The Refractory
I created this blog in late 2007 to "write about music and how it affects my life, etc." Now it's early 2009, and I'm going to start anew. I hope to share some simple observations about the world that I live in, which is oftentimes best expressed through music, but not always exclusively so.
Sure, I’ve had the blues before, but it never felt like this. From what little research I’ve done, Karen Dalton is one of America’s most outstanding “lost” folk singers, whose voice needed an “acquired taste” to have been appreciated.
Speaking of acquired tastes, Bob Dylan was an early champion. Some say early wannabe. Check out the video of her version of “It Hurts Me Too,” which is just as nice to watch. Oh, and this song was featured in Margot at the Wedding.
A Reading of the Equation
Check out my friends Marisol and Eugene’s new Space. And then thank them for creating the first great indiepop summer jam of 2009. I’ll be the first: thanks, Marisol and Eugene!
Wonderfully irreverant indie-pop nihilism from an 80s Aussie band called The Triffids. Check out their Site here. Be prepared; there are a lot of jams to go through.
One of the coolest videos I’ve come across in quite some time. It certainly helps that the song is a total jam. Her name is Bachelorette; check out her MySpace for more music. She’s playing, 6/15/09, Cake Shop…anyone?
Everything they touch is gold. God, I love them.
"Alright kids, I have a confession..."
My new confession, 8 years later, is that I still cannot stop listening to this “flawless record.” I can’t say that it keeps getting better, but it certainly stays fresh to my ear drums. And if it were to be released in the climate of The Vivian Girls and The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, it would be the biggest hit of the summer.
Connie Converse
In Japan they have this phenomenon of men who disappear from the world, leaving no trace of their prior existence. It’s considered a more honorable way of dealing with your failure, whether it be real or imaginary. Well, this woman, possibly the first ever singer-songwriter, did so in the mid-70s after an attempt to make it as a musician. The above link is to the remarkable story behind Connie Converse. Do yourself a favor and listen.
Wherein Milk gets cockteased...
Before I even saw Milk, I declared that it would win Best Picture. It really was predestined, with Hollywood feeling the geographically-oriented guilt over Prop 8. I’d love to see Milk win best picture, Sean Penn win best actor, but I really don’t think it’s going to happen. If not only because Mr. Penn has a history of being a bit too much of a contrarian these days, kicking it with Chávez and all that, but mostly because I don’t believe Milk to have been the best picture of the year. As a film, it was a bit too uneven. But I really, really want to see it win.
One thing and one thing only took the wind out of my angry sails after hearing Rick Warren’s invocation: Aretha Franklin. That hat! That voice! That big, sometimes squeaking voice. There’s really no denying The Queen of Soul, if not only because she’s an Aries, and we all know they’re some loud folks. But I digress.
It got me thinking: if elected president, who would I invite to sing at my inauguration? Obviously it would be the first thing on my mind on November 4th after Wolf Blitzer announces my win. Beyoncé, this generation’s Diana Ross, would be a funny choice, but she doesn’t really have the pipes. I love the idea of Gladys Knight getting up there and singing her face off. But the reality is that Aretha was such a big part of the “pop culture segment” of the civil rights movement in the 60s, she was most likely chosen for that reason. And I think that’s a wonderful reason to choose someone. But if I, who in theory would be the first gay president of the United States, were to choose someone in that context, who would it be?
Here’s where the pipe dream gets silly, and here is where I come up short. Honestly, how many historically important openly gay singers do I have to choose from? George Michael? Michael Stipe? I suppose the synthesis of Aretha-esque pipes and symbolic importance would be Donna Summer. You know, disco and all that… But would I really want to succumb to such a cliché? Or I could always pick our best friend, Dolly Parton. I bore witness to the fact that she can still sing, and she’s from Aretha’s generation.
Fuck it. I pick Amelia Flecther of Talulah Gosh. I want to be known as the first President who listens to twee on his iPod in the Oval Office.
BTW, the photo is a link to Aretha’s performance. And also, I mean do dis-R-E-S-P-E-C-T to the Queen.
Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD as it is so appropriately abbreviated, isn’t a genuine form of clinical depression. Though one would think the statistic may be higher, SAD affects nearly 14% of the human population. Though the cold is unbearable, one cannot place SAD’s burden on sub-zero temperatures alone; often, diet and lack of exercize cause SAD.
My guess is that a disproportional number of the 14% are musicians. Any lyric containing the word “winter” must be accompanied by a minor chord, cello, or some other romantically SAD tone. One of my newly re-discovered favorite Winter Records is The Softies’ Winter Pageant. Their song “Anywhere But Here” conveys winter’s lazy restlessness. Linked above is a video of the reunited Softies singing their classic song.
