2017 Year in Music: Colleen – A Flame My Love, A Frequency

Colleen

A Flame My Love, A Frequency

(buy from Thrill Jockey; download or stream on Bandcamp; ok Spotify fine)

The struggle through limitation – or the forced stricture of self-imposing limitations – can produce great music and art. Look no further than budding songwriters making their most raw and intimate portraits via 4-track in a cabin somewheres; or Rick Rubin's career of forcing rich-celebrities-née-musicians out of their comfort zones to reinject honesty and authenticity as though it were a rare substance meted out by the universe in small doses early in one's life.

And yet – Colleen's particularly ascetic take on limitation stands apart in how it simultaneously defines her work, while also expanding its horizons – like how a pinprick of light can contain all of space and time. Nowhere is her exploration of the infinite more refined and pronounced than on A Flame My Love, A Frequency.

Her previous outing, 2015's Captain Of None pushed to the brink her use of medieval instrument viola da gamba (bonus points if you'd heard of it before that record) – by plucking, plonking, tapping, thrumming, and playing through an assemblage of effects, the largely-instrumental record had a narcotic, dub feel and a collagist ethos. 

Yet, after such an adventurous outing, she wiped the table clean – forgoing that instrument in favor of an analog synthesizer (Critter and Guitari Pocket Piano and Septavox) and delay pedal set-up that preserves some of the dub aesthetic while sounding completely of another universe. Opener "November" drops the listener straight into a music-box melody, a bit melancholy and halting, singular-sounding while preserving her unique sense of space and sound. It's entrance music to a world of Colleen's devising, elemental and pure, almost child-like.

"Separating" delivers you to that world – in this case, subaquatic, dripping tones provide a rippling ambiance that showcases delicate vocals before giving away to dappled, sunny synths that skip along the surface with a hushed, wordless chorus. It's a universe in miniature – almost classically revenant, but experimentally electronic in the way it plays with filtering, broken melodies, and effects to pull the listener further underwater. Warning: this track is all-consuming. Remember to breathe.

After the rhythmic workout of "Another World", which breathes needed air via a circular melody that eventually washes out, we enter "Winter Dawn", whose brittle march pierces the veil cast across the initial three tracks. Colleen's voice is near-crystalline here, intoning, "The world had nearly ended and the sky was blue. And I came home with a fistful of fear." There is a void, here, maybe an icy chasm – but there's also light being cast forward – I can't help but think things are always darkest just before the dawn, a stasis expressed brilliantly when the jigsaw melody pauses mid-flight near the track's end.

Things are a bit darker on the B-side. "Summer Night (Bat Song)" utilizes near-organ, droning sheets of sound to trap a childhood moment in a photograph of sound. There's yearning here, too – the sleepy, minimalist coda over which she sings, repeatedly, "Descending milky night..." while stretching and playing with the phrase – is as glorious as those soft moments when sleep approaches in darkness. 

"The Stars vs Creatures" carries forth the lunar feel – a descending, staircase of a melody again casts Colleen's vocals in starlight, this time relating a parable set in the natural world, all accelerating forward to an ascendant, double-time coda halfway through the song. "One Warm Spark" is another circuitous, effects-laden track to transport the listener to the abstract, earth-bound title track. Again, droning organ tones slowly bud into melody. Set atop the mix, the delineated vocals are healing, a balm & a promise, leaving the synths to slowly exit the atmosphere and tumble into space at sunset, a fairly jaw-dropping finalé if you've gotten your mind right.

I read a note from Colleen that referenced the making of this record, subsequent tour & attention, and stresses of travel combined to take a personal toll that would require self-care and attention in 2018 to recover and recharge. Sometimes it's tough to hear that from an artist – especially considering how we glamorize songwriters and creatives and expect them only to give, give, give until culture or society casts them away like husks. And yet, you can hear the life energy in  A Flame My Love, A Frequency – it's emotional undertow belies the simple surface of such a focused instrumental palette. Amazing, really, how such limitations can be seized to produce something so otherworldly and singular.

  

2017 Year in Music: Endless Boogie - Vibe Killer

Endless Boogie

Vibe Killer

(buy from No Quarter; download or stream on Bandcamp; ok Spotify fine)

For most bands – a single LP clocking in just north of 40 minutes would be a regular album. For Endless Boogie, that's reining it in; merely half the length of their previous outing, 2013's blues-choogle standard Long Island.

In the meantime, what's left of the rock establishment has disintegrated, passed on, or at best, aged ungracefully. What better time for Endless Boogie to grace our skulls with another fried pie of smoked boogie that wouldn't sound out of place on a Stones demo reel from 74?

