starvation and going on a cleanse. Like cutting out soda to save on empty calories and the proverbial "thirst" just produces hot bolts of blinding pain, fake conversations running through your head like bad radio static, tuned to a frequency you can't stand anymore.
Both those songs understand that when you don't have love and you finally get it, it's like eating a grilled cheese sandwich and rejoicing because you were so fucking famished. You didn't even realize you were hungry, after all.
People talk a lot about love and they talk a lot about love songs but they never talk about what it's like to love a love song so much that maybe you don't even need love at all. These days, I'm thinking, give me a love song and no one gets hurt.
---
* Here are some YouTube comments on the topic:
May 13, 2015
Dog Phase
I realized that I forgot to mention another important phase I went through growing up.(other phases here)
I call it the Washing Dog Phase. My friends and I found stray dogs and would bring them home and wash them in the yard with a hose. It was really fun for both us and the dogs. Even though this phase lasted only two clean dogs, it was one of my favorite phases so I though I would share it with you. No dogs were harmed during this phase, in fact they were adopted by my friends. Happy ending.
May 12, 2015
FAN THE FLAMES
Sheer Mag are an electric shock. Their scrappy songs overflow with soulful vocals, a wicked back beat, and spry guitars that unleash sweet solos at the drop of the hat. This band manages that impossible thing, sounding familiar without being like anyone else. A rock historian might relate their sound to a doctrine of T. Rex-ology or Thin Lizzy-onomy and, yes, I'm sure they've heard those records. But this band isn't trying to bring back some lost rock and roll idyll. This is music for today. These songs occupy the present moment, righteous tunes about living in an imperfect world and dealing with the big problems of patriarchy, feeling lost, yuppie gentrifiers, and shitty landlords ("Fan the Flames" may be the best punk tune about living in a crappy house since X's "In This House That I Call Home"). These are protest songs, fight songs, tunes of shit-kicking defiance. And they all shred.
-
Sheer Mag are on tour this summer. In June they're playing in Montreal and at the Ottawa Explosion Weekend with a million other amazing bands. See them there or anywhere you can!
[buy]
(photo by Spike)
May 11, 2015
KEPT SECRET
Kehlani ft Coucheron - "Alive". Here's a secret. This right here: a secret, the kind that doesn't long stay so. Many pop songs start this way - as secrets, clutched, treasured, strung around your neck or hung across your room. But then of course they get out, spread, the way wishes do, blowing across a birthday cake. And that's good, because everyone's enjoying them, the secret in the commons. Everyone's rerecording them onto mixtapes, rerecording them as hard-drives' bits and bytes. Kehlani's voice, her bandmate's guitar, her chorus-catchy, radio-friendly R&B - they're all going kaleidoscopic, copied in a thousand places by a thousand people in a thousand ways, one secret becoming ten, three minutes become a year. [buy]
May 9, 2015
Finish Line
Sam Cooke - "(What A) Wonderful World"
Hey. Open your windows. We made it. Remember? We did it. Breathe in.
--
I'm going out of town for a couple of weeks for a weird, hilarious, very nice trip. While I'm gone, one of my favourite writers of all time is going to fill in for me here. Leave her lots of comments.
[buy everything Sam Cooke has ever done, sit out on a balcony, a front porch, a park, lie back and just float for a minute.]
May 6, 2015
I know a man in trouble with his pet crow.
Sheer Agony - "Pet Crow" [buy]
Lindsey Buckingham - "Trouble" [buy]
Man Woman Child - "I know a man" [buy]
Jim had lost everything. He opened a vape shop two years ago with his soon-to-be-ex wife, Sharon. At the beginning, his vape store, Vapes of Wrath, did really well but soon the neighbourhood was filled with vape stores and they killed each others business. It got stressful and he started drinking again, which made him and Sharon fight all the time. They fought over stupid little things like misplacing the TV remote, Sharon clipping her toenails in bed, how many parking tickets they each got, or whether Reese WItherspoon was funny in Legally Blonde etc. etc.
Eventually Sharon left Jim. Just like that, one night Jim came home from the bar and she was gone. She even took their dog, Reese, a 4 year old golden retriever. Jim and Sharon didn't have kids so they doted on Reese even though she couldn't catch food in the air like other dogs.
