Archives : all posts by Dan

Matthew Friedberger - "Up The River" [Buy]

I know what you're thinking: "What flighty and whimsical side is Dan going to bring to this jaunty tale?" Well, I'm gonna bring you the truth. I know we had this story worked out where we all talk about Cheese Mountain and gourmet food, and cheese courses and bacon broth and Italian wine, but I can't make any more jokes about it, they made two great posts, so I'm just gonna lay down the truth instead.

Sean and Jordan are liars. Yes, you raised 150.00, but the only "dinner" it bought was enough Pabst and Cheezies to fill 3 glad garbage bags to their breaking point. And it did. And we hauled our filthy trash bags full of "energy" all over the city, essentially looking for whatever trouble we could find. Yes, there were ivory-handled steak knives, but they were used to skin a squirrel under a tree on Sherbrooke, and to carve "StG" into every shop window we saw. Yes, there was laughter and merriment, but it only passed through us like an urge to vomit, and it was only after one of us would hurt themselves climbing a fence, or smashing a bottle, or tripping on the sidewalk. It was an ugly night, I'll say that. Jordan kept wanting to talk about "the commenters", Sean would recite his posts from memory in a high-pitched British accent and then finish each one with "WINNER!". I was embarrassed at times, but at times, I have to admit, I joined in. I was the one who prank-called all of our guest artists, in chronological order, and I had the idea to break into Wolf Parade's house because "they must be rich". It was kind of a horrible night, and I wish we had spent your money better, but I'm sure from reading this site, you really couldn't have expected anything else from us. In the name of the Party, the Beer, and the Holy Coke, right? Peace.

Brutal Knights - "We Have A Website" [Buy]

Tchaikovsky - "Pieces, Op. 72: 14. Chant élégaïque" [Buy]

I was 16 when I first visited Budapest. No one believed me back at home when I told them it was a combination of two cities; Buda and Pest. I guess you're less likely to believe something about a foreign country than about your own. I got there in October, I was supposed to visit my Muka (we called her that) who was visiting an old friend, but I had taken the train a day early from Paris where my parents were touring. I didn't tell my Muka, I thought I would surprise her. I got to the station and got my bags from the porter who was very nice in his green suit and shook his hand. An older woman asked me for help with her bags and I put them into the trunk of the cab.

"I'll need someone to help me bring them in," she said, the tips of the fur on her hat swaying in the breeze like little lazy fingers, or grass. I said I would help and rode with her back to her apartment. I carried the heavy black one first, as I thought I'd have the most strength for the first one. Then as I went halfway back down the stairs, the woman was carrying her other two, and the cab driver was coming up with mine. I made a sound--

"Oh, don't worry," she interrupted, "you might as well come in for tea now." The cab driver didn't speak English so I didn't bother.

We had tea in the speckled sunlight of her small living room, and I looked around at the Goënberg novels and Reitmann paintings that peppered the peach walls and the chestnut bookshelves, irrespectively. I was sweating slightly in the warmth of my blue sweater that my Muka had bought me for my Ratification the previous year.

"I want to show you the best part," said the woman, leading me by the fingertips to the kitchen window. "Here, look at this," she said, her chin pointing to an ivy plant that sat beside the open window. The plant had grown out of its pot, out the window, and had covered almost the entire exterior wall of her building.

"That's neat," I said, immediately hating my childish choice of words. I noticed an urn with a nameplate on it next to the windowsill, but before I could ask, the woman had begun kissing gently the back of my neck.

We made love, or rather she made love to me, on the Zulu throwrug in her living room, the afternoon sun half warming us up to the knees. She insisted I have a spot of soup before I left, and I was still able to surprise my Muka by dinner hour. I've been back to Budapest twice since.

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Collective Soul - "Good Morning After All"

I'm guessing it's not a secret anymore, but there was a time when I was championing the idea that Collective Soul was not-so-secretly harbouring the not-so-secret of being a Christian Rock band. I was much fought against in my opinion. But this is incontrovertible evidence. This is proof that Collective Soul is Christian Rock, and here is an instance of a genre being equal to an essence. The two words of that genre are the only two words I can think of to describe it. [old stuff]

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My review of Stardust is up at The Movie Binge.

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Happy Birthday, Roger. You're great.

Japanther - "Challenge"

Japanther is a band that I never gave a chance. I had categorized them under "flighty hipster joycore" and written them off. But the problem with categorizing something is that you're always wrong. That's not to say it's not flighty hipster joycore, it is, but if you place something in a negative category it's always going to seem a little crappy. But this is not crappy, so why is it in the crappy section? Because a category is like a genre, it's a lasso that allows you to keep from going crazy or becoming dead bored with repetition, but it's hardly an essence. This is the essence; drums like a thousand heartbeats, a sweaty-backed guitar, and a teenage thump-stomping anthem chorus. At 2:58 it's the second-longest song on Skuffed Up My Huffy by a second, because these sprint-on-the-spot major-ragers don't and can't last much longer. Strike a match, watch it burn, bursting, out. [Buy]

Mark Snow - "Skateboard Theme (Instrumental)"