...but then there's frontman Paul Major, erstwhile private press collector and ramshackle vocalist who'll make Tom Waits sound like Pavarotti. Major's voice, part Oscar the Grouch, part stentorian Western narrator, is up further in the mix this time around, and rather than playing second fiddle to lengthy jams, his non-sequitur, bizarre stories drive much of the record.

[photo by Shawn Brackbill]

On the first half, title track "Vibe Killer" roils along with interlocking guitars like "Marquee Moon" on 'ludes, casting Major's tough guy manifesto as lead amongst the hypnotic, looping guitar workout. A little nihilism goes a long way – this is 2017, and Major eventually points out, "Nobody remembers. No legacy." Even the solos feel succinct here (don't worry; they're not), occasionally peeling off into the ether, letting a little "I Wanna Be Your Dog" piano push the riff into the sea.

"Let It Be Unknown", at 3:45, is somehow the least single-worthy, a blues-y, wah-wah'd shuffle with Major playing his best creepy ingrate, spitting out the line "Give me a nickle / and I'll show you Don Rickels", which is just about funny enough to ruin the spell the guitars of Jesper Eklow, Matt Sweeney, and Major weave.

Things stay set to simmer on the A-side; even inclusive of the heaviest choogle on the record, the ne'er-do-well narrative of "High Drag, Hard Doin'" only lacks some found-sound broken bottles and Keef backing vox, and the vibrato solo lagging behind the already dragging beat is damn-near perfect, epitomizing the expansive sludge of Endless Boogie, replete with at least 3 fake-out endings where the soloist bends a note way further than he should, like a branch too green to snap.

On the B-side; the just desserts. If I write less, it's due to judicious headbanging. "Bishops at Large" cooks up a stew of background wah-wah and swampy piano – fetid and humid and richly redolent for Major to intone, "Bishops...at large" only to leave a pregnant pause long enough to imagine a scrappy fellow emerging up the hill of a graveled road, looking over his shoulder for the tell-tale sun-pierced haze of his pursuer. It all comes to a boil with Major's newfound "falsetto" – coated in distortion and down in the mix like a shorted-out CB, it achieves an effect similar to Lambchop's Kurt Wagner on Nixon's "Up With People". It sounds so good even though it removes all possibility of understanding what the hell he's saying. When it all drops out and the guitar riff percolates back in, you'll swear the Stones were reincarnated from that Some Girls plane crash.

On the back half, "Back in '74" is endless tasty biker riffs and velvety Rhodes that frame a (true?) story about Kiss. In case you were unsure, Kiss is fucking horrible – but rest assured this is probably the best song about them. The locked-in kraut of rhythm section Harry Druzd and Marc Razo is especially obvious here – the beat & bass all shiny like patent leather – and they modulate their volume so well for the quiet part of the story that you can almost see Major conducting the troops with a level palm. Would it were we'd all be so lucky to have a rhythm section as tastefully locked-in.

"Jefferson County" – minus the near-acoustic skronk of the opening – finds the Boogie at full-power, which makes sense given this'd be halfway into their typical running time. The intro fades into a three-chord jam that floats hazily over slow-cook drums. Major enter in media res, "And...ya keep it in a jar." He's at his best when he drops the listener into a years-long story that snakes forward like a river into a floodplain. The gradual pace suits the guitars best, as they find infinite permutations to rub shoulders with one another, only emerging from the morass to blessedly choogle for a brief moment before sinking back into the soil.

"Jefferson County" runs 11:42, but it feels like a minute or an hour, never in-between. High-level, molasses-paced hypnosis – if you can conjure it, you do. "Can you turn it on? Now...don't make no decisions now," Major utters to an invisible friend across the flames. Good for us, Endless Boogie still can, even if they've left the Herculean double-LP form to younger foes. Then again, trying to top your finest hour is a fool's errand – better to double-down on form, stoke the fire, and let the embers burn through.

Warm That Sucker Up

Once a month, I gather in a plain room full of gentlemen in a circle of chairs. Hands in pockets or coats. Everyone with a bag, satchel, or case.

The rules are pretty simple – gather in someone's living room, basement, porch, or backyard, even. Hook up the stereo. [Note: this is the first thing I do when moving in. Even before unpacking boxes! Because how are you supposed to unpack boxes without jams?] Put a record on the platter – you gotta warm that sucker up. Yes, record.

This isn't CD club. It's record club.

(Jr. Bacon Record Club, October 2015, my humble abode.)

Next, put some bacon on the skillet. Probably a pound. Maybe three, depending on attendance. Write the attendees names on some scraps of paper, and put them in the hat of whoever has taken theirs off. Draw a name – that's who has to pick the first Perfect Side.

One record. One side. No pressure...just a perfect one is all.