After all that, Jim was sitting in a park vaping on a sunny afternoon. The park is full of people having a good time with each other. "What kind of a dumb sport is that?" he thought, looking at some guys trying to walk on a rope tied between two trees. "No one wants to hear you sing your stupid songs." he whispered to himself looking at a young guy playing guitar. "Oh god, selfie sticks!" he actually said out loud. As he said it, a teenage couple on the next bench stopped putting their tongues in and out of each others mouths to look over at him, the people who were walking on the tight rope fell off and stared at him, some other people who were sword fighting had a ceasefire for 3 seconds and looked over. Jim was already so upset he didn't care. Then after a moment everyone went back to what they were already doing.
"I know how you feel" Jim heard someone say. He looked around but there was no one close by. Just a crow. Then the crow said "That's right, I'm a crow who can talk." Jim heard it and looked at the crow. "I can talk like the cats in the Murakami book, Kafka on the Shore." The crow continued. ".....what? Murakami...? what are you talking about?" Jim was confused. "Just kidding! look over at that camera! It's a Just for Laughs gag!" Just then a guy came out from behind a bush and pointed at a hidden camera. Jim laughed and waved at the camera.
May 5, 2015
BIG WIND
Big Youth - "Solomon a Gunday"
Every few months in the city of Montreal there is a big wind that changes everything. It blows through and makes people listen to yacht rock instead of noise rock, Kate Bush instead of Manu Chao. It pushes them inside to hide for six months or scatters them across the park grass.
Yesterday there was a wind like that. It blew through the city and tore up the Marché Jean-Talon. Or maybe it just seemed that way. The temporary walls that surround the market through the winter were down and returned to storage, nowhere to be seen. Under the tall concrete roofs everything was suddenly exposed to the elements. The few remaining pieces of pink insulation were stacked in wheelbarrows waiting to be carried off to the dumpsters. The main thoroughfare, where the stalls selling local potatoes, garlic, arugula, apples, eggs, honey will soon be packed tight with produce, green, red, orange, yellow, were empty. The painted wooden pieces that will make up those stalls were stacked in haphazard piles in the corners and yellow caution tape was hung across the entry keeping the people out. The market was quickly expanding from its constrained winter self into its summer glory in one or two days of frantic activity, forklifts buzzing around at full speed. I bought some fiddleheads for supper. Seasons change.
(photo by Spike)
May 4, 2015
GAMELY ENDURED
Loosestrife - "job hunt". The word is this: gamely. Loosestrife's Claire Lyke and Shaun Weadick gamely toil, gamely work their shitty dead-end jobs, gamely clatter and riff, gamely harmonize, gamely yip and ooh, gamely shout out the woe of the workaday. They gamely sing their compact, sing-song punk-rock, abetted by drums and guitars. So gamely! And yet maybe not. Maybe this is only as gamely as a game of throwing knives. Maybe it is only gamely until the revolution comes. Loosestrife will participate in this sorry system for exactly as long as they need to. And when one day the bosses stop paying, or when one day finally the workers have had enough, the stuttered first syllable of the chorus, p-p-p-pay me, will be the sound of the popguns going off.
[bandcamp.]
---
The Passovah Festival is the precocious pint-sized maven of Montreal's indie rock scene, a young institution that manifests the whole spirit of what this place and thing is all about. Every summer, amazing shows by a wild gang of artists; energy and kindness and community racket. This year, though, they're growing up a bit - staging a fundraiser so they can pay their bands a bit better. Donate here. If you can afford it, throw some bucks their way. If you love Passovah or the Montreal scene, do it. If you plan to attend the festival, buy a pass right now. If you plan to attend SappyFest, or to go see Nicki Minaj or Shamir or Purity Ring or Omar Souleyman, pick up yr tickets by giving pledges to this campaign. And if you're a Montreal-based business which wants to earn big love from a loving scene, make a mark by giving big to this small great thing.
May 1, 2015
Tough Times
Ty Segall Band - "Slaughterhouse"
Tyvek - "Scaling"
Some songs make you feel like you're being pushed down a flight of stairs. Some songs make you feel like you're the one doing the pushing. But some songs do exactly both, and it's those ones you gotta keep in the back of your throat, hide hard in your dumb skinny fists, keep real close around you the next time you walk around town pulling trouble right out of the coarse city air.
[buy Slaughterhouse / On Triple Beams]