Filed under: Music
As October draws closer and closer, life just seems to get better and better. Never in the, “Oh my gawd boyfriend lolololzzz,” sense, but more in the sense that life’s just good. I always think, “Well, it would be better if [fill in the blank].” If I was skinnier. If I wasn’t sick. If I had a love interest. If I didn’t feel so gross and tasteless at school. (If I was Jenny Lewis…??) Things like that. Lame, and somewhat superficial. Honestly, though…I’ve got stellar grades, teachers I can relate to, and a good work ethic; as they used to say at Moody, we were “self-motivated.” As far as everything else goes, I have a date with E-Dawg and Jenny Lewis (and maybe my dad?) in October, I’ve been meat-free for almost a year, and French is just amazing. I live for a reason or two, and I’m determined again, now that I have some attainable goals that aren’t man-related (not that I’ve ever had any attainable goals that were man-related). Possibly the only bad thing that’s happening is divorce, but that’s a half-full, half-empty thing. The only bad thing I can think of is the possibility of moving to Pennsylvania (or worse–Lewisburg) and having to readjust during my junior year (and learning PA geography and my dad keeping the Druik game board). Even that wouldn’t be too bad because I’d be used to rigorous programs like IB and, well, honours…I’d miss my friends, though, immensely. BUT that’s not happening immediately, so let’s not talk about it, please.
I’ve been looking for a good free mp3 host ever since I read GuavaMaffiosa, which was one of the blogs that inspired me to write a blog (unfortunately, Guava has taken a permanent hiatus from it, but it’s still a great read). Guava would put crazy downloadable mp3s in her blogs, and I just thought that was the coolest, most convenient thing ever, since I can’t put a blog jukebox on here; invasion of privacy. So you could download and listen on your own free time, and whenever you wanted after that (Right Click, Save Target As…duh). Well, somehow, I stumbled upon this thing called MediaMax…it’s kinda slow, but it so works.
Speaking of which, I like The Like. Now, I haven’t heard too much of them yet, but they’re this mellow but overpowering indie pop girl band–three girls: Z, Tennessee, and Charlotte. I’d presume they’re all really young, because they look it, and their ages apparently add up to be 53. That’s what their site says.
“Where did I find them?” you might ask. They’ve been in magazines from TeenVogue to ElleGirl, but normally I ignore the music sections because I normally use Amazon (what other people bought that sounds like my favourite bands) as opposed to silly teen girl magazines that approve of Hawthorne Heights. By the way, the next time you get the chance, tell me how to turn off “Overtype Mode.” As in typing that deletes other typing. Thanks.
Back to my purpose…ACOS, JMAN’s Tamagotchi’s namesake had one of their songs on her MySpace and I liked The Like in that very instant that I heard them. It was nice, and pretty spectacular. They were mellow, and they weren’t overly commanding like Bratmobile or airing on the too-soft side like Azure Ray sometimes. They had rocking guitars (maybe a little predictable? but that’s not too bad; in fact, in this case, it was nostalgic) and a singer with a pleasant but edgy voice. Their lyrics leave a little to be desired, and quite a bit is left up to the imagination, but they’re indie pop already; they can only get better with time.
I also liked this one because, I guess, it showed a more upbeat side to The Like.
And last, but certainly not least, there’s “Waves That Never Break,” which reminds me a lot of The Elected or Rilo Kiley meets Orenda Fink meets Metric, maybe. Weird combo. It works, though. This quite shows off Z’s raw voice, which is always nice and a must for me.
The Like – Waves That Never Break
So listen to those, and I will clean my room for Jenny. Or raise my English grade. By the way…any links I put on this site will automatically open in a new window. I’m so incredibly generous to consider small details such as that. Yay me.
As I wrote in my LJ today, someone could punch me in the face right now, and I’d giggle, smile at them, maybe give them a hug, and say, “I get to see Jenny Lewis!!!!!!!!1 WITH EDAWGGGGG!! AIEEEEE!!!!! Thanks!!!” Whereas, normally, if someone punched me in the face, I’d either be pissed as fuck and kick them, yell profanities, or go cry in the corner because everyone hates me. See, even if I don’t get to go see Jenny (I WILL–my mom got to see goddamn Greg Brady and get his autograph when she wanted to–why the fuck shouldn’t I see Jenny?! Also, she dated Dan Roebuck when she was fifteen and he was fourteen–he asked her out. I didn’t date anyone famous; she has one up on me), I will be disappointed, but I’ll still be less than a half a tank’s worth of gas away from her. Which is satisfactory enough for me.