There are different strategies for the side; some bring a single record, maybe something new scored at a thrift shop, a recent release, or an album recently listened to on repeat. Others prefer an improv approach; bring a few, feel out the flow of the evening, and pick a side that enhances the vibe ...or throws it for a loop. Give a quick introduction of your record: artist, title, year it was released, maybe a pressing detail or where you dug it out of a crate or who turned you on to it.

Put the record on. Cue it. Drop the needle.

Pass the album around – you gotta hold the art in your hands. Otherwise, you might as well be passing around an iPod. Cold metal is weaponry; ink and cardboard is art on canvas. The initial groove crackles and the music starts. Shoot the shit or put your head down and groove. Drink a beer or sit and stare.

Hear something you haven't heard before.

In the context of others it's fellowship; it's church with a cigarette break, communion with no priest. Someone's taking notes (maybe), but there's no boss. Everyone's on the level. Kanye to Kraftwerk, Penderecki to Purple Rain. Fifty sessions in without a repeat (...right?) – and then you've got another month to dig up your next gem.

[This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox. Today's prompt: What new circles have you formed? Any unexpected ones? Did you start a book club or hang out in a tea yurt? Maybe you re-upped with existing friends. Explore your kumbaya moment from 2015.]

2015 Albums of the Year: Seven Davis Jr. - Universes

[The second in my installments covering the year of 2015 in music. Peep the year-end list over at LUNA music, and read the first entry covering Bitchin' Bajas Transporteur here.]

Seven Davis. Jr. – Universes

If you know me even a little – you know I'm not (and have never been) a singles guy. I'm an album guy to the max. When I listen, it's to albums in order (with the lone exception being Amelia's iPod on shuffle on occasional car trips); whether that's on vinyl, CDs (hey, those are still a thing), digital (90% of my hard drive...), or streaming (I recommend ripping-and-uploading to Google Music rather than Spotify). So when I admit to being lured into an album by a single single, hey, that's high praise.

The single in question is "Good Vibes" by UK-via-West-Coast house-electro-funk impresario Seven Davis Jr., off his Ninja Tune debut Universes. I'd be remiss to not mention "Good Vibes" features a(n actual?) Brit, Julio Bashmore (nom de plume of producer Matt Walker) as the co-writer and lead vocal. Built on a thin drum sample (with conga!) and pitch-shifted keyboard loop, it doesn't take long to bring in the high-hat-happy house beat and funky bass. Bashmore's man-on-the-street vocal take, lax as hell (backed by cartoonish, lower-octave BGVs), makes the track, though – that and fat kick drum in the production, along with the killer breaks punctuated with wobbly synth. It begs to be blasted on, bass up, car doors and/or ass shaking.

Universes leverages the uptempo four-on-the-floor vibe with success on "Sunday Morning" and "Everybody Too Cool" – the former with a frenetic, repeated mantra that drills into your brain only to be relieved by spurts of wild, filtered keyboard soloing, while the latter laments the lack of dancing (hey, I've been in that room before) over a drum-line, loose-snare-sounding, hand-clapping beat while Davis, channeling his inner Prince, reaches for (and kills!) the occasional falsetto line over just a touch of synth/organ noodling, and a killer, if tastefully short, overdriven keyboard solo. "Mister DJ don't play this in the club / Cuz people don't dance no more / Everybody too cool for school." Not dancing to this jam would be a sin.



There's bloat here, though – the album is theoretically tied into a narrative package wherein Seven is communicating with a retro-robot-voiced computer, but these skits are so short as to be meaningless, though they do lend a George Clinton-esque vibe to the proceedings, one that Davis builds on by chameleon-ing his way through a number of stylistic changes, with varied results.

"Fighters" is the best of the (odd) bunch, a dub-specked ballad against the cult of violence and confrontation – not only a social statement, but just a damn good song, light oscillators/static providing noisy texture as Davis navigates the spacious track (that reverbed hand-clap, though!) with a soulful vocal take. After six months with this record, this may be the song I return to most. There's funk here, too, though not as 80s-shiny as Dam-Funk: "Try Me (I'll Funk You)" is as close as you'll get to a funk-battle-song, though it drags a bit on the back-end. "Be A Man" pairs an active, melodic bass-line over a speedy reggae up-beat – it's plaintive-sounding, about as yearning as a beat-forward, funky number gets.

But if too much adventurousness is Davis' vice – I'll take it. His debut is rife with earworms, melodic sensibility, and his own strange spin on future-electronic-funky-house-dub jams. Universes makes me think there are two paths forward – an ultra-refined, uber-pop record pulling from his various 70s & 80s musical heroes and mixing in modern electronic sensibilities; or a really far-out album that reaches for and achieves outer space, a record that screams indulgence. Honestly? I'd be down for both.

