house-beats

Superpitcher

Dntel - (This Is) The Dream of Evan and Chan (Superpitcher Kompakt Remix)

Four thirty-seven AM. The party should've ended a long time ago. In truth, it has ended already. It's just the stragglers now. The hardcore drinkers. The clinger-on's who know that when they wake in the morning, it's a sore-head, and a day-job they despise that they're waking up to. You try to keep the party alive. The last light-bulb went out - filament snapped - just like your enthusiasm. Still you sway, drinking and smoking, lolling your head from side to side, trying to get a drunken glimpse of that beautiful girl across the room...

Why's she still here?
Why hasn't she left yet?
Does she love me?
Well, does she?
Perfect real-love?
Or faux-love?

And that girl you were with earlier...

...where is she now?
Did she really rest her head against your neck?

And...

...is this what love feels like? The pulsating beat of a hang-over strolling towards you? A thousand questions and few answers? Nervous melancholy; insistent sadness; the end of a party; a miserable farewell; a downpour of rain as you stand watching the skyline; a sinking boat? A bundle of descriptions - gift-wrapped - that - like that new dress you bought (one of) your dearly beloved - don't quite fit? [pause] Sober up, kid. You've got a long day ahead of you. [Discover / Art]

sound-tracks

Two years ago, I watched one of my best friends smash a pint glass over his forehead, by accident. It remains one of my favourite memories. One day later and he was still alive, uninjured, unhurt, ready for another drinking session: but there would be no White Lightning this time. Nah, this called for pizza, and vodka. A lovely combination. Then the vodka ran out. What did we do? We drank snake wine: that is, alcohol which has been flavoured by having a real-life (but thankfully, dead) snake in the bottle. Needless to say, I was violently sick. So was my brother. That didn't matter: we still ate lots of pizza and sang along to Hot Hot Heat's fantastic Make Up The Breakdown.

One day later, it was Euro 2004, it was the final, lots of friends and myself and my brother, all drinking, all watching TV... We never saw the second half. Left the house and went to the bar. It's all still very blurred to be honest. I remember shouting along to these songs with everyone else; I remember going and nearly getting our heads kicked in for our religion; I remember my brother getting called a skater and throwing a pint glass at the ground near to where the guys were standing. I remember Jack getting on his moped which we'd promised we wouldn't let him do. I remember him coming back and shouting, "you's bastards! that was a test! and ye's fucking failed!"

I also remember Philson standing on my glasses the next morning; me labouring over them until they were fixed. Walking down to the bakery and feeling like we were about to die; laughing at Niall as he went to his gardening job. Going into town to meet Lauren; our heads still very much up in the clouds - walking into the wall, getting a milkshake, trying to stay upright.

---



Hot Hot Heat

Get In or Get Out
Bandages

It was a crazy weekend, and Hot Hot Heat provided the soundtrack to it. The whole weekend is as vivid now as it's always been; it was brilliant, stupid, silly, drunk fun. Make Up The Breakdown will always hold a special place in my heart for that reason: because I remember going on the internet and finding the lyrics so that we could sing along. The World Cup starts tomorrow - so it may well be another crazy summer - and therefore, Hot Hot Heat are the perfect band to be listening to. After this summer I hope to be going to Uni, but I'll still love my friends and my memories, and let's face it, I'll always love Derry: "ugly or pretty, it's still my city".

erase you : ignore you

Sara Culler

At Least Like Melissa

Maybe...

I picked out a page, as blank as I could find. Found a couple more. An old textbook served me well for paper. The blank pages at the end. Over 100 novels resting on my bookshelf all with three or four blank pages near the end, near the front. Stories I'd read already, sometimes twice. I turned off the lights, closed the curtains, flicked a match off a matchbook, heard the clllick, saw the spark, lit a candle. Dragged a reluctant pen from its case and began to write. Wrote my whole life story, got it all down on paper in fourteen hours - couldn't sleep that night.

I blew the candle out; forwarded the makeshift book to a publisher. It wasn't marketable, it wasn't intriguing enough. Their editors said my life story was just the same as everyone elses - "But look at the grace and honesty with which its written!" I protested - it doesn't matter, they said, none of this does: who's your target audience? What type of genre are you going for? They took my story, and years later they cut it up into millions of little pieces. Tore me straight from the page - lifted my beating heart and found one that beat faster - replaced me with someone more beautiful. Changed the setting to somewhere more exotic - we were thinking of Thailand, Hawaii, Tokyo, Rome.

They took all those pages that I poured my soul into and they turned my memoirs into a novel full of high-octane thrills. The press loved it. The readers loved it. They loved the truth of it all. They loved the intrigue, the mystery. They loved the way it seemed so real, so genuine. Now I'm a wounded, stray dog, who's laugh is a nicotine coated bark.

I'm whispering, so my words can't be heard and taken apart and replaced. I'm a beating heart, I'm a bruised body, I am real, and I "spit out my smile" for all to see. Back then, I decided that my art from that point on was my life. In life I would be a readable book - but first you'd have to meet me, stare me down, watch me "shiver down the left" and "bleed down the right".

When my life story was drifting towards its conclusion, I didn't know how the last page should be read... I picked out my favourite book from that shelf - fittingly, it was a memoir - and cut out its last page, and then left it blank. No one knows what ever happened. But the critics and the readers alike, they tore the meaning apart, said I was too beaten down to carry on, got myself into such a mess I couldn't continue, so sad I couldn't get out of bed. My father died when I was only twelve, so the story goes, and I'd been hiding the sadness until I finally couldn't bear it and broke down. The ones who knew me, they whispered to each other, words coming out as breaths so as no one could hear, "I think he escaped".