See, normally, again, I’d be the normal level of excited. You know, “Woohoo.” I’ll get over it. Just, first, I thought I’d have to wait for years to see Jenny, and who knows what will have become of her that time. Also, I just started this Jenny hype in like February or March. I write about her all the time. I’m not creepy-obsessive, I swear…but for me, Jenny is the essence of the every girl, and Conor is the essence of the perfect guy, per se, in the way he writes and articulates his feelings. Call me crazy. Call me names, but just being in the same room as Jenny will be a writing experience…twenty paragraphs. NO FLUFF, EVEN. Lordy. I’m stoked out of my pants. For Jenny only. More so for Jenny because she seems most relatable out of my two must-see idols. It would be easy to approach her and talk to her. God…I really need to shut up. It’s just, none of my classmates know who Jenny is, unless they read my blog, but they can’t appreciate her the way E-Dawg and I do.
I’m getting coughy from all this excitement. I need to do my homework and take some cough medicine. Maybe more later, maybe?
What’s good and dandylicious? Being ill. With a cold. All day, it felt like my head was separate from my body, or that the back half of my body was being torn painfully away by some invisible darkness, making everything behing me seem like an endless black void. Ouch, right? That, and I had no distance perception; I forget what it’s called, but I used to have it when I was little when I was tired. It’s where things that are relatively close seem like they’re football fields away, and maybe even smaller than they are. I shouldn’t have gone to band practice today. Honestly. Ransome was in the worst mood ever. I think that we do better when he’s in a better mood. This band depends solely on his morale, which is cool when he’s ecstatic, but when he’s angry or flustered, we can’t fix it.
Lately, I’ve had the urge to play The Sims as in the original Sims, especially with the Makin’ Magic expansion pack. God, I used to rock that game. Except now I remember that in the original, they couldn’t die or grow up. Maybe I’m just craving the music, or the concept of perfecting everything without running out of time. I feel like I’m running out of time.
Today would have been eventful if Timpani Man had showed up to the mall today. Which, granted, he showed up, but we were right around the corner from him, and we didn’t see each other. Damn.
I’m more than a little pissed at my mom, by the way, because she is in Lewisburg. I’m not going to explain my troubles with Lewisburg. It’s an amazing small town, the home of Bucknell University, and great for skating (skateboarding, duh ->Pennsylvania), but karma balances out Lewisburg’s perfection and makes it hell for me. I’m never going back, as far as I’m concerned. My mom changes when we go there, and she’s there now, and she was supposed to come home today but she’s waiting it out another day, as fucking usual. She views my outgoing cousin Shanananana (Shannon) as the outgoing daughter she never had. I talked to her on the phone today, and she was really spacey.
ME: When are you getting back?
HER: (talking to someone else, then snaps back to the conversation) So what are you doing?
ME: (unenthusiastically) Eating pudding.
HER: Where are you?
ME: On the couch…?
HER: So what did you do this weekend?
ME: I went to the Armenian Food Festival with
HER: (talking to someone else)
ME: Erika and Paige and Gil and John and Corey and Steven and you’re not even listening to me.
HER: Yes I am!
ME: I don’t feel like talking to you if you’re not going to listen to me because you don’t care.
I hung up on her, and about five minutes later, she called back; I guess she felt bad or something. Then again, when I get mad at her for Lewisburg reasons, she knows I’ll stay mad for a long time. So she tries to cheat her way out of it by pretending to care and listen to me, which is what I always yell at her for–she doesn’t really listen to me. I wish I had a smarter, more thorough mom. This phone conversation was even less enthusiastic than the first.
HER: So where’d you go with Erika?
ME: And Paige and Gil and the other guys? Were you even listening? The Armenian Food Festival.
HER: Where?
ME: The Armenian Food Festival.
HER: Where was that?
ME: Off Patterson.
HER: (awkward silence) Did you have fun?
ME: Yeah.
HER: Did you do anything else?
ME: Yeah.
HER: Like what?
ME: We went to Gil’s house and watched Super Troopers and then went to Tropical Smoothie and Food Lion. And that’s all.
HER: What movie did you watch?
ME: Super Troopers.
HER: Oh. Was that good?
ME: (wondering what her point is) Yeah…?
HER: (awkward silence) I’m at Shannon’s soccer game; it was early so I decided to go.
ME: Oh.
