Archives : all posts by Sean

Andy Shauf - "You're Out Wasting". At first listen it's just Elliott Smith pastiche, but there's something grimly determined in Shauf's impersonation, something direct in the tribute: this is the song he wants to make, the way he wants to make it, and Elliott Smith's not around to sing it. So Shauf sticks with it, and you stick with it, and soon "You're Out Wasting"'s unique charms begin to set it apart: Shauf's unclouded gaze, the dustiness of the cymbals, that rinkytink piano and the tired toot of horns, neither weary nor triumphant, but announcing (at last, at last, at last) an exit. [bandcamp / via Jez]

Whatever, Dad - "Papa Ed's Out of Body Experience". Thirty-three seconds of dreamblink, or maybe it was living, I don't know, the wind was in the long grass and the lights were blue-white in the bathroom mirrors. [bandcamp / thanks hamza]

Oscar Key Sung - "All I Think About (Part 1)". A sugarsweet sestina from one half of Oscar & Martin. It's the same blubstep sound - earnest and phased, distracted and undistracted, full of crashing sentiment. But whereas James Blake or Blue Hawaii build their songs in sections, different fitting pieces, Ocar Key Sung's "All I Think About (Part 1)" feels like a single stratiated column. You drill down from layer to layer, advancing and withdrawing, the light finding particles that glow and glitter and break. [bandcamp]

(Photo of astronaut Charlie Duke's family, left on the Moon.)

Joey Bada$$ - "World Domination". Cranberry crunch, cereal-bowl swagger. Cheerio-proof vests, baggies full of froot loops, clips full of shreddies. On the corner they are slinging mini-wheats. It is time for a re-up. There are rules of the game, lessons learned: you can make your own raisin bran; don't leave your cornflakes sitting; and the Milk Man cometh. He always cometh. Keep alert, eyes flickery. The Milk Man cometh. He cometh with a truck of dangerous bottles. [get the marvellous free 1999 mixtape / via alex]

(photo by Elaine Ho)

Chairs - "Indestructible Machine". Paolo was surprised by how quickly he and the factory owner came to an agreement. The contract was drawn up, the notaries approved, and then suddenly the document was sealed and dated, with two splashes of signature. "See you on Friday night," the factory owner said, as he slammed the door of his Volvo. Paolo had come by bicycle. He cycled home along the hill roads - downhill, easy. At the vineyard his brother, Matthew, was waiting. Matthew had refused to come to the meetings; he stuttered, he thought somehow he'd blow it. "H-h-h-how'd it go?" Matthew said. He had the biggest heart of anyone Paolo had ever met. "It went perfectly," Paolo said. "We will start the wine on Friday night."

So four days later Paolo and Matthew and five of their workers got on horses and motorcycles and dragged four wagons of grapes up the hill to the factory. They watched as the five PM whistle sounded and the smokestacks stopped smoking. Factory employees streamed out the big steel doors. They stared at the wagons of grapes like they were wagons full of rubies - treasure from another world, untouchable. Matthew reached into one of the pallets and grabbed a handful, tossed these to one of the curious lookers. "Why are you here?" someone asked. "Making wine," Paolo said.

When the way had cleared they went into the factory. The owner was there in his suit and waistcoat, leaning against a control panel. "That's it?" he said, surprised. "That's it," Paolo said. "This is Matthew, my brother." "H-h-h-hello," Matthew said.

They used the freight elevator to lift the wagons to the top floor, above the machinery. The motorcycles were left down below, some of the workers took the horses outside, lit up cigarettes. Paolo and Matthew led each of the wagons out of the elevator and to a gap in the grille catwalk. The factory space was filled with giant steel turbines, carbonised axels, and a thousand toothed gears, some small, some behemoth, frozen in place. "Can you hear me?" Paolo called down to the floor. "Yep!" answered the factory owner. "Can I start?" Paolo glanced at his brother. His brother's mouth flashed a smile, for a just a second, before he concealed it. "Yes you ca--" Paolo shouted, but before he had finished a great noise started up and the turbines began to whirr and the axels began to twist and the thousand gears began to turn, crunching.

Together, Matthew and Paolo lifted the end of one wagon. Two workers lifted another. Grapes poured off the edges and into the grinding machinery. Fruit smashed between metal teeth. And juice was pouring out, down, to collecting troughs on the brick floor. From their vantage-points, Matthew and Paolo could not see the grape juice. They could scarcely hear each other in the clanging hall. Paolo looked at Matthew, and nodded, and Matthew looked at Paolo, and licked his lips, and shouted, through the din, "It's benign."

[bandcamp / sadly we missed the Chairs' gig at Casa on 30 October / they are from Montreal / they'll be back]

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The Luyas made quite the video for "Montuno". Horses and dusks and zebras and dresses.