---

This song took me by surprise. The instrumentation sparing and quiet, allowing way for the voice to float in with venom disguised as a platitude; a whisper in your lover's ear. Escape and freedom resonate from the ending chapter of the song where words are ditched in favour of ad-libbed vocals cascading along tributaries. It's the voice of a fallen Angel; still angelic and beautiful, but further from Heaven than any of us could ever know. And at the end of the song, as a deep breath is taken and then coughed back out, you accept your sadness. Because it's your sadness; no one elses. You embrace it with open arms; you look at yourself in the mirror and see it staring back at you - your one, true, reliable friend.

Wake up! Everything is ok!

The Cooper Temple Clause

Waiting Game (live)

Deep breaths. Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Count from one to ten. You're standing still as you neck a full bottle of red wine. Oh how you hate wine. But it's a crap party - something has to be done. It's five minutes later: you're feeling slightly nauseous as the party gets into full flow and you're swept over to the side. You're ok. You're ok. Steady, steady. Feel the wall, it's still there, it's not spinning. Calm down. It's ok.

Deep breaths. Count down from ten. It's ok, you did it two hours ago, you can do it now. Talk to the person next to you. Talk talk talk. Ah, this feels good. Still alive. And yea, it is, it really is: it's two hours later and you're on top of the world, if you're even on the world. Seems like you're so high you're not even touching anything; the sphere looks so small from where you are. You can't feel your feet; maybe you're floating. Full of love. The alcohol has had the desired affect, it's just past two am, and you rule the Earth. The world hasn't ended. There was no Millennium Bug. It was all talk.

All the computers in the world haven't automatically shut down, the economy hasn't collapsed; you'll wake up in the morning and your head will hurt but you'll be alive. This was a good night - the fear led to an extraordinary amount of alcohol being drunk, and every guest at this party - like every party everywhere else - was in the mood for laughter - nervous laughter - and glad of the company they had around them. At least if the world was going to end, your last breath would've been in the company of friends. You turn to your friend, spilling his drink in the process: I really fucking love you.

Next morning: wake up, phone a friend.

"That was the best New Year's Eve ever, wasn't it mate? ... You remember that anthem they kept playing over and over? I mean, which bloody joker put the CD player on repeat, just so he could sing exuberantly, "And 'is this the end?' is all I can say". Was it Eamonn? He's got the best music taste... Bloody good tune, that was an'all... He's still a wanker like but now that it's over I can only laugh... Still; you don't know how relieved I was that they had no R-E-M. If them people in that house had started laughing and singing "It's the end of the world as we know it", I swear I would've just found the nearest balcony and jumped... Haha, aye, I figured you felt the same... But seriously mate, I had a great night. We gotta see each other more, yea? ... Yea I know man. Sure, I'll text you or whatever... Yea you too."

You find the CD, and you put it on repeat - just so as you remember that hook, how'd it go again? The twinkling keys and steady shock of the guitar chords make you feel higher than Heaven - or maybe that's the alcohol; hasn't quite left your system yet. Beep Beep. Text comes through on your cellphone: "How much did you drink, in the end up? ... Bloody great night all the same yea? ... You were really something else... Daft eejit"

Malcolm Middleton

A Happy Medium

Occasionally you hear a song, and it's like hearing the essence of happiness. It's a sunny day, and it's the feeling of being outside walking along the street, or cycling by the river. Deft leg movements, the feeling of fitness. Passing by the alcoholics in the carpark, and then you've gone further than you meant to - actually on the cycle path now; looking to your right you see the Toucan II - the Derry boat that'll take you along the river and back again.

It's beautiful looking to your right, all this potential, all this greenery far in the distance; mountains, when you look further still. The water's filthy - travel further, you're nearing Sainsbury's and before-you-know-it you're looking over the edge: there's a shopping trolley ditched and thrown over the railing. But, like I say, the sun's out, the water's sparkling - clear and true - and you're smiling, and you don't really know why. Maybe it's the season, maybe it's the feeling of forgetting everything else going on in your life.

This song is a wonder, in that it conveys the very brilliance of being alive. Maybe you're generally not a happy person, but there are pure moments of absolute joy that you experience, just like the rest of the world, and you're glad the world's not over, that you still are alive, that everything - for the moment - is A-ok. "Woke up again today, woke up again today, woke up again today". Hear the twinkling, the pleasing calm guitar notes, the ecstatic drum notes, the chirping of the birds. It's the same birds you heard this morning when you were out walking, getting the paper and a croissant. And to be honest, it's quite amusing, the lyrical honesty of it all. "Realised I hate myself". It's one of those songs that you hear and you actually realise everything's ok.

It's a song of hope. Realising the error of your ways, some things need to change, some part of your life needs to change, you're in it for the long-haul but by the end of it you're going to be a better person; you'll feel brilliant. This isn't the sound of silence, it's the sound of the sun coming out, illuminating all the dark spots you've been too scared to look at. It's not the end of the fight, it's not a white flag; it's the start of a summer full of golden opportunities - they're staring you right in the face, laughter trickling down from the sky, eyes twinkling in the mid-day sun, and you're staring right back, beaming the most genuine smile you've shared in a while. Every song's an anthem. Every smile's a blessing. Every day's an opportunity. "Everything's ok / I'm obviously unhappy".