[This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox. Today's prompt: Do you hear what I hear? Tell us about a sound. What do you hear in your house or at work?]

2015 Albums of the Year: Bitchin' Bajas - Transporteur

I'm going through my albums of the year (listed in their entirety at LUNA's site) – relistening and revisiting – and giving them a much-deserved if belatedly abbreviated write-up. One-by-one. Because they deserve more than a number on a list, even if my own list is unranked (he said, haughtily). So, with no further adieu, here's the first record...alphabetically.

Bitchin' Bajas - Transporteur

Chicago's Bitchin' Bajas are a crew I've been following for a couple years now. Though I can't remember how I initially became aware of their existence, their fantastic (if extremely short) set at the last-for-now Indianapolis psych/garage-explosion/fest CATARACTS sealed the deal. What was once a side excursion from neo-kraut rockists CAVE now almost seems to be their main project, at least in sheer terms of productivity, for Cooper Crain, Rob Frye, and Dan Quinlivan.

Following quickly on the heels of last year's immersive, highly organic, sprawling self-titled double-LP on inimitable Drag City, Transporteur (released in limited fashion by French label Hands In the Dark) is a much different, refined animal. The touchstones are still here – the Bajas are well-versed in the 20th century masters of avant-garde minimalist/new-age composition – the obvious forefathers here are Steve Reich, Brian Eno, Terry Riley, Cluster, and the like. Whether the recording is improvised or highly edited, they waste no time accessing a mood or flow and riding it into the ether with sublime abandon.

(Bitchin' Bajas at CATARACTS...2013?)

While there were some outre synth workouts found amidst the warmer tones of self-titled, Transporteur begins in a starkly different territory with career highlight "Raias Baixas": a Hutter/Schneider-ish beat, whose phased stutter/polyrhythm is too stilted to be completely Kraftwerk-ian.  A cold, fragile high-hat accents the polyrhythm and is slowly joined by oscillations and fat bass tones. Gradually, the ice melts – warm synths seep in, at first unnoticed, but soon coloring and coating the entire structure, while the cymbals bloom like a frozen flower. The masterful way that "Raias Baixas" consistently shifts and moves into new territory, all while retaining the crucial flow established in the early moments – it's most amazing to accomplish all that without jarring the listener out of a trance-like state. As the cymbals whisper out of existence, the negative space that is left swoops and whirls with synth splashes, the lower deck pulsing with interwoven bass tones. When the end is tied up neatly in warbly, pitch-shifted organ, you've arrived somewhere completely different than where you departed, without noticing you've moved at all. It's a monumental achievement in a completely digestible 10-minute trip.

(Great performance of "Raias Baixas" – take that, Pfork crowd.)

Elsewhere, "Planète T" softly filters lush tones with slow-motion, reverse-loop feedback. After the jarring coldness of the opener, it's a perfectly drawn bath. Rob Frye's flute dances around the edges, before coming through in clusters, while the cymbals here are coloration, not drivers. They rise and fall, blurry mountains in the distance. I could live here. "Marimba" pairs a percolating synth-loop with a balance of burbling marimba in the left channel and Frye's dulcet flute, this time in a lower register, panned mostly to the right. The result is both hypnotic and enchanting – additional heft clambers in via organs, and the resulting propulsive track moves forward at a good clip, though softly, hovering above the ground or sea on the utterly transfixing flute solos. Closer "No Tabac" is a bit of an outlier, beginning with rounded, bubbly rhythms that are reminiscent of smoothed over thumb piano or other percussive-yet-melodic engines. The proto-world-beat that emerges, in clicks and claps (a shaker, even!) is as close to dance-party as the Bajas get on this set. The bass is downright Kuti-esque, and Frye's sax (or altered flute?), slightly overdriven, riffs hard and loops back on itself noisily. It's some funky shit, not sanded down, and a palate cleanser for you to flip the platter and dive right back into the opener.

[This post is Day 2 of the Think Kit project. I took a lifeline and wrote about music that moved me!]

Think Kit #1: Year in Photos

I was thinking about 2013 this past week, and my brain said, "Dang dude, you didn't do that much last year. After all, in 2012, you quit a job, got a new job, went to Europe for 40 days, went to Washington for your brother's wedding, moved, and did a bunch of boring everyday shit in-between." But when I started actually thinking about it, I did cover some ground in 2013: the Year of Doing Shit (Better).

The following images are 97% of what has kept me mostly sane for the past 11 months:

The annual (Wooves) Chicago winter retreat wherein males venture

to the snowy Northlands, raise orderly havoc, consume bacon,

imbibe Belgian birthday brews, and reflect upon the aging process.

