Obviously this is really damn important if I logged in after nearly four months to mention it. My favorite Pittsburgh punks (best riffs, best lyrics, best energy at a show) just put this out:
The new recording of “Prostitute” sounds much more formidable (it’s the only song other than “Black Triangle” and “Wormwood Star” that I’d heard before). Get down with these jams.
Gotye’s new album, Making Mirrors, will be dropping in less than two weeks. I’m excited to hear what new depths his artistry has gone. On another note, I’d be more than happy if Kimbra replaced Katy Perry’s entire existence. Here’s “Somebody That I Used to Know.”
and for added pleasure, Kimbra’s “Settle Down.”
I felt the need the other day to “e-hassle” or rather, chastise someone on the internet for talking shit on Hunx. Then I remembered when Hunx was talking shit on Smith Westerns, for pretty much no reason. Bands do enough shit talking themselves, so why should I care? It’s like when people get mad at others for bringing down their favorite sports team. To be honest, though, I got more annoyed by this person using the term “hipster” in their insult. What is this, 2001? Seriously? At least get creative. But, then again, if people weren’t senselessly calling each other names, we wouldn’t have the modern-day treasure which is Hipster Runoff.
OH MY GOD, BECKY. LOOK AT THAT HIPSTER. HE IS SO HIP. HE LOOKS LIKE, ONE OF THOSE VAMPIRE WEEKEND FANS.
Check out my hipster ride. It was too cold for my Schwinn, so I decided to rev this baby up!
If you follow a pop culture trend, or support some sort of independent music scene, or like bands outside of the mainstream, or buy records from the “cool” part of town, or–god forbid–just ain’t down with The Man…hey, chances are that you have some “hipster” in you. Do you like Reggie Watts? You’re a hipster. Hipsters are just rife with satirical talents. Many hipsters watch Conan, The Daily Show, Cartoon Network, ad nauseum. Many hipsters like well-fitted jeans. Sometimes hipsters wear sunglasses reminiscent of 50s styles. No, Jared. I can’t buy those Ray Bans (that I love so much) because I might be construed as a hipster. Tracy, I realize those are Brooks Brothers frames, but the hipster next door wears a style similar to these and I just cannot be confused as one of his kind. If you don’t want to be mistaken for a hipster, might as well never wear scarves, plaid, well fitting jeans, Vans, beanies, and a whole host of other things.
In any case, the person in question plays in a pretty great-sounding band. Although, I can’t get over how Snyder sounds eerily like Caleb Followill or Jon Fratelli (although neither of them seem to do as good of a falsetto). Actually, I’m pretty sure he sounds like some other dude (see: “I know I wasn’t there/but I want to take you back” in Ride Coach), but I don’t listen to music as often as I used to. Thus, my references are hazy. I used to be able to match guitar riffs up even if they were in a different pitch. Fun ability for someone with very little musical talent, but potentially embarrassing for the songwriters caught in the act. Now I just blog.
Ok time for some tunes:
Just kidding:
When you’ve finally pieced your nest together and found the tree that you’re rather complacent with, the seasons change and knock you off your branch. A force tears your abode into pieces and you’re forced to scavenge for the new bits and pieces. It’s even more jarring when that nest rests in your mind. How does one rebuild the fort that consists of the feelings you get from your surroundings, your home, your family, your friends, your career? There’s only one course of action–step out there and do it. Things. Anything, as much as you can. Put yourself into every aspect of your daily life until the action stares back at you with a little corner of your smile and eyes dug into its girth.
Time is a mud that I’ll rub all over myself until I’m immortal.
Mouthbreathers at the Jackpot Saloon, Nov. 13th, © 2010 Mahsa Borhani
Nobunny – Someone Else’s Brain
White Wires – Hands
Nikki Sudden – Love Makes Her Shine
Damien Shingleton – Don’t Lie To Me
Tujiko Noriko – Gift (Damien Shingleton remix)
Burial – Archangel
I’m developing a roll of film from Scion Garage Fest this weekend (shot King Tuff, The Gories, Human Eye, The Spits? and some other things while I was drunk and now don’t remember). The shows were cool, don’t really feel like recapping them. Listen to these grossly good jams instead:
Check out this intriguing interview Momus did about the city of Berlin being an unconventional artistic hub:
…I kind of like the fact that it’s hard to sell work here, it keeps you thinking about other things than the market. I do a lot of art shows in New York and the burning desperation of artists there to compromise as soon as possible, to make work that collectors want to buy because the devil is there: you’re at the top of the mountain with the devil and he’s saying “look there’s the money, shake the tree and the money will fall on your head”. In Berlin that doesn’t happen because it can’t: all the rich people are all in Frankfurt or somewhere, and it’s just galleries here. There’s a certain kind of delay, it’s not like we’re living outside of the system but we are living at arm’s length.
Sometimes when you live in the country you have to dance and yell to grab the placidity and lethargy by their throats–tell them, “I love how you let me act like a freak without becoming a spectacle.” Then, the fact that you could just walk into a dry, yellowed cornfield off the farm road, and see its repetition for hours on end as you walk–to be put in a trance simply by walking in that environment for a good chunk of time and know nothing will happen but a rush of wind with the consequent rattling of the leaves high above in the distance, which are on the threshold of a coming autumn–it’s like a cold drink of water. The high of running to nowhere on this expansive rural trail, with no necessary plan or time frame, feels intense and surreal out here; you’ll lose sense of what should be gone, and gain back what you needed, even if you don’t know what those things are. It’s a process with surreptitious, borderline mystical, components. They may make a city girl out of me yet, but the urban nectar is one that I cannot imbibe.
gigawave 