by Dan
Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.



Azealia Banks - "Fuck Up The Fun"

"This is why they invented super powers."

"Hoo ha the shoo fla, you doo da da!" Tate screams out the window of a streetcar. Jen no longer has the energy to stop him. And of course not, he has 85, probably 90 or more years of life packed into his 3-year-old soul, life is coming out the seams. For Jen, she's almost 40, she has to preserve as much as she can, she can't afford to just spend energy wherever she wants. Fuck politeness, fuck the social contract, for this moment letting Tate scream is just the way it's going to be.

"I saw her lift a tractor trailer, flick it like a cigarette."

"Watch this, bitches..." says Tate. This is too far. "Tate, don't say--" But he's floating, he's flipping, he's flying, he's in the air. He's holding spray cans, they're his accelerators, he's walking on the streetcar wires like city bridges. He's unstoppable. DING-- Tate loves to ring the bell and it brings Jen back from her revery. Burridge. Burridge is the main stop and most people get off. Jen turns to get her purse, turns back, Tate is gone. For gasping, blinking real, gone.

"She's got stilettos like streetlights."

Jen is squirming through the crowd. Out the narrow doors, she's halfway through like a factory doll, she comes out scared and half caught on someone's overcoat. She's worming through a group of jokey goth teens, past a mustached man so mustached it's probably his only love, and through other moms, fat moms, who have as little patience as her, and their tight ponytails (easy, no muss) and loose shirts (fussless) are starting to tie-dye her vision, she's going crazy not seeing the one thing she wants to: the little blue jacket and the mistaken military haircut, his shoes light up for Christ's fucking sake.

"She's fully beat sick like a green goatee. Keeps a mean click and spits like she's sipped old tea."

And then she hears a cry. Either pain or fear or a mixture, she stops cold, her eyes narrow. Watch this, bitches... Jen pushes against the crowd, hard. Laptop satchels jamming straight into backs, headphones being pulled clean off of heads, comfort zones razed, obliterated, balances lost everywhere. In her mind they fly gusting like blown seeds, and reveal in their absence, Tate. And they do. He turns around, caught, and laughs "Ha haaaa!" and farts his tongue at her, and the two of them go straight home. The rules of the social contract bent like stretching lines on a looseleaf, to fit in more words. They'll go back, probably.

[available for streaming only after 7K downloads, I guess]

Posted by Dan at March 27, 2012 1:12 AM
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This is a daily sampler of really good songs. All tracks are posted out of love. Please go out and buy the records.

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about the authors
Sean Michaels is the founder of Said the Gramophone. He is a writer, critic and author of the theremin novel Us Conductors. Follow him on Twitter or reach him by email here. Click here to browse his posts.

Emma Healey writes poems and essays in Toronto. She joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. This is her website and email her here.

Jeff Miller is a Montreal-based writer and zinemaker. He is the author of Ghost Pine: All Stories True and a bunch of other stories. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Say hello on Twitter or email.

Mitz Takahashi is originally from Osaka, Japan who now lives and works as a furniture designer/maker in Montreal. English is not his first language so please forgive his glamour grammar mistakes. He is trying. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Reach him by email here.

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Dan Beirne wrote regularly for Said the Gramophone from August 2004 to December 2014. He is an actor and writer living in Toronto. Any claim he makes about his life on here is probably untrue. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.

Jordan Himelfarb wrote for Said the Gramophone from November 2004 to March 2012. He lives in Toronto. He is an opinion editor at the Toronto Star. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.
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