Amelia made many photographs this year. Here was the first 

of her showings, in Muncie's Gordy's Fine Art + Gallery.
Her photography also provided reason to visit...

...Portland. Top-to bottom:

–Ken's hero sandwich on ciabatta. Some of the best bread we magically

stumbled upon. I copped his book and my baking skills rose.

--Columbia River overlook somewhere near Multnomah. Nature's trifecta:

Mountains, Trees, Water.

--Prancing the Willamette somewhere south of the city. Temporarily

King of this Abandoned Isthmus.

It's true, Randy came to the Midwest. Tacos and bar-crawls
soon followed. Let's hope he comes back soon.
Or that we get out to Seattle soon. Either way!

Everything, Now! at the 10th anniversary Sunshine of Doom show.
This was a great night. Never knew those songs could sound
that good...I guess it's nice to know we improved in a decade.

Bread. I'm obsessed. And not just any kind.
Ken Forkish helped me take my stylings to a new level.
I probably ate this loaf in three days.

(Salted butter is the only kind of butter.)

Amelia prepped, peeled, sliced, and froze 80% of these peaches by herself.

And canned numerous other produce we were fortunate enough to receive.

All this in a house without air conditioning. Y'all are spoiled...

We lost countless brain cells this summer from heat exhaustion.

I'm not even sure I have digested California enough to write about it.

8 days, up to 7 dudes at once. Turning or nearing 30.

Pacific Coast Highway, San Fran, Venice Beach.

Redwoods. Ocean. Sky. Mountains.

Old friends. Older friends.

Hey! I booked a show for my favorite band, Landing.

It was fantastic. They were fantastic.

It was also the day I returned from California.

I ate a giant torta and zoned out to their drone-pop melodies.

Not only do we buy cars (well, just one) but we clean up, too.
Goofy prom pictures may have later resulted from too much

good food and good drink.

Chicago became a bit of a haven this fall.

We did a lot of walking and eating, the two

most important things in life aside from good friends

–which exist there in plenty. 

Amelia showed more photos in Ft. Wayne this fall.

We journeyed up for the opening, and stayed afterwards

to hang out with a great group of artists, creatives, and other 

adults who proved that getting out of Indy can be artistically refreshing.

Ft. Wayne, I take back all ill things I've said about you.

Oh yeah, I kept baking. My mom mailed me a reed banneton,

which may have changed my life.

Between Record Club, starting some shifts at LUNA,

pilgrimages to Reckless Records, and ... well, moving way
closer to LUNA – it was a heavy vinyl year.

We rang in Thanksgiving with my parents in Florida. 

2014, where will you take me? I hesitate to predict,

but hope that I can project continued adventures.

October 2013 Mix: The Cusp

10 tracks, 46 minutes. Get it here.

(I shouldn't have to say this – but support working artists & musicians by purchasing records! Links in the tracklist.)

1) Songs: Ohia - I've Been Riding With The Ghost

2) Bitchin' Bajas - Sun City

3) Landing - Gathering

4) Camera Obscura - Troublemaker

5) Richard Hell & The Voidoids - I'm Your Man

6) Parquet Courts - Stoned And Starving

7) Paris 1942 - Move Out Of Wichita

8) Swell Maps - BLAM!!

9) Endless Boogie - Occult Banker

10) Television - Glory (Live in Portland 1978)

Jason Molina passed away in March, in Indianapolis, where I reside. I didn't know he was in town, and hell, I don't think many people he was close to did, either. He succumbed to organ failure from alcohol poisoning. Songs: Ohia's "I've Been Riding With The Ghost" is a ripper that melds together his best traits as a songwriter, the indelible, plaintive acoustic beginning, the Neil Young-esque staccato-electric verse, and the ruminating, glowing lyrics.

"Trying to remember how it got so late / why every night pain comes from a different place / 

now something's gotta change." Hope you're in a better place now, Mr. Molina.

I saw Bitchin' Bajas for the first time this Summer at Indianapolis's premiere musical happening – Cataracts. I'd missed them earlier in the year, but knew based on the Alice Coltrane & Robert Fripp references (as well as their Drag City backing & CAVE-chops), that their higher wavelength was one I needed to tap into. They played a blissful 15-minute set (due to running late) that was pitch-perfect. "Sun City" is tone painting, gorgeously full of guitar fuzz, organ drone, and sunny synth, all flowing together into One. 

Bitchin' Bajas LIVE at Cataracts 2013.

In August, I booked my first show in five years – all it took to convince me was the announcement that dream-wave/drone-poppers Landing were embarking on a rare tour. With an extensive discography that balances gauzy guitar work and more recently, drum-machine powered delicate new-wave...how could I not? "Gathering" is all note-heavy guitar hook and gentle, shoegaze-y vocal lift, building to a blurred haze of guitar that washes out the end.