Stop The Pretense and Just Drive

That's the ugliest limo I've ever seen. Not that exact one. But one like it. Just outside, there now. If you're going to spend money on a limo why not get a nice one? Maybe that would be a good idea, no? But instead you waste a wee bit of money on some silly looking thing. And then...

Staring at me whilst I'm smoking a cigarette through the passenger window is really not going to make me like you any more. Seriously. I mean, ok, maybe you're dying for a fag. Gasp, gasp, too much alcohol was drank tonight, I'm dead stressed about the hang-over I'll have in the morning, I would love a cigarette. That'd be okay probably - I understand that situation. But when you have a look of sober contempt on your face, through the glass of a cheap wee rented limo as if you're better than the rest of the human race - well, suffice to say you've moved beyond the "probably wouldn't want to talk to you" category, to the "I will never ever allow myself to be in the same room as you for the rest of my life" category.

What's wrong with cars? I hear they work just fine.

Stop The Pretense and Just Drive - Mini Mini Mix

Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars (Acoustic)
Imogen Heap - Speeding Cars

In case you were wondering, the moon looked lovely tonight - probably still does. Had a lovely little halo of white dust floating around it. Clouds illuminated just enough to see them moving away from the reservoir of the moon, and away to the ocean of darkness surrounding it. So life is good. Some people are not, but they're the select few, and luckily I don't hang around with cheap limo-renters. It's. All. Good.

but she's out with her answerphone

Type a thousand words of regret into notepad. Erase them, start again. How many times is that now? More than enough, you answer. The words never quite fit. Which friend are you writing about this time? I'm not sure - maybe all of them, you answer. You try again, this time in public; words have always failed you when it came to the truth. They probably still will. You try anyway.



Jeff Buckley

Morning Theft

Your first friend sat with you in a kebab shop that's long since been burnt down - accidentally by its own staff, no less. Huh, ironic, you think. She sits there so effervescent, her hands always moving, your eyes always darting about - the ceiling, the staff, the customers, the food, your words - everything takes on a new meaning, a new life, a new freshness when you are with her. You look away from her; out the window - you've always loved windows; looking out, looking in - raining outside: I guess I don't mind walking in the rain with her, you think.

You look back and she's made you a star out of an aluminium ashtray. You didn't smoke at this point in your life. This star: it looks like a piece of rubbish yet to be disposed of. To you it is something special, something to be cherished, a remarkable gesture, your first gift from your new best friend. You get home, hold it in your hands and then set it down... the next day you wake up and it's gone; dumped. Huh, ironic, you think, as you sit here typing these words thinking of all that happened after; all that hasn't happened since.

---

Your second friend was your next best friend; she wasn't a replacement. Every friend is different, special in their own way, this one is special: truly, truly special. Others stare and gawk; watch you like hawks. They think there is something more than friendship - there has to be, look at how they laugh; they think if they stare long enough it will appear, it will be written in your eyes. There isn't anything to be seen, of course, but it puts a weight between you. A heaviness hangs in the air; words unspoken, difficulties raised. You never knew what to do about these things; so you ignore them, convince yourself everything's going to be ok.

You sit beside each other, stare at the sky, the clouds, pick out patterns and faces, tell secrets that no one else would want to know. You listen to each other. Now after everything the main thing you remember is laughing with her; at friends, at music, at stupid things, at important things - laughter was your escape. These days you laugh sometimes, but it's never a real laugh. It's always a bitter laugh, ha ha ha, isn't it funny how things turn out. The guy who wrote the song you best relate to is now dead; drowned in a river, and no one will ever know whether it was an accident or not.

---

Lyrics stand out when they're sang by such a melodious, beautiful, and powerful voice: "friendships battered down by useless history / unexamined failure", "what am I still to you? / some thief who stole from you / or some fool drama queen whose chances were few", "though the meaning fits, there's no relief in this / I miss my beautiful friend". Sometimes friendships fall into place, and sometimes they don't, but no matter what, sometimes it's impossible to let go. So you're trying to hold onto the ones that do, while mourning and possibly repairing the ones that don't. Jeff Buckley helps. It's an ok world, isn't it? You realise you're smiling. This is the first time, since...

Relevant Bonus x 3:

The Frames - Star Star (live at the Fine Line Music Café)
Alexi Murdoch - Song For You
Cloud Cult - As Long as You're Happy (live at KEXP)

It's a song of commas; not full stops.

Azure Ray

Rise

It's that feeling of being so down, it's a drag to even get out of bed in the morning. Or the afternoon. Or the evening. Or even at all. What does this world have to offer me? Is there beauty in sadness? Or is there just sadness? Maybe I should be thankful for this feeling. It's an understanding; it's not bitterness, it's simple resignation. Maybe things could be different. Maybe things were meant to be this way. But it can be consoling to sometimes just fall apart. Let all the pieces come together at their own pace. Every flower in time will bend towards the sun. Everything will fall into place. Maybe time does heal all wounds, but for now, I'm accepting this feeling of pure, unadulterated sadness. "Hey, look how low I've sunk / Don't ask me to rise / I lost you when I was high".

This song exudes such sentimentality, but not sloppily. It's... pretty - for lack of a better word. Listening to it is like sitting inside, with the window open, watching a drizzle fall from the sky. The sun is out, the raindrops are falling, and there is a rainbow. A little ray of hope in all the sadness. It's a song that calls to mind elongated vowel sounds; soft smooth contours; the smile on the face of the person you love, as the tears fall down their cheek; the smell of their perfume lingering on your pillow - you still hold that pillow close to your chest three months later.