HER: (awkward silence) Is it raining there?
ME: No. It’s sunny.
HER: That’s weird.
ME: Yeah, whatever.
Ever since maybe February, I’ve been having complications with her. Christmas, maybe even. I’m not allowed to go out as late as I want to, when I’m the oldest. I have no priveleges for being the oldest. And most of all, she doesn’t listen to me, so I don’t bother giving her details. I don’t tell her who I like or don’t like, and she complains about not knowing who I hang out with, but I talk about them; she just won’t listen. She pretends I’m irresponsible and immature. She pretends I’m failing all my classes when it’s only the fourth week of school; that’s not enough time to fail. And most regrettably, she doesn’t even know that I love French. I feel like Eloise, even if it’s only because of our mothers, at times. And our belly to leg ratios.
Enough about life, though. I don’t feel like talking about my mom. Or about Lewisburg.
I’ve been playing Sufjan Stevens’ “Chicago” way too much. It’s almost started to annoy me. I write too much about Conor Oberst, Elliott Smith, and Jenny Lewis. Blake Sennett, too. Let’s move on to less pressing indie matters and discuss Fall Out Boy.
I’m fucking serious, Fall Out Boy. I’m fully aware, by the way, that I feel bad for Patrick Stump for being less hot than Pete Wentz.
Which, by the way…let me mention something that at least slightly irks me. That would be when girls who are ugly claim via writing or publicly, and totally seriously that a celebrity is hot. Gorgeous girls, too, even, but maybe less so than ugly girls. I’m sorry, because I’ve done it before, too. But it just makes me wonder if they actually think that this celebrity is going to fall in love with them at first sight and marry them? I don’t think so. Everyone expects it, and nobody gets it. Probably most of the reason that this irks me is that these girls are basing their path of logic around looks entirely, or mostly, and not even musical or theatrical merit. I know that when some inferior* male thinks I’m hot…I get pissed off, big time. So that’s why I try to avoid awkward situations such as these.
*Inferior = lacking in intelligence, etc.
I totally lost my train of thought there. But for the record, I think Pete putting out n00dz was a pretty dumb thing to do. If you take them, the public will find them; it’s pretty much guaranteed these days unless they’re Polaroids or you develop your own film. Which is unlikely.
MySpace is wiggin’ out on me, so I promise I’ll write something more interesting tomorrow or sometime in the next two days. Pinkie promise. ♥
Oh, and for kicks and giggles, since I mentioned this in one blog entry, and just to bring my three favourite artists back into this…the “Rise Up With Fists!” videos. You’ll love it, I swear. Sarcasm, overacting, yeah. Great stuff, whether or not you adore quirky redheads like Jenny or tenderly gorgeous brunettes like the Watson twins.
Today was possibly both the most and the least eventful day of my life. E-Dawg, Marti, and I went to the Armenian Food Festival, where we ate amazing food and had games and fights with some of the boys (except Gil and Corey). On the car ride back, John decided it would be funny to separate the van’s seats (I was supposed to fall on the ground), and ended up choking himself instead because he’s a smooth operator. We watched half of Super Troopers at Gill’s (HA misspelling on purpose to be obnoxious, plus that’s his new alias for this blog) and then we walked to Tropical Smoothie in clumps–the guys, the Paiges, and E-Dawg and Gill. We stayed there for about an hour, which ended after the boys had all left, and I almost wet my pants at some Oval person’s lame joke. Oval because they were oval-shaped, allegedly. ALLEGEDLY. And Paige drinks everything, and she’s a lifeguard, so to save kids, all she has to do to save a kid is jump in the pool and she drinks all the water. And after everyone’s out of the pool since it’s empty, she gets in, all inflated, and wrings herself out, and all the pool water is back. We ran over to Food Lion bullet-dodging n00b style (my addition to the night), tried to fly, almost got hit by several cars, and bought some cough drops. I bought a 50-cent hub cap necklace since Paige and Erika already had some, but I got a spinning rim one, which they wanted, so we went through about $10 worth of non-spinners until we got two more spinners, one for each of them. We also met the DARFUR supporter Jacob there, who went in and got us change for a five so they could get their spinners. On Monday, by the way, we’re handing out our kazillion spinners to cool people, or the first kazillion customers. We wasted a fucking lot of money. Even more than we did on that super-cool plane we got at CVS that one time that was supposed to go ten yards, but didn’t even go ten inches. After all that commotion, we bullet-ran home to E-Dawg’s vagina couch and each got a running start and ran head-first into it, for sexual innuendo purposes. In the process, we all hurt our heads and necks, and I think we’ll all be sleeping on ice packs tonight. There were a lot of penetration jokes. Heh heh. For example…I ran into the couch head-first and keeled over laughing and in pain.