I'm here to provide for you. I know what you're looking for. I know you're looking for sneakers and big socks. I know you want an orange-and-tan disco that skips and shimmies and shines. I know you're looking for a good time. Well, look no further, it's the theme to the movie Skateboard. A pumpin' little beat covered in little trebly dustings in a wah-wah sauce. A Friday night never dressed itself in front of the mirror like this before. [out of print]

Jefferson Starship - "Fast Buck Freddie"

If perfect disco doesn't get you positively turned right on, try some never-bothered-to-revisit Jefferson Starship on over that sweet fancy torso of yours. Put it on like an old boyfriend's band shirt, wear it cause it's there and you need the warmth. But also 'cause it's not terrible, and Grace Slick, mad drunk driver though she may be, can sing like a thunderstorm and she only uses melodies that fit like tetris in her voice. The lyrics, though, ye-ikes. The verses are such fake-trip drug talk, but the chorus is passable. Sing it now while you still have a song. Your time is running out. [out of print]

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My reviews of I Know Who Killed Me and The Bourne Ultimatum are up on The Movie Binge.

The Lightning Bug Situation - "Hitting's Not Very Effective When You Don't Have Much of a Punch"

One half of The Speakers has made a very personal album formed around the event of having a child. There are about 9 straight-ahead songs, and about 6 of these audio interludes, that sound more like little radio documentaries, and in that genre, they are very effective. This feels a little like an Errol Morris-type moment; an extremely vulnerable revelation, which the music staring back at the subject, so both you and them can think about what they've just said. Some days there is no dancefloor. [Buy]

Radiohead - "Kid A"

Arguably the amount of times you see someone before they die can always be more. Maybe not reasonably, maybe you live far apart, but theoretically it can always be more. A friend of mine died suddenly this weekend, and I find myself imagining all the times we were apart. I just imagine him going places, no expression to speak of, just regular movements, glances, touches, purchases, short phone calls, preparing a snack, standing in a doorway, taking off or putting on shoes. It's this graceful kind of motion, the automatic and unexamined, that I'm mourning right now. Because his smile, his humour, his perfect quietude, his undeniable genius, is just too much to talk about. [Buy]

M.I.A. - "Bird Flu"

I told you to listen to this, didn't I? Well, I know you all ignored that, I know you were too busy walking quickly and carrying your very important papers. But you can't ignore this. This track is in a kind of scaremongering hysteria, it's circled by crazy-eyed kids stamping their feet and saying ha! and rolling their tongues. This track isn't fun, it's gnashing, thrashing, and hot. The sweat just drips off and down, leaving a black puddle on the black ground. The rest of the album feels like filler compared to this. [Buy]

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Antonio Vivaldi - "Concerto RV 425 for Mandolin I. Allegro"
Children Eating Birds - "Is That?"

Michelangelo Antonioni died on Monday. I realized that all my life I had been confusing him with Antonio Vivaldi, the two had become conflated in my mind. They're not related, they're not the same, they really only share three phonemes, and a country of origin. Antonio is full of flourish, constantly playing notes, where Antonioni is a lighter touch, one note sustaining, like a gaze, fixated. From what I can find, he sounds, his films sound, as if the images could be musical, more like Children Eating Birds. I should have known just from their musical differences (once converted) that they were not the same, but I only realize now. So instead I'll let them live on in my mind as one; an artist of densely layered compositions or often simple lines, inventing new devices while often using classical devices turned starkly on their head.

Hall & Oates - "Rich Girl"

You're hearing this song everywhere. You only heard it for the first time last week, but now it's like buying a yellow car, or getting a certain kind of trendy shoe, you notice it all the times it was there before when you didn't notice it. This stretchy gold outfit fits like a plastic bag and dances knees-first like a once-sexy old timer. The melody is really nice, a little finger-wagging twilight disco, but the lyrics are a little off. I'm not sure Hall or Oates really understands the Rich Girl (as a species) when they sing "it's so easy to hurt others when you can't feel pain". That's all the Rich Girl feels, in my opinion, that's the problem. Any Rich Girls want to weigh in? [Buy]

Almeda Riddle - "My Little Rooster"

Long story short: I hated Harmony Korine for a long time without even giving him a chance. I recently saw Gummo and Julien Donkey-Boy and my opinion took a 180. I'm a huge fan now. go fig.

Korine describes his style as "creating an environment where chaos can happen so i can film it". That's true of his style, but the most important side-effect (nay, almost another word for) that chaos, is truth in the motivation of the performers. The flash in someone's eye just before they lunge to punch someone else in the face, the head-down smirking showing-off of a drunk shirtless redneck pounding the hell out of a chair, it's so thick you can rub it between your fingers.

And here is no different, save only in tone. The motivation is still there, this is a song that sounds like it's been repeated literally thousands of times, like more times than you've said "um" in your entire life. But everything is perfect, like books on a shelf, and you can hear the hot room in which it's sung, the metal-lined yellow table, the napkin holder, the ketchup packets.

[Buy Gummo]
after a 7-year absence, Harmony Korine will release Mister Lonely to this continent sometime later this year.