It's a song that echoes and resounds and lays down to rest within your heart, like the baby Jesus laying his head upon a bed of straw. The vocal-line is a waterfall, a lake, a reservoir; calmly flowing tap-water, not so much splashing into the sink as touching it briefly, before moving on. It's a song of commas; not full-stops. And it's perfect for lying in bed to, either before you go to sleep, or before you find the resolve to leave the house in the morning. "Today I crawl out of bed." [Find out more...]

Bonus:

Azure Ray - Displaced

*Notes: Read to understand.

The death of a weapons specialist...

Thom Yorke

Thom Yorke - Harrowdown Hill [click link, click another link, download]

Radiohead have always been a politically conscious band; Hail To The Thief was a blatant snipe at the American elections. Thus it shouldn’t really be a surprise that on Thom Yorke’s solo album, The Eraser - which is in effect a collaboration with Radiohead’s longest running producer Nigel Godrich - more of Yorke’s social frustrations get vented.

---

Dr David Kelly - a weapons specialist - said five months before his death that he would "probably be found dead in the woods" if the American and British invasion of Iraq went ahead. In the events leading up to this, Kelly came under fire from the Ministry of Defence who allegedly put him “through the ringer”, after he admitted to a BBC journalist, that the dossier intended to persuade the invasion was “sexed-up”. For example, the dossier claimed that Iraq could have their nuclear weapons equipped and deployed within 45 minutes – an untruth according to Kelly.

According to Barney Leith, secretary of the National Spiritual assembly of Britain, “The teachings of the Baha'i faith strongly emphasise the importance of ... keeping one's word." This faith is one which Kelly himself prescribed to, and it is likely that he took his own life out of a feeling of guilt. This guilt arose from his involvement in the dossier, and also his promises to Iraqi officials and scientists to whom he had given his word that co-operation with weapons inspections would prevent an invasion from going ahead. However, if an invasion did go ahead, Kelly felt he “would have betrayed his contacts, some of whom might be killed as a direct result of his actions".

---

Kelly’s prophecy was a self-fulfilling one – he committed suicide and was found on Harrowdown Hill, with his wrists slit. Thom Yorke glares as he sings on his techno melodrama, Harrowdown Hill, “don’t ask me, ask the Ministry”. The whole song revolves around the thoughts that must have been circling Kelly’s head at the time he decided to end it all; the lyrics understandably bitter, especially the opening lines: “Don’t walk the plank like I did / You will be dispensed with / When you become inconvenient”.

As you would expect from such an outspoken and seemingly anti-Government (even anti-everything, would fit) figure, Yorke explores whether it was actually suicide or whether it may have been simply a case of manslaughter by the press, the MoD, the Government: “did I fall or was I pushed?” The entirety of the song is a glaring indictment of media pressure, and the fragility of the human heart. Exploring loneliness and how much a man can take: “I can't take the pressure / No one cares if you live or die / They just want me gone”.

If you didn’t know what the song was about, you would be forgiven for thinking it was typical Radiohead fare - if ever-so-slightly gloomier - but when you put the song into context and realise what it’s actually about, it becomes a political point, a moving, socially-conscious vignette that further proves the relevance of Yorke as a songwriter – capable of getting to the core of an issue and inside the heart of its subject. It hits you like a Bukowski poem - your heart is floored, but your head has trouble dealing with all the points raised. You don't know whether you agree or disagree - hell you don't know if there's even anything you can agree or disagree with - you just know that somewhere inside you something broke and you're both inspired and terrified. All you want to do is lie down; but you know you'll have the song on repeat instead.

*Sources: Guardian, BBC, BBC
*Notes: that Bukowski poem I linked is really fucking good. Trust me.

This is real-life (part 2)

Nathan Asher and The Infantry

Turn Up The Faders

It's the summer, you're ten, the sun is out; lights breaks all around; blue skies filled with floating white clouds. It's a beautiful day for playing football; running around on the grass, your mother warns you not to hit any windows, you laugh, and when you do hit one it's a joke, it's funny, it's shared with friends and you're all laughing. You're not a vandal, you're just a kid; this life is brilliant.

Tired from all the running about you head over to the ice-cream van, get a 99 with that Flake that you like so much. Eat it up, spill some on your shirt - it was a mess anyway from the grass-stains. Time to lie down, you lie next to the grass of your neighbours caravan - you don't live here, but it's your holiday home, it's a good place to escape.

Take the ball down to the beach and the wind blows it away so you're down in the sand and you're running out into the sea, and you're sweating, can't wait to dive in - hang on a second - this... this water's freezing. It's all in good fun something about the sunlight has made this day your own, it's there to be seized and you grab it pull it down - like in Bruce Almighty where he ties a string around the moon and pulls it closer - and you hold it in your arms. Your friends are your friends, and this summer has been brilliant.

---

It's only eight years later but suddenly things make less sense, you're still a kid but the world has changed it's not so receptive of you; when you do things you do them on your own - your friends help out sometimes, but rarely, only when you really need it. And you really need help most of the time; it burns you out the stress from your job, your education, you're tired, so tired, you did an eleven hour shift after getting two hours sleep, where was the sense in that, why do you do it why are these sentences falling from your mind and onto your fingertips where did the punctuation go why is everything so damn hard and everything it just

STOPS.

---

This song to me is the transition from those silly summers to the reality of real-life. No wonder it won the John Lennon songwriting competition. It aptly describes the way things were when we were younger and then progresses to flit around lust, alcohol... everything. Listen to the lyrics and you will understand; "encouraged to dance emphatically, manicly, even desperately"; "using liquor as a tourniquet"; "let's succumb to our desires / before we become just like our fathers". We are a desperate generation; endlessly discontent: "this used to be enough for me, now it isn't". Musically, it's that scene in Good Will Hunting when the eponymous protagonist is describing his social-life.