ME: OW THAT HURT SOOOO FUCKING MUCH.
PAIGE: IT ALWAYS HURTS THE FIRST TIME. (loudly/obnoxiously) HAAAA.
She made another joke about someone, but…I’d rather not write that for the whole world to see. It would be amazingly funny (since everyone at my school would know who I’m talking about), but mean. It had to do with someone’s head not hurting when they did that, and for a reason. So I’ll just leave it for us to laugh at lamely.
That’s probably the most I’ve ever written about my life on this blog thus far. Moving on to more pressing indie matters, hopefully, in attempting to stay on the subject of indie, or music, maybe. Life in general? Ponderifficness?
The fall is my favourite season, so naturally I’m stoked that this is the first day of autumn, and that it began so well. I love the smells, and having to wear cozy clothes like thermal shirts and jeans. My favourite thing about fall, though, is the unnatural colours. You’d think, my favourite colour being green, that I hate fall because it fades during fall, but I love the yellows, reds, and browns, and especially the leaves and the leaf piles in the front yard that you jump in and hurt yourself in because they’re really NOT cushy.
Most of all, the fall reminds me of Bright Eyes, because E-Dawg lent me my first Bright Eyes experience, “Lifted” on a fate-filled fall day during French class, and after school, I popped it right into my handy Dell and listened for the first time to the music that would eventually consume my whole life. That first time, I lost my virginity. I didn’t understand that music could be deeper than they stupidity that was Avril Lavigne or Switchfoot, and I didn’t think that something could sound so amazing. Maybe it was too much for me. There were connections throughout that whole CD that made my spine tingle that first time, in deep concentration, a state of nirvana. I took it all in, right there, no breaks and no skips, because I so trusted E-Dawg’s faith in this band, in this man, the foreign Conor Oberst. There were parts of that album that I wouldn’t figure out until almost a year later. Like in “Big Picture,” Jenny Lewis (the red-head from Troop Beverly Hills and such) is that female voice. I didn’t listen to Jenny as Rilo Kiley until maybe February or March? And I definitely didn’t figure out that it was her in that song until mid-August. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up when I read that. The whole song still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The whole album. Nobody could understand the changes this album brought. It was the road to change for me; I am who I am today thanks to my present friends and thanks to this album.
Granted, though this awakening was awe-inspiring, I didn’t like Conor’s voice at first. I thought it was a joke, sometimes. I thought I could sing like that and make millions. But it took me a few listens, deep listens, several chances, to realize that he has guts, and also that his imperfections make him better than all those perfect voices. Once you’ve heard and fallen in love with an imperfect voice, it’s impossible to drop that love. You crave more. And that’s where Desaparecidos and Commander Venus come in. I craved more orchestral music, and Azure Ray and Now It’s Overhead filled that need. Eventually, I fell in love with folk, so Rilo Kiley was perfect, and Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins, and The Elected. It was a journey, and it’s continuing to this day. It’s a cycle. Never have I heard of a more phenomenal and intertwined record company. It’s not a sell-out. If you like one band, you’ll like them all (except Beep Beep, haaa).
I’ll be wearing my Bright Eyes “Going For the Gold” shirt when I’m thirty and probably a fat, ugly, worn-out soccer mom in Canada or Omaha or wherever I settle down. I’ll wear it in my coffin. The music is timeless, too; his oldest stuff is from 1995, and Commander Venus and Park Avenue are way before that. It sounds like the present to me, or else the way the 1930s or 1950s were supposed to be. Well, not Commander Venus and Park Avenue. They’re timeless in the sense that they sound like they were formed today and never broke up. Bright Eyes is truly timeless, though.
If you remember a while back, I wrote an entry about reaching out to the freshmen. This is what I’m talking about. Last year, and even as a freshman, I wanted something new; I was virtually in the process of committing social suicide, and I would grab onto almost anything to get me out. As a freshman, I had boyfriends to occupy me, so it wasn’t until that drama was over that I really started thrashing around, looking for something new. Because as a freshman, there was nobody there to help me, and nobody to realize that I wanted to be impulsive and different. I still wish there was someone. As a sophomore, there was someone; ironically, someone younger.