(photo source)

Phantom Buffalo - "Stark Glass Man". We are all attuned to certain kinds of voices, certain kinds of chords, certain guitar sounds, their sustain and shake. Some like the warble, others the croon; some like the shout, some the breathed. There is a catalogue of things I like, an unwritten taxonomy. One of the chapters is headed: THIS. The heading is in fact a recording of the song "Stark Glass Man", by Phantom Buffalo. It is recorded in a nice big typeface, in gold foil, so that even the half-blind can read it. Even in their dark tower rooms they can flip open my Book of Likes and find this fall jangle, this Portland intuition, this rosy cerulean song, see-through like stained glass. Seven years after I first heard them, Phantom Buffalo have made an album of kings and queens, valleys and mists, jerkins and bucklers. This is a fanciful thing, a small indulgence, but the songs are as likable and direct - just instead of flashing like puddles, they flash like fish. "Stark Glass Man" is an off-phase pop song about a man who may or may not be made of glass, who may only figuratively be made of glass, who is happy and sad and singing wordless "da-da-da", full of wistful longing. Jonathan Balzano-Brookes has a voice like a bell that's about to ring and his band will gallop for miles, if he asks them. [Tadaloora is out Nov 5 on Microcultures. Video teaser here. Or play the Tadaloora Adventures online video game.]

Pat Jordache - "Steps (Damaged Goods)". A new ropeadope from Montreal's extraordinary Jordache. Melting funk, cowbell roast-beef, Ziggy Stardust plummeting Baumgartner-style from subspace to terra. Bluetooth headset blinks, sharp blue light, mayday / octoberday / saxophone. Play two records on rival turntables, align them, make them perfect, break up with the DJ. Break up with the DJ - and see if those records wobble. See if they scratch. See if they keep on turning, 33 or 45, unstoppable diamond needle, as the earth takes a deep breath and decides to quake. [Soundcloud / buy Pat's preceding album / the new one can't come soon enough]

[Photo: Fête sportive à la commune libre de Montmartre, avec les deux bibendum (Source Bnf), 1922.]

Essaie Pas - "Carcajou". This was not supposed to be a mystery story. The setting was set, the characters were rubbing their eyes and sitting up in bed, symbols were assembling on a branch out front. You thought you knew what it was, that it would spool out straight - a meeting, a parting, a typhoon, serendipity, love. Then suddenly there was a body on the ground, bloodtrail: it had turned into another mystery. The night wouldn't lift. Boats were in the bay. Every window seemed to be made of frosted glass. A faded sickle moon was hanging perilously low in the sky. [bandcamp / thanks to Silent Shout for the tip]

Harold Arlen - "Stormy Weather". The greatest lover in all of Philadelphia has a voice like a squashed frog. You wouldn't think it would be such a problem - but it is. The greatest lover can't get a date. He lives in an era before online dating, before the internet, when you ask a girl to dance by asking her to dance - by murmuring a few words and extending your hand. The greatest lover in Philadelphia has tried to skip the words part, just doing the hand thing, but it has resulted in mixed messages. As they would say in the era after the internet, he gets "friend-zoned". Essential to being a successful lover is the deployment of key phrases, in a voice that doesn't sound like a squashed frog. And so the greatest lover in all of Philadelphia is largely unsuccessful, wandering the streets alone, swinging his umbrella, and dreaming of gchat.

(image source)

Extra Happy Ghost!!! - "Filler (Minor Threat cover)". You can do extraordinary things with math. You can make a one-sided loop, turn a triangle inside-out, flex a hexagon. You can pour a large cylinder into a small pyramid. It's this pouring that interests me here, listening to Extra Happy Ghost's cover of Minor Threat. Minor Threat made a track that sounds like a solid cliff face, something to scale; a song that's frenetic, shouted, dizzy. Extra Happy Ghost somehow poured that material into a container that is unrecognizable. It is not dizzy, shouted or frenetic. It does not sound like a solid cliff face. Extra Happy Ghost's "Filler" is like swimming in a lake. It is like the breast-stroke through weeds. It is a melting pop song, or perhaps a pop song that has already melted. But both versions are persistent. They will not be dissuaded. They know they do not agree with what has happened and they will not stop shaking their heads, burning books, snapping crucifixes. [get the Hippie Depression 7"]

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The extraordinary Emma Healey, editor of the Incongruous Quarterly and past contributor to Said the Gramophone, has written a book of poems. I truly cannot wait to read it. She will be launching the wonder of a thing at Montreal's WWTWO gallery, this Thursday October 25. Emma is reading and Michael Chaulk is reading and I am reading too. PS I Love You's Paul Saulnier will be manning the DJ decks. It's due to start between 7pm and 8. Maybe see you there.

(image source; it's the work of Alex Box)