---

WILL
No, but, I mean you know...I do other
things. That no one knows about.

PSYCHOLOGIST
Like what, Will?

WILL
I go places, I interact.

PSYCHOLOGIST
What places?

WILL
Certain, clubs.
(beat)
Like, Fantasy. It's not bad.

Will gives the Psychologist a furtive look.

WILL (cont'd)
It's just that feeling when you can
take your shirt off and really dance.
(beat)
When the music owns you. Do you
understand?

---

I think I can understand that. It's the loss of innocence, and it's right there in the ending: Here's to all the new beginnings / We never got back from. [Find out more...]

This is real-life

This marks the first-post in an on-going theme of songs that are more spoken-word than most music you'll find. They all tend to have indie/rock sensibilities, the emotions made all the more palpable due to their spoken-word nature. The first of these is a mixture of spoken-word and singing, but I believe it's a nice choice to ease you in.



Okkervil River

Okkervil River - For Real

The tension is there from the beginning. The tentative voice is hiding its underlying emotion, but not very well. The guitar is turned up too loud, the amplifier is set to eleven - Spinal Tap style. The softly stroked chords come out louder than you'd expect for such tender playing. The guitarist stabs at the strings - you knew it was coming but you didn't know it would come so suddenly; you see the unveiling of the tension but it's still there and it remains there. Everything makes sense after the solo. But you're still just listening to the voice.

You hear no words, just noise. You hear a wounded tiger, trapped in a net, just trying to escape. It's a plaintive cry and you don't care what's being said, you don't want to spoil it; you can feel this music inside you - you know it makes sense. You want to cry, but this isn't a crying song - the drums, the guitars, the synths carry it along and its about redemption, it's about letting go.

The song ends; you feel better - cleansed but still on edge. You take a drink, it's too diluted, you make it stronger, you drink it up, you drink it straight, you take the edge off - just about - you get drunk you put the song on again and you start shouting at your friends, "I heard someone say this was the best single of last year. It really is. What do you mean you don't agree? What do you mean you don't... I need to lie down, I need to curl up, I'm going to bed, I'm going to sleep, don't wake me. Please, don't wake me..."

We write letters...

I just toppled my laptop, from my lap and onto my nose. That was not paricularly pleasant. Before this I was outside. It's surprisingly light outside. It's 4:30 AM so that may go someway to explaining it. But from inside my room it now seems surprisingly dark. Maybe it's the artificial light resonating from the street-lights. When I was outside the birds were chirping. I am fully awake and yet gasping for sleep.



Marching Band

Letters
In a Little While

"We feel like good friends should be kept". Indeed. Tonight was a good night. Saul Williams was played. Obviously, it wasn't an Indie Disco. It was Funk, Soul, and Rock 'n' Roll. I only stayed for "a little while". Then the Bound For... the band there played modern loveable covers. It was simple. It was effective. It was enjoyable.

"I'm pretending you're looking outside, trying to decide; how to do it, how to get it right." I am a beating soul, a beating heart, a human body full of emotions, and the Marching Band are not so much marching as strolling towards conveying these feelings. They are the music you hear in the mornings when you're not tired enough to sleep, but too tired to dream; so instead you just think. You love the people you know. You hate the fact that you hurt them so often. Each and every regret has an accompanying moment of happiness.

I am fully awake and yet gasping for sleep... good night. [Find out more...]

x

That's reason enough to celebrate!

Reasons: It's Friday. I have some 'spare' whiskey. No point in having spare alcohol, eh? Friends don't waste wine when there's words to sell. This will be my first time being out of the house and out of the village, since Hell. Hell took place on Wednesday. Let's not talk about it. I have some 'spare' cigarettes. See above. Indie Disco is probably on. I'm going to dance. Music is great. I'm going to buy a hard drive soon.

Reasons not to celebrate: I have to buy a hard drive, soon. As in now. How soon is now? Too soon.



These songs are silly. They were always meant to be silly. Instead of aiming at touching your heart, they try to move your feet. Shake with enthusiasm at the thought of an alcoholic reprieve. Let's not glamorise alcohol, but sometimes it's pretty sweet. What's even better though? Friends and lots of 'em. What's even better still? Friends who dance and love music.



Friday's mini mix-tape

Professor Murder - Champion
Think About Life - Paul Cries
Smile For The Cameraman, Honey - Snips! 2
Radiohead - Idioteque
Snowden - Anti Anti
You Say Party! We Say Die! - The Gap (Between the Rich and the Poor)

* Champion makes me think of a messier Futureheads, less keen on trendy covers, and more keen on reckless abandon.
** Paul Cries is like a second-hand copy of a Unicorns disc. All fuzzy and muddled, conveying a bizarre energy that strives to make the party. A scratched record put on repeat that just loses itself. Ba-da bop ba-dada.
*** Snips! 12 sums up the Indie Disco in a very short space of time. super-disco, disco-making! This song is pretty much one for spazzin' out to - and of course dancing a lot as well. Imagine a kid with ADHD on ecstasy. Got it? Good.
**** Radiohead went from a straightforward rock band, releasing hit single Creep, to that weird art-rock political band that make crazy dance music infused with alot of rock and electronica. Is this a bad thing? No. Everything all the time.
***** Snowden start this song very much like it's a - and here's where it gets hard. Maybe like The Killers trying to be U2? Something like that, which sounds shite... but it's pretty great.
****** Imagine a soft-core female fronted Rage Against The Machine. This is what that song sounds like, and I love it. We're ending with this 'cause I have to get the bus and there's no better song to get me in the mood for dancing - except for maybe Snips! 12. I Say Party!