Anyhow, the fall reminds me of “I think I’m cured. No, in fact, I’m sure of it. Thank you, stranger for your theraputic smile.” It reminds me of, “I got the money if you’ve got the time,” which, I can play the vibes part to, if I remember it. I know it’s sort of lame, but I think of the whole album as mainly fall, but some winter. It’s quite romantic and orchestral and warm, with cold edges. Dark themes. Jesus references. Conor Oberst is, or used to be, a Catholic man, but he opened my eyes a little. He, E-Dawg, and Sarah Yi propelled me to respond to and allegedly semi-own Alex Hill. I’ll always look down on Sarah and look eye level with Alex. I was that annoying bitch who had to respond to everything with book-long comments. I’m owning up to it, but not in a proud way, since that’s all gone now.
God, I love fall more than words can explain.
So the latest news on anything is that I voted for the mtvU Woodies. Just a few minutes ago, actually. Now, normally, I wouldn’t; I’d just sit there and defy the system; they can’t pry a vote from my cold, dead fingers! But…Motion City Sountrack was apparently nominated, so I was obliged to vote. Actually, I just found out that MCS was nominated for a streaming thing for “Hold Me Down.” Which, while that song’s alright, I don’t love it. It’s one of my least favourites by them. By the way, I have both of their albums and I don’t listen to them as frequently as I used to, but I know all the lyrics to every one of their songs (except “Shiver” and “Cambridge,” which I never liked too much). They’re a pretty good band. As in, they’re up there maybe with Azure Ray, but not in the same way.
You know what? I have an idea. I’ll revote, using my votes from the first time, and I’ll walk you through the mtvU Woody voting process! YEAH! This is exciting.
The first category that pops up obnoxiously is “Woodie of the Year.” Basically, songs you lived to in 2006. The contestants? “The Adventure” by Angels and Airwaves, “The Queen & I” by Gym Class Heroes, “Say Hey There” by Atmosphere, “I Write ashaldklsdjka whatever” by P!ATD (good use of abbreviation skills), and “Slow Down” by The Academy Is… Well, it’s too bad I didn’t live my life to any of these songs in 2006! Um, dommage. Not really; I don’t really like listening to shit in headphones. Let’s just choose The Academy Is… because they have good songs, and I’m prone to semi-liking them. Plus, I like their hair. I didn’t even watch the video.
The next category is the “Road Woodie,” which is basically who rocked loudest on tour. Cool. “Here (In Your Arms” by Hellogoodbye. Ahah, no. “Honestly” by Cartel, which gets an automatic maybe, since I know my cousin likes them, so they can’t be too bad (then again…Yellowcard). “MakeDamnSure” by Taking Back Sunday (aka TBS). It’s a guilty pleasure song, but not great. I’m actually supposed to say that. “Over My”–no. So that leaves me with “The Days Go By Oh So Slow” by Nightmare of You. I’ve heard of the band, sure, but never really gotten around to listening. LimeWire, eh, I can’t download any more; my computer’s full. So I watch the video. Their sound is nice, and the guy has a different voice. And he looks hot et un peu francais. They have potential, so I vote for them (though TBS would have been my second choice, if only for supporting emo/emo-inspired music, which I’ve abandoned).
“Breaking Woodie,” aka best n00b, great category. Arctic Monkeys, Lupe Fiasco, Plain White T’s, Chamillionaire, Imogen Heap. Sorry, boys, but girls always win, especially when they’re Imogen Heap. I listen to Imogen to relax and go to sleep. I fell in love with her…on The O.C. when Marissa shot Trey. Wait–what?! Um. Yeah, so uh, the runner-up was The Arctic Monkeys!?!
“Left Field Woodie.” Unclassified, basically. Random. Competitors? Gogol Bordelli, Imogen Heap, Gnarls Barkley, Lady Sovereign, and Wolfmother. So it turns into Imogen versus Wolfmother. As addicting as Wolfmother’s song “Woman” is, it’s too commercialized. And I love Imogen. Imogen wins two of my votes. She’s gorgeous, too, in an abnormal way, which is another reason why I’m drawn to her as an artist.