Landing LIVE this fall at Do317 Lounge.

Ok, time to admit that Camera Obscura is no longer a guilty pleasure. While 2013 LP Desire Lines mellows out a bit – the hooks are still there, the production is pristine, and songwriter/vocalist Tracyanne Campbell still hits all the right notes (and still has that gorgeous Scottish accent...I'm a sucker for it). "Troublemaker" is the lead single and, to prove that serious/romantic nouveau pop isn't all they do, has shown up in video recently with a jab at ridiculous British television.

Note to self: don't ever consider wearing a jumpsuit. Real bad.

I've been on a huge bootleg kick this year, and Television has been leading the charge. If we're gonna get down to brass tax, I recommend this 1978 set (for the noisiness and solos) and Double Exposure (for demos and alternate versions). But somehow I never heard the Neon Boys (pre-TV) or Richard Hell & The Voidoids (replaced in TV by Richard Lloyd). Blank Generation is the succinct classic you might expect from such an ex-pat – "I'm Your Man" is full of attitude and swing and an iconic vocal take, just reined in enough to express instability. 

Classic cover art, too.

Pastiche, on the whole, in rock and roll music usually annoys me, from the dance-rock craze of the early 2000s, to hyperliterate scarf-rock that tumbled out with the Decemberists...yuck. Parquet Courts manage to take a pastiche of lo-fi icons (GBV, Pavement, even Brit post-punk like Wire or Gang of Four) and squish it into their own strange, wiry box. Wry vocal takes and cyclical guitar lines over a rock-solid rhythm section made Light Up Gold one of my favorite records of 2012. "Stoned and Starving" is the centerpiece, five-minutes-plus of a helluva guitar hook, lazy ruminations, and feedback – it's glorious.

(NYC-by-way-of-Texas, the LP cover does hint at the
subtle twang contained within.)

From the same universe, but a generation-and-a-half prior, discovering the Paris 1942 record was a jolt to my summer. It's all high-end, dismal punk and no-wave skronk. Part Sun City Girls and part Mo Tucker (the Velvets) – it sounds exactly like what you'd imagine...which is actually perfect. "Move to Wichita" is a grimy pop gem caked in dirty, wet newspapers of sound, like a house show that you're almost too drunk to remember. 

(I imagine the gloomy figure on the bridge actually
just found out they were moving to Wichita.)

"Aplomb" – something about Brits and how they have plenty of this to go around. Is it the weather? In the midst of bar bands and Sex Pistol-apers came Swell Maps, a brother-led group that had swagger and artistic ambitions. A Trip to Marineville has feedback experiments, perfect pills of pop-punk, and jam-it-all-in lackadaisical prog. "BLAM!!" takes a primal, bashing, almost-Kraut beat and pounds it into the ground with jagged guitar swell, moaning background vocals, and – surprise! – a sing-along chorus. 

(Swell Maps - "Build A Car". With rare live footage.)

Long Island by Endless Boogie is my favorite record of the year. Who could dethrone the muscular riff that "Occult Banker" rides into the sunset? A band of recordheads and riffheads for recordheads and riffheads – they do one thing: boogie. Choogle. Wah-wah riff. For 5, 7, 9 minutes at a time. Always mutating, hooks gestating and rearing their heads on down the road while their vocalist and frontman mumble-rants like Tom Waits with a chest cold. If that doesn't sound appealing: listen to that riff.

(A beast has awoken in the swamp – maybe this LP is
his foot-stompin' welcome back party. Rise from yr mud
and strap on a six-string, dude.)

I've already mentioned Television, and since I just waxed apoplectic about the power of the riff, I thought I'd end this mix with the regal-sounding "Glory" – this live version speeds the studio track up a bit, adds some distortion to the rhythms, but really, it's all about that crushing chorus that blasts immediately into guitar-solo, and back into the ragged vocals of another chorus with extra guitar on top. These guys were locked in in 1978, and it shows with the extra-heavy ending: 

"When I see the glory / I ain't gonna worry."

west, vol. 3

sunday
woke up in a rough way after the previous bar crawl. walked down to diamond jim's grill (what a great name) for fried potatoes, sausage, eggs, and a ridiculous amount of coffee. homeward brought some reading time, and when ad & megan headed out to a social event, i biked downtown. first went to the local everyday music, a northwest chain with a more-than-fair used & new selection. i picked up: kluster's admira 1971 reissue, michael rother's esperanza, yo la tengo's summer sun, hans-joachim roedelius's works 1968-2005 compilation, and group bombino's guitars from agadez, vol. 2, a great sublime frequencies release. all used!
-then popped down to the community food co-op, and picked up flour, eggs, tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella, to make pizza and blackberry-cornmeal-buttermilk muffins. was barely able to stuff it all in my satchel, but made it home on the bike without breaking a single egg. whipped up the fantastic cupcake/muffins, and then hung out whilst eating the purple heirloom tomatoes, and toast with goat cheese.

monday
-woke up, had another nice 4mile run, barely even breaking a sweat till i was done. wow...could get used to that.
-biked uphill towards & under the interstate, aiming for a ridge that overlooks the town, as well as the bay. roughly started at the upper-left blue point, towards the blue point at the lower-right.