We came to party... street by street; block by block

Champion, knees up, SPLASH!!...

*Note: post originally written between 21:27 and 22:02. Blogger is shite. Thus it took a while for it to get posted. Post is for Thom. 'cause Thom's a good friend.

It's just bad news.

Sure, there's a few clouds in the sky but they all blend into one; it's a canvas sky - it's been painted by one brush and one colour and then it's been smudged. It's a quiet evening - nearly summer - the barbeque aromas aren't hanging around beside the hedges yet, but it's getting there. Before it gets there, you're thinking of all the things you've done since last summer. You've torn down the walls between you and something you've always wanted to do. You've smiled alot, laughed alot. You've broken down the walls guarding a friendship, and you've destroyed the friendship. You've lied alot, you've cried alot. Maybe this is the song to sum all of this up. "Don't try to call / you'll lose it all". Sometimes, you have to look the other way, just to get by.



Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin

House Fire

"We did all we could." Denial. Self-aggrandisement. But, the thing is, you know it's self-denial - so that makes it all the sadder. "It's just bad news". Investigate the band further. Find out who Boris Yeltsin is.

soft-spoken prayers under candlelight

Today was one of those days, that's like, really really bad, but you detach yourself from it so that everything is ok, the sun is shining, hey, it's only life. You ever had those days? They make you feel bad about the detachment, for a start. And then it's like putting off a problem. And yea, well, anyway, read more here.

The Silent Type make beautiful music. I first discovered them through an immensely praising review on Drowned in Sound, which wrote about their music and its perfect suitability for the context in which is was released - the reviewer listened to it on the day of the London Bombings. The review was quite amazing, and obviously, I wanted to hear the band to see if they were worthy of such flattery. Well, I only ever downloaded Ink & Blood, but it was a fantastic song that has been on many of my mix-tapes, and then the other day I took a mood and decided to get more. Only got two others, but if you like male-female harmonies, folky indie music, and beauty, then you should enjoy it all. 'Oh John' reminds me so much of the band Anathallo, that it makes me wonder if The Silent Type are Christians as well. It just has that, sort of distinctive holy sound. Don't let that put you off though, since oftentimes that can be a beautiful sound.



The Silent Type

Ink & Blood
Oh John
Jus Primae Noctis

The lyrics for Ink & Blood are as follows:

Is it true if I wake up that this story I construct will eventually come undone and reveal its empty tongue, like all along, this ink and blood could just wear off? I'm a book wrote in reverse and with several pages torn. As you read, the plot gets worse, and the characters unlearn every virtue, all concern for the lovers that they've hurt, for all pain has been returned. So I'm keeping my eyes shut. No more pages will get cut. The few chapters not yet done will come. Don't rush these words along. The words will come.

You should invest time in listening to the music properly, and listening to the lyrics, since their poetry and beauty is a key feature of this music - although the music is beautiful enough on its own to survive without such words. I've no idea what the band's up to now - still taking a breather I guess - but their website is well broke, and thye've never been featured on Drowned in Sound since.

Notes on that summer / Notes on this music -

Listening to the songs now it is easy to see why the reviewer found so much meaning within the music. After a tragedy comes a search for meaning, a desperate attempt at finding the beautiful and patching up the mistakes. The Silent Type seem to reveal how, effortlessly. The secular sound is hopeful and beautiful. Listening to Nathan Altice's voice is like tip-toeing into a darkened room, lit up only ever-so-slightly, by the candles on the mantelpiece. You take a step in and you hear a soft voice. You look up and see your shadow flickering. You glance the other way and something catches your eye. It's Nathan, kneeling on the ground, praying. This is a prayer you want to listen to. It feels necessary to hear his soothing tones, his delicate way of speaking, his beautiful words. You want to have the meaning that you can hear in his voice. And so you stay. And then you put the songs on repeat, until you feel cleansed.

65daysofstatic get all retro Trainspotting style

There is nothing more distracting than finding great music, when only half-heartedly looking for it. If this song isn't the coolest thing you've heard all day, then you're pretty damn cool. I found this posted here. You should go there, mainly for this. I recommend the covers by: The Lucksmiths, Loquat, Nada Surf.

65daysofstatic

Born Apart [Love Will Tear Us Apart / Born Slippy]
Retreat! Retreat!

I threw Retreat! Retreat! in as a bonus, because well, it seems kind of mandatory, seeing as how this band are unstoppable. The Born Slippy song was of course made into the most memorable and depressing song ever due to its use in Trainspotting. It is retro, and I love it. So should you. Sorry for the excitement, but you know passion is a powerful thing.

Back to revision for me...

last orders are an order

Finally, I've got around to listening to Beerjacket enough, to start to like the music, alot. Borrowing from such well-worn strings as Elliott Smith, Jeff Buckley and Bright Eyes, Peter Kelly - the young face behind the voice and the guitar - is turning into a brilliant songwriter with brilliant potential. Using a stripped back acoustic offering of sound, he crafts well-written and well-sung melodies, to carry his songs.

No point in citing influences if you don't explain, so... Beerjacket, writes and plays guitar lines which are more complex than your average singer-songwriter fare - no doubt the influence of Elliott Smith - and with enough variety to keep you interested. In addition to this he's got the (seldom-used) falsetto, and the faltering voice of Jeff Buckley and his lyrics are often reminiscent of Bright Eyes in both their sardonic phrasings and their bitter delivery.