The “Live Action Woodie” is a video with real people in it. Wow. 30 Seconds to Mars, Feist, Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins?! WHAT?! Feist and Jenny Lewis are competitors. Ouch. Now, this wouldn’t be so weird if you didn’t know who they were, OR if Feist’s song wasn’t “Mushaboom.” Conor Oberst did an amazing cover of “Mushaboom.” The Postal Service did a “Mushaboom” remix. At some concerts together, Conor and Feist sang it together…with who other than Jenny Lewis. Um, ouch. I love both Fiest and Jenny, so I decide that the only way to fairly decide who my vote goes to is to watch both videos (I’m so diplomatic, but I already know who will win, unless Feist has unicorns in hers–REAL LIVE ones, or The Unicorns). Let’s just say that Feist has some elements that VH1 considers worst video ideas (flying, a town doing a coordinated dance in the middle of the road, flying bread?, mirror scene, stealing a guitar), more than one, even if it was cute, what with her jumping out a window (wtf?!). Jenny Lewis wins because of the sarcasm in her video, expecially the scenes where they’re sitting on a couch, or when they wink. I have to say, though, that if Feist wins, some or much of the credit will go to Jenny and Conor for covering her song and making it so big.
The “Animated Woodie” is self-explanatory. The runners for this are Gorillaz, Gnarls Barkley, Mark Ronson, Against Me, and Psapp. I’m not really interested in this category, but I watch all the videos, or as much as I can take of them, and I decide that Psapp has the best concept and song. Mark Ronson, though, was an inch behind, I swear. Graffiti never looked so cool. The little girl in the video, though, who drew the skateboarder, she reminded me too much of my neighbour who I despise, so…sorry, guys, choose cuter kids!
“Good Woodie” has to do with social issues. I chose Pearl Jam because they’re environment-oriented, and a good band. I don’t listen to them, except I listen frequently to their cover of The Doors’ “Light My Fire.” A decent cover, by the way. I’m such a dork.
I don’t want to choose AFI for “Alumni Woodie,” which is about people who’ve been around for a while and just recently got big, or bigger. As much as I secretly like “Miss Murder,” I feel propelled to vote for Fiona Apple because she deserves credit; she was the one who chose to hide her second album from the world for years. The Red Hot Chili Peppers don’t need it; they’ll be around next year, and old, naked, and long-haired. And the other two, I don’t care about enough to give them a chance. But I’ll get their numbers and probably sex them up after the show.
For “International Woodie,” I already know I’m gonna either choose The Arctic Monkeys, SIA, or The Subways, so I just choose SIA because she’s quiet, and I like Polaroids, if you know what I mean. Sorry, I don’t even know what I mean.
So you should get the idea. Apparently, the Woodies are a huge deal this year. Huger than your mom (BURN!). That’s pretty huge.
Speaking of moms, Cora! (Tamagotchi, duh) is 8 years old today, and the Matchmaker came for her yesterday, but I didn’t like the dude she picked. So my sister’s is gonna be Cora!’s baby’s father. Also, Mr. R wants one from the pit as a gift. So…we’ll connect with his. Which will be half cool, and half unforgettably creepy…
Check out this cool cat, by the way. Made my day…
Totally Halloween. Ready, go!
As of today, I’ve decided to disregard all deadlines unless the deadlines other people have start getting respected. It’s obnoxious how much is just cancelled out by people who say it’s gonna happen now, and then it doesn’t. In Driver’s Ed, Simulator 5 is broken–mine and Sara’s. It was supposed to be fixed by last Monday or so. Psych. In band, there are millions of missed deadlines. Marimbas and vibes still haven’t arrived, three months after the fact. We just got the closer to the show on Thursday, over a month after it was promised (and we’re expected to have it memorized in a week–keep in mind that we have social lives, school, and mounds of homework). Our shirts? Well, they were due Friday…What about being released from class on time? What ever happened to seniority of juniors? Late buses. Everyone thinks I’m a freshman, for the third year in a row. Thanks, guys. I think this is either a lesson in karma about my numerous missed deadlines, or it’s God’s way of pushing me to the edge so I gain impatience and put myself out there in the world. Then again, maybe everyone just sucks except the students. I know that someday, I’ll get my turn to be old and powerful; right now, it’s my opportunity to be young, hip, and powerless. But I’m getting sick of it, finally. I have the urge to be a leader, but nobody looks up to me because I always stoop to their levels. Figuratively. Plus, I’m a girl, literally. Weird how free everything is, but it really is sexist sometimes.