View Bellingham Overlook in a larger map
-rode through whatcom falls park, up some bike trails that ended abruptly, and up a few hills i didn't think i'd be able to do. had to walk the last mile or so in from the trailhead. the view from the ridge was pretty spectacular, the weather equally so. munched on some tomato-basil bread with the goat cheese we'd snagged from the market, and some blueberries. the route back was much quicker...downhill most of the way.
-after cleaning up, went to the northwest washington fair, which was ... fair. couldn't hold up to the indiana state fair. ate some fried vegetables and bbq beef. found out what "horse pole bending" was...a crazy event where you sprint your horse slalom-style around rubber poles.

tuesday
-woke up, had some breakfast. decided to hit seattle that day. left around noon, with sandwich aims, and a hobo supply list: sleeping mat, grocery bag full of possessions, and my army map bag. true northwest itinerant style.
-located randy's workplace without smartphone or map, and picked up the keys to his apartment.
-ate a fantastic sandwich on the sidewalk at paseo's, where i left a puddle of the finest juices for some lucky hound. the pork shoulder with cilantro, mayo, jalapenos, romaine, and grilled onions on a crusty, oblong loaf was a beautiful thing.
-bro dropped me off at homebase seattle for the next few days, and bro-time commenced when tyler arrived shortly thereafter, fresh from roaming the city. we awaited randy's presence; who then left us to our own bro-devices to go on a date.
-made our way via bus to naked city brewhouse. had one of their house brews, a dubbel, a foggy noggin big chief (irish red), and a firestone walker solace wheat. though the dubbel was tasty (wished i had had a chance for another one of their in-house taps), the foggy noggin was the highlight. and a rather tasty steak salad (yeah, i don't know why i went for that, but it hit the spot). watched soccer highlights and began to chew the fat with ty, anticipating the ever-growing bro-gathering that was commencing...right then. randy picked us up on the way back to his place, and i fell asleep in the terrible glow of the new predator movie. c'mon adrien brody.

wednesday
-woke up pretty early. ty & i had one goal for this day (besides ruling, and meeting up with ben later on): salumi. rode the 5 downtown to 3rd & Pike, and hoofed it south, past frou-frou art galleries and several missions. made it to salumi, whose line was only extending 25 or so people out the door. it was beautiful out...why not wait?
-once we got inside, we were treated to a sample of their mole salami, which was pretty incredible. despite that, i had to go for a hot sandwich, the "slow-roasted flavor explosion" of the porchetta. whoa. just when i thought i'd had the tastiest sandwich in history, i'm treated to something almost on a different level. it was zen, like i said to tyler, "when i'm eating this sandwich...nothing else [redacted] matters man...there is only the sandwich." also ate this on the sidewalk across the street, with a can of coke (seemed apropos) and street pigeons flapping in my general direction.
-despite the sandwich buzz, we pressed onwards, greased mouths toward the sun. tyler hadn't been through seattle's central library, so we headed that way, walking the hills, and exploring one of the few buildings that is able to give me indoor vertigo. or maybe it was the porchetta settling. the red floor 4 is particularly affecting; so intense as you exit up the metal stairs to a wall of light and space.
-turned east and walked to capitol hill in search of sonic boom records. unfortunately, the store was closing in 2 weeks, and we didn't expect much. however, the used CDs were 50% off, and we found quite a bundle that weren't picked through yet. tyler snagged 15 or so at about 2.50 a pop, and i came home with three: stereolab's switched on, vol. 2 and margerine eclipse and the remaster/re-issue of the soundtrack to black orpheus. there were also 4 copies of everything, now!'s spatially severed, at a dollar a pop, likely leftover from an indie listening station promotion we were part of. alas. i recall seeing our records in out-of-state stores for the first time and being so excited---so i am at least happy to report that i still felt a spark of pride, even if they were now priced below cost.
-headed back to pike's place market for a mega-round of people-watching and fruit-obtaining. tyler picked up some utterly choice rainier cherries, and i sprung for some peaches. fruitstand guy greeted me with the quote of the week (one of, at least), "DUDE, how's your day been?" i was immediately part of his vibe-flow and replied, "DUDE...it's been awesome. i mean, this weather, am i right?" him: "yeah, man, totally. santa claus was wrong...this is the season to be jolly." he then sold me some amazing peaches that were bigger than my fist. we walked down to the park at the northern end of the market, which was filled with tourists, do-nothings, itinerants, LARPers (for real), businessmen, tribal folk, guitar strummers, vendors, and sleeping junkies. chilled in the sun for awhile, staring at the bay and mt. rainier, on the most unbelievably clear and sunny day yet. in between mountain gazing, we were reading off funny/bad band names from the local alt weekly. highlights included "crazy and the brains" and "poop attack!"
-bounced up to the bus stop and rode back to randy's. slept halfway. got back in time for to hang out for a couple hours before ben's arrival, striding up with his suitcase in hand. we immediately got in the car and drove to the U-district, walking around the neighborhood before swinging in to a pizza joint with $2 drafts. what!? despite looking like a funky sbarro, it was surprisingly delicious. caught up with ben, and the bro-power was increasing. swung by an albertson's to pick up some deschutes, and a watermelon wheat, and went back to randy's, where relaxing occurred before falling asleep watching the first episode of game of thrones.