Offering up such sound-alikes as these would put an awful lot of pressure on a young singer-songwriter, but he's nearly good enough to get away with it. Maybe not quite there, but he will be soon, no doubt. I would recommend heading over to Archive.org in order to find a live show of his, since these illustrate that his talent is a natural one, and his charm is subtle but ever-present.

If you're a literary person, or just a drinker, then listen to the lyrics of 'Last Orders', since they're insightful, and the vocal delivery makes them seem even more profound. A song about alcoholism and an ode to resignation - it has to be done, it might be fun, you'll wake up hating yourself in the morning. I'm sure others have felt that.



Beerjacket

Barricade
These Planes Won't Fly
Bad Got Worse
Last Order (live)


This live concert is good. This one; here, silly. It's the one where he opens for Rilo Kiley, and gets nervous but never really falters.

You can download the rest of his second album, 'Great Unhappiness', here. I only offered up my favourites from it, which I believe highlight his potential the best.

Sorry for slow posting, I've been recovering from Friday and then just recovering, and then trying to revise. I'm going to try that some more now.

i don't even know what i'm doing here

Imagine you have a piece of paper and five different coloured pens and your task is to create twenty beautiful/cool pictures [four in each colour], but you're only allowed the one sheet of paper. Could you do it? Maybe you'll create one or two masterpieces but the rest will become cluttered and hidden underneath one another. Well, Smile For The Cameraman, Honey manages the task wonderfully. Through cutting up the best [and worst?] of popular music he manages to create an entirely different beast, which, pretty much, rocks. And although sometimes it can all become very cluttered and overwhelming, there is enough skill in the beat selections and the remixing to allow it all to flow brilliantly, and enough quirkiness for it to appeal to a wider audience than just the indie/rock kids, [although they're probably the ones who will see the true brilliance of such a project - since, y'know, they probably already love 2manydj's or whatever].

A bit of irrelevant info that proves relevant: I was outside before doing this post, clearing my head and polluting my lungs. It started raining. Like really raining. Then it stopped... for a second. Before starting again - heavier this time. I like to think of SFTCMH like that. Frentic bursts of energy that stop, for just a second, to allow you a breather before rocking out even harder.

A little bit more: In Derry, Sandinos does an Indie Disco night every other Friday which is two DJ's playing the best rock/indie/pop music and making everyone dance. SFTCMH is like that 3 hour Indie Disco cut up mixed up stuck together and then made into a [just over] two minute song. In other words, absolutely brilliant. This is your Friday night music, from now on.



Smile For The Cameraman, Honey

Snips! 12
Snips! 5
All yr secrets (Snips! Remix)

Notes:
#1: I also included the remix he did for The Flying Matchstick Men.
#2: These are Myspace download links so may take a second.
#3: This is the second version of this post. Blogger ripped the first one apart.

The days I recall being wonderful weren't so long ago...

Today [16/05/06]'s band have a calendar month in their band name. Thus, maybe time is important to them. It's important to me, because I think it's running out - what with exams coming up soon, so soon; less than ten days away. Where did all the time go? I think I felt it slip through my hand, like grains of sand, as I accumlated knowledge in everything and nothing, all at once. I've learnt alot, forgot alot. Oh yes I remember now...

I spent the time on the beach, on the sand, walking up and down, never expending too much energy. Or I spent the time on the gravel, the cement, playing football, having the sun break down on me. Or I spent the time reading, listening to music, and then somehow getting all those maths homeworks done. The sun was out all the time. Relentlessly shining. But it's raining now. All. Will. Break.

Last Days of April, remind me a lot of Jimmy Eat World, and a little of Ash. Their music is, apparently, 'emo' - but only in so much as Jimmy Eat World are 'emo', which is to say that they are of the new generation of poppier melodic emo, which isn't even a genre since no one can agree on what's emo. It's like the 'indie' label that gets bandied about. Just call it something, and something will suffice. There's no point in being a purist anymore, since no one else will understand what the hell you're going on about. 'Emo' was a stupid name for a genre anyway. Music is meant to be emotional nearly all of the time anyway, so to... well, whatever.



The sky, just a few moments ago looked like a portrait of a bombed village. It was all glowing ambers, and radiant reds. Full of ash clouds and looking like a canvas designed to demonstrate the dangers of global warming. There was a pale blue sky underneath all the damage, and well... it was lovely. There was also an aroma of a barbeque, that was left on slightly too long so that it smelt like an industrial fire. The point of all this? Last Days of April sound like that sky looks. There is a certain detachment, an artificiality, but there are also a lot of inner-feelings expressed, so there's a delicacy, a tenderness, and above all a beauty to the songs. The music makes me feel full of love; happy, but fragile. Vulnerable.

It is actually quite moving when he bitterly sings "that's nice" on Aspirins and Alcohol, but of course, that line can just pass you by since this music of the passing-by nature.

Fact: Aspirins mixed with alcohol can leave you very chemically impaired. Half a beer and you can barely stand, I've heard. I have yet to try this out.



Last Days of April

Aspirins and Alcohol
The Days I Recall Being Wonderful
All Will Break
Fast, So Fast
It's On Everything
Live the End

The sometimes forgotten details that fill scrapbooks and notepads in scribbled handwriting:

Last Days of April hail from Stockholm. Pelle Gunnerfeldt produced all their albums [with assistance on the most recent album, "If you lose it"]. He has also produced all of The Hives' albums. Just in case, you know, you were wondering. Karl Larsson is the main creative drive behind the band and he also has a solo album, which is probably out by now.