I’d like to use this opportunity to advertise for perhaps my favourite MySpace band. I swear they didn’t ask me to do this, and I don’t know if they’d appreciate it, since the one time I commented them really long and thoughtfully, they just responded with a “Thanks” or a “Thanks that means a lot” (with no punctuation, lowercase, like that) and the person who read it was probably like, “What the fuck? Restraining order? Next!” like on that MTV show, “Next,” which I secretly watch but absolutely despise because they always call skinny girls fat, which lowers my own self esteem. Like run-on sentences? Yeah, me too. Anyhow.
In this situation, I could actually write about either of two bands, powerpop geniuses Nude or indie rock chats Shining Through. I lean towards Nude, because they were never directly rude to me, and I think their songs in general are catchier and more emotional. But you know who commented back? Shining Through. Even if it was halfhearted, unlike my comment.
The first thing I noticed about Shining Through that I liked was probably their sound. Even if a song has the best lyrics, I won’t listen to it if it sounds like shit. My automatic liking for them would make sense, since they list influences such as Bright Eyes, Cursive, and Pedro the Lion. OOH press pause; I found my comment to them. Jackpot.
Well, maybe I won’t post the comment to and the comment fro. Maybe at the end of this entry. Anyhow, my favourite song by them is called “The Smoke and the Sounds.” Overall, the lyrics summed up my situation and the sound summed up my fury a few months ago, so I was obsessive. It’s diverse enough not to be annoying, and you can take it seriously, but it’s catchy enough that anyone could like it, if they were in an angry mood, or maybe a weird, loud kind of self-pity. When I pity myself, I listen to Elliott Smith or certain Bright Eyes/Rilo Kiley songs (the only Rilo Kiley pity songs would have to be “Does He Love You,” “A Man/Me/Then Jim,” “RIPCHORD,” “Pictures of Success,” “Plane Crash in C…” Okay, so there are a lot of Rilo Kiley pity songs, but they’re far above average). But when I’m mad, I’ll turn to rock stuff, and that’s where Shining Through comes in. They’re angry and emotional and original, with lyrics that read like prose. It’s great. But I’m telling you, go to their MySpace and at least download “The Smoke and the Sounds,” because it’s more than worth it. It’s free, douchebag. Do it.
Here’s our conversation, by the way. Note that I’m as sincere as, like, Goldilocks, and he’s as insincere as a vegetable. Fuck yes.
“i am not a great new friend. i am an oldish one. and man…’the smoke and the sounds’ is one of my favourite songs ever ever ever. the lyrics are amazing and completely relatable…the story of my life. of course, i love all your songs…that one just stands out. it even beats out many cursive and bright eyes songs for me. it’s groovy. alright, peace.”
That was for the blind. Oh, and because of the higher-level thinking comment I got back, I take back what I said about them being up there with the likes of Bright Eyes and Cursive. I was actually probably lying to flatter them some and inspire them to make some new songs, damn it. By the way, I don’t do that to most bands/people. Just the ones I think aren’t going to listen to me because I’m inferior because I’m not in a band/not “chouette” (which, by the way, means owl, yes, or neat/cool according to modern French books). And you can always tell. Otherwise, I compliment too subtly and way too indirectly.
For those of you who can’t read rude/upside down (sorry; my computer won’t let me change that no matter how many times I reupload it), it says “thanks so much it means a lot.” No punctuation, either; I just had to put the period to end my original sentence. Yeah, thanks a lot, Shining Through. I don’t even get a fucking period. I’m putting in a good word, though, since I have faith.
But/however, Marc Spitz is another story. Haha, half-kidding; I didn’t expect a response to that one, and he’s still my favourite author.
By the way, while browsing YouTube, I found this…and just about laughed my ass off at the end, trampoline…and the hats…looks like they ran out of things to ask in those seven minutes.
Filed under: Music
In more than one way, I really wish Conor Oberst was real. You might argue, “But he’s so real!” or “He’s a GENIUS; of course he’s real!” or “Isn’t he dead?” [that’s Elliott Smith, dumbass; nice]. These arguments, though, are not real. He may be a real man looking for love and fairness and happiness, and he might write lyrics that we can all relate to, but does he explain them? Who’s Laura Laurent? We can see Independence Day videos of him on YouTube, where he looks so happy, it makes me want to cry, and then there’s the inconsistent Saddle Creek video of the week where he acts and talks…do we really have answers, though? Do we know anything about Conor Oberst except that his birthday was February 15th, 1980 or that his real brother is named Matt from Sorry About Dresden, and he lives in Omaha? No. He’s so guarded, and too many people regard him as a genius for the wrong reasons, and this just makes him look stupid. Do I consider him a genius? Yes. Do I have reasons? Yes, but I’m not going to go out and tell everyone that as the sole reason why I’m defending him and his music. I wish people wouldn’t do that. And I wish poseurs just stopped. And I wish everybody didn’t pretend to know him, because while we do know him, we really don’t. He has said that doesn’t love that, and I know that my friends and I cringe when other people try to do that.
