40-LOVE

The last 24 hours have been a hearty bounce on the musical equivalent of the sweet spot on a tennis racket..

HELL YES: 33 1/3
Considering I've already blasted this across the internets, it's now old news, but for the sheer joy of it - my proposal for Continuum's 33 1/3 series (http://www.33third.blogspot.com/) on Sleater-Kinney's One Beat has been moved forward onto the shortlist. HOLY HELL YES!!!

I WANT TO WRITE THIS BOOK. I really rolled it around in my head for quite some time before sending in the proposal. Hell, I even suggested in my proposal that I probably wanted to write this book after my virgin listen of One Beat. It's an album that has personal meaning to me, but I don't propose to worship drooling at its little indie altar...I see a real story behind its making, it's place in and the demise of the riot grrl canon, and numerous other things I'd be jinxing myself to vomit into the blogosphere. I would totally rock the fuck out of this book for you, friends, acquaintances, and general public, even if you've never heard a single Sleater-Kinney song in your some-odd decades on this earth.

In fact - let's remedy that right now. Courtesy the official Sleater-Kinney website (both from One Beat, of course):

One Beat.mp3

Oh!.mp3


WILDBIRDS & PEACEDRUMS
Dude. Dude. Dude. Thanks to Rachel from Woodwork for turning me on to this...

Avant-garde percussive blues opera that is neither a) as hippie-dippie as the band name might make you think nor b) as pretentious as my description might make you think. Caught their set at Amoeba tonight* and it was raucous and beautiful at once. Sister has some freaky/gorgeous pipes, brother can bang some serious textures out of those drums (reminding me a bit of when Liam Finn goes all shit-nuts on the drums and then loops them and then goes even more shit-nuts on them, but this guy does it without even having to loop them).

Maybe I shouldn't refer to them as "sister" and "brother," now that I think of it, a'cause they're married and all. Neither here nor there.

Instead of my getting all tangential, just check them out for yerself:



*RE: Amoeba - I was there to check out the band, but also to pick up the new Dan Auerbach and Bon Iver offerings. I saw You Are The Quarry on sale, as well, so I thought I'd add it to my Moz arsenal, considering we've been dancing in the same air at the Sunset Marquis as of late...le sigh...

Ok, back to the story. So I go to the check out counter and present the dude with my selections. He starts to ring them up and then I look at them: Morrissey....Bon Iver...Dan Auerbach...and I feel compelled to blurt out:

"OH. Well, it's a rainy day. Don't think I'm going to like, go home and put these on and cry and stuff. Ok?"

Counter dude: "Sure. Ok."

I pay for my saddoe music and when I grab it at the other end of the counter, Counter Dude fires off a sly little zinger:

"Enjoy your crying."

Nice.


SCOTT WALKER, WHERE YOU BEEN, YO?
Completing the triad is my newfound obsession with Scott Walker. I've heard of him, but I've never really listened, until Mo invited me to join her at Bronson's last night for Rock Music Movie Night. Now I need mo' Walker.

Bronson screened the Scott Walker doc 30 Century Man to a small room of friends/music nerds, and it was pretty special. The doc is heavy on the music, necessary since Ohioan Walker became a British recluse of sorts over the past few...decades...and his music has generally not been released in the US (aside from imports, some of which I found tonight at Amoeba).

Now, homeboy is not for everyone. But if you have a yen for art rock, Eno, Bowie, Antony & the Johnsons, and the freakier side of Radiohead, you'll find something here to latch onto. Walker's voice is a wounded spectre against a backdrop of haunted (art)house creaks, booms, and rattles and his lyrics are absolute mysteries (even exec producer Bowie laughs at one point during the doc at how ludicrous some of it is).

The doc opens next Friday, Feb. 27th for a weeklong run at Landmark's NuArt Theatre, and I highly recommend you set aside a few bucks and 90 minutes to check it out if you consider yourself any music fan whatsoever. There's also a par-tay/tribute show next Wed. at Bordello feat. the ubiquitous John Doe, Ann Magnuson, & a slew of others. You should go there, too.

In the meantime, here's the trailer. Dig:

SHORTLISTED

Friends, drank a lil whiskey for momma, a'cause her proposal for the 33 1/3 series has just moved onto the shortlist: http://33third.blogspot.com/2009/02/shortlist.html

Hard to maintain bladder control and all with the excitement, but try your best. I know I am.

MY PRETTY, PRETTY PONY

I drove home from work this evening with clogged sinuses (and a bit of a clogged mind). I thought about traffic, I thought about work, I thought about love, I thought about music, I thought about dinner, I thought about friends, I thought about my damn sinuses.

And then I stopped thinking.

The San Gabriels hulked in front of me at the end of the 10, like it was a runway to the moon. They were totally dipped in snow, peak to horizon, and because the sun was setting, they glowed a faint My Pretty Pony pink. It was magical.

I divvied my attention between these glowing rose behemoths and the road (maybe they should have a no-staring-at-pretty-mountains-while-driving law, in addition to the no-talking-on-cell-phones-while-driving law). They were like smooth peaks of strawberry ice cream jutting out of a bowl of palm trees. Delish.

I try not to take this city (or the amazing opportunities it's afforded me) for granted - but sometimes you forget. THEN you see giant pink snowy mountains on your drive home and you remember and you're totally thankful.

You want to see a picture?

I don't have one.

I mean...dude, I was DRIVING.

But here's some photos from last year's Olympic National Park trip to give you a sense of just how sexy mother nature can be...