Karl Larsson

Off the Cliff
Devil's Strings

was the sun outside? yes

Beautiful weather is to be cherished. All animosity is meant to dissipate in the face of sunshine. Does it? Sometimes, but not always. It's a bit of a silly idea if you actually think about it. It's a typically Irish way of thinking, but it works. Anyway, I was at the beach today think I probably got a tan [though it hasn't shown up yet] playing football tennis and lying down and this was all either before or after forgetting the meaning of punctuaction [fullstop] It's a tough life I have [irony?].

To keep a long story short: the sunshine has brought out my inherent "emo" characteristics. Y'see, summer reminds me of a certain time in my life [two years ago now I believe] where I would listen to sort of emo/screamo stuff alot, like MCR when they were actually making interesting music, TBS [ditto] and others, and it's now sort of traditional to listen to the music, and thusly make myself think of that time [it was a happy time.] It's all about the memories for me, not the music.



Alternative, emo/screamo, post-hardcore sort of thing

Emery - Walls
Anberlin - Ready Fuels
Spoken - Promise

So, waddya think? Bit not for you? Well, if that's the case, here's some nice songs I've also been listening to. These actually are nice, floaty acoustic numbers full of love and promise and hope and sadness, and that's the way I am come summer.




Acoustic, floaty, pleasant music

Dirty on Purpose - Girls and Sunshine
The Weepies - World Spins Madly Around

The title Girls and Sunshine evokes [well, duh George!] sunny weather, and ice creams, and lots of pretty young things running across sand past water, shimmering with perspiration and the spray of the sea, people lying on a beach reading the latest bestselling novels, ignoring you and you them, you've got your sights elsewhere. You're happy; more than content. You're jogging along trying to keep up with everything you see sometimes double-glancing sometimes fighting the urge to stare, sometimes at people, sometimes at nature. Or else you're kicking a football about, it's just a laugh and you're smiling - ha ha ha, amazing, etc - and you're thinking this is Heaven.

However, sometimes if you're stuck in a rut, or you've just broken up, or... well whatever... just sometimes, the title Girls and Sunshine will make you slightly down-hearted, knock the wind out of your metaphorical sails, and so forth. Sometimes it will be a morose happiness, a wry smile, etc. And sometimes it will be a comforting sadness. But in any case, the best way I can think to describe this feeling, and why it appears is this: the constant human yearning, a longing for something else, something better, nicer, prettier, sunnier, happier etc. Quite simply put, in this scenario, you still haven't found what you're looking for.

this story-book has only just started...

Someday I'm going to have to clear out my e-mail inbox. I do it every now and then - say every three months - and it feels good to put all that writing into folders, delete the random stuff that isn't relevant and tidy up. It's like tidying a messy bedroom and looking around and thinking "lovely" - then promptly exiting the room before your very presence disrupts the tidiness. It's something like that anyway.



But the point is, I'm not doing it today. And you know why? Because my inbox holds magic in it today. What magic? The magic of winning two tickets to go and see My Latest Novel in Dublin, after entering a simple competition just for the sheer "why not?" of it all. Now, since I'm an idiot I think I may have entered for the wrong one [Dublin] 'cause Belfast is closer, and on a date when I have just finished two exams, instead of on a date when I should be revising for two exams. However, if I'd entered for Belfast, I may not have won, so I should just get over it and go. I can't wait. Assuming I'm allowed to go. Will. Be. Amazing.

If you would like to share in my joy, listen to the fantastic Glaswegian band with me. They "are an astonishing Scottish five-piece whose gorgeous songs are complemented by violins, xylophones and undulating percussion."** So yea, the easiest way to explain my love of My Latest Novel is to explain when it started.

I was at the caravan, down to enjoy a bit of free time, a day off work, the pleasant-ness of being beside the sea. It was sunny, but windy - really windy - and I was sick. I was watching waves - nearly feeled awed but then feeling nothing. I went back to bed, and decided to make myself a CD of the sort of songs you can either ignore or be amazed by. The Nov featured twice. That's like a record, since I have a rule that only one song per artist is allowed on mixtapes. But every rule has its exception, and all that jazz. What made it even more impressive was that since downloading the songs I had from various blogs and the official website, I had never even listened to them until that moment in time.

I love the violin and drums and everything that's going on in Sister Sneaker, Sister Soul. I've listened to the lyrics a few times [everytime actually] but I've only caught odd words, like flipping the pages of a scrapbook and seeing something that looks cool, before thumbing past it onto the other pages, delving deeper and skimming through the book like a pebble across water. This is the sort of music that somedays will appear to be floating past you, but if you grab it and tug it down, it will stay with you and be your friend. Other times it just wants to be mysterious and magical and sound beautiful, and I'm not complaining. I'll let it.



My Latest Novel

Sister Sneaker, Sister Soul
The Hope Edition

There's lots of photos 'cause I think they look cool... Sorry if it takes forever for your browser to open. If you get a chance to hear "The Job Mr Kurtz Done" by them, do, because its spoken word verses and personal tone along with the Scottish accent make the song delicately delightful. Anyway; I'm going to drink my tea now before I forget. Then I think I'll head outside, 'cause the sun is still shining. Do you think it's shining in Glasgow? Hopefully I'll head there next year and see My Latest Novel [hopefully, again], and also other cool bands like Sabrepulse and... possibilities are endless.

**Source: official website