weekly list, vol. 3

was in chicago all last weekend, so this is a two-for-one!



saw:
--tulpan--
two yurt-based movies in a number of weeks....i may have yurt fever. is that a thing? anyways, this is a kazakhstan-set film about the trials and tribulations of ex-sailor asa, looking for his path, and a wife, on the steppes of kazakhstan. just as desolate (maybe even more-so) than the weeping camel--but with more human elements. really enjoyed this movie, too. something about the deliberate pacing and austerity of central asian/eastern european movies that i really dig on. the people have everything at their fingertips, but in a real, inverse-of-the-internet way.
--30 rock--watched the pilot & first few episodes on the last afternoon in chicago. show is by far the funniest thing on TV, and alec baldwin possibly the greatest laugh-stifler around.



read:
--still working on dos passos' U.S.A. trilogy--
finished the first volume in transit to chicago via (highly-recommended!) megabus. still entranced. while rolling around on chicago's public transit system, feeling the vibrations of the track, the slow shuffle-sway of bodies, the mechanically-timed announcements: i began to sense dos passos' feeling of america as a strange, living & breathing machine, full of irregular cogs in the infinite shape of humanity. to sense the present-palpable at a time so far in the past...

heard:
--tons of Stereolab--
particularly mars audiac quintet, which is as full of kraut-grooves that get-in and get-out as i could've hoped. i also snagged the following thangs, all used, in chicago (reckless is the new bane of my existence):
rolling stones - hot rocks 1964-1971 2xLP
rolling stones - december's children (and everybody's) LP
rolling stones - get yer ya ya's out LP
rolling stones - it's only rock and roll LP
alice coltrane - Huntington Ashram Monastery LP
CD's:
stereolab - mars audiac quintet
stereolab - the groop played space age bachelor pad music
stereolab - switched on stereolab
phantomband - nowhere
irmin schmidt - anthology: soundtracks (1978-1993) 3xCD
pelt - s/t
cast king - saw mill man
v/a - nigeria 70: the definitive story of funky lagos
more words on a lot of these later as i digest them...

consumed:
haven't ran the last 2 weeks, after being sick, then the parents being in town. it may be known as my "meat"-cation.
--in chicago: corned-beef encased "teuben" dog at hot doug's, the YOB at kuma's corner, and some pork belly brisket at fiddlehead cafe. top ratings to all three.
--in indy: steak sandwich at chatham tap, jockamo's pizza prior to superb indianapolis indians game & prior to superb show at the vollrath. introduced the parents to the best cajun food at papa roux. dinner for my grandma's 80th b-day at romano's macaroni grill---which was actually more than dece.
--on the homemade front:
wes & i cooked up 6 lbs. of pork shoulder BBQ in my pressure cooker, along with a mountain of potato salad, and refrigerator pickles, for a get-together on friday at our house. amelia also made some amazing rhubarb cobbler which will now be called "rhubarb delight". this was washed down with growlers of every standard sun king brew, and some sides & desserts brought by other swell folks.
quaffed some ridiculously delicious smoked ribs at aunt deb's on race day, along with leftover potato salad, macaroni salad, beans, two other salads (fruit vinaigrette & layer salad), amelia's cookies, mom's scones, and more. also spread the word of sun king ESB, and my homebrewed ESB to share.
bottled the wit w/ bitter orange peel & white pepper with alex on wednesday. hope this is the best brew yet!


next time, many more words on records!