I wish, though, that I could know him, maybe, and get caught up in the magical, seemingly time-warped, different but familiar world that is Saddle Creek.
I also wish I could know Jenny Lewis, but I’d know more of how to act and what to say around Oberst, considering he’s not an actor and his songs are pretty consistent, even in their originality. Jenny is an actress and her voice is one, too. Sad that I’ve already thought about this, since I want to see both of them before I die, or before they die. At a show. I’d probably have an emotional breakdown if that happened, though, since my life revolves so consistently around the works of these people. I think about them on a daily basis, and I pin people to different songs by them. Five minutes can’t go by without considering one of their songs, or else something is wrong.
Moving on, though, since I talk too much about Conor Oberst and Jenny Lewis. I owe it to them, life, basically, and my ability to push through and move on, but I really need to move on to my original idea for this blog.
Elliott Smith. I mentioned him before, and I’m sure I’ve talked about some of his songs, but lately, I’ve been really interested in him and his history, and what made him commit suicide and what he looked like. When I listen to his songs thinking my thoughts, he makes me silently happy. It’s a happy where you don’t even have to smile; you just have butterflies in your chest and everything looks sunny. I think of meadows, or picnics.
When I’m listening to his songs and thinking of him, and of his history, and most of all, relating all this to the years leading up to his suicide, it makes me eek a tear or two. He was really into music as a kid, from an early age. He got into fights a lot, though, with other kids. I’d rather not refer to him as an outcast. That’s demeaning. Just listen to “Pretty (Ugly Before)” or “Say Yes.” They’re intense without intensity. They’re almost happy, which is ironic. The most ironic thing about Elliott Smith, though, is his birthplace. Omaha.
Listen to “An Attempt to Tip the Scales” by Bright Eyes, all the way through. I hate it when fans do renditions of it, and especially of Elliott Smith songs. It’s disrespectful. And what about the curse of 27? No, Elliott Smith wasn’t 27 when he stabbed himself in the chest in his living room (and no, he wasn’t single, either). He was 34, but sort of close as far as I’m concerned. Jim Morrison was 27. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain. Jeremy Ward and Dave Alexander. Nick Drake died at 26. All these people were at the height of the hype. And with Conor being 26 (nine years, six months older than me), and 27 creeping up on him, plus a new album due out this fall (yes, I’m excited too) we’re going to have to hold our breath for the next three or so years.
Back to Elliott, though, everyone thinks they could have saved him. Girls wanted to be inspiration in his life; they’re all so different. Guys could have been that unusual best friend. But keep in mind that he was not single and was at the height of his career. He was trapped, per se, by fame. I wish that people would stop thinking wishfully and just live the sad, somewhat pathetic, but inspired life of a fan. Maybe this entry doesn’t make much sense right now; it’s sort of a jumble of thoughts, but I hope it helps.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I’m single and relatively happy but I wish certain people would stop trying to change that (being single and happy; they’re making me pissed slash annoyed that I’m claimed property), while I wish others would persist in trying to change that, please (single and relatively happy slash property; I’d love to be ecstatic and free). I think some people need to go to body language school, because I tend to use a lot of body language on purpose because I know that I take into account other people’s body language, and you should start.
I hate having dibbs called on me, by everyone. Someday, I will rebel and be all by myself. I want an underdog who’s not even on the radar to come in and sweep me off my feet, movie-style. Like that will happen, seriously, but I hope it will. At this point, I know who the underdog is and nobody else has a clue. And I’m rooting for him like hell.
Ha, watch me become a nun.
Aujourd’hui, j’ai realisé que je ne peux pas parler beaucoup de français, et quand je parle en français, je parle mal. Et je n’aime pas cette chose parce que j’adore le français. Ce sont des freshmen qui peuvent parler plus bien que moi. This whole paragraph was probably horrible broken French, and a native French person would probably get pissed if they read this. I can form sentences in my head; I can even think in French. But I’m just going to have to kick ass if I ever want to make something out of French as a career.
Anywho, today, I especially realized my need to get out of the house, my need to meet new people and not be quite so very timid, and my desire to travel the world. All of this will be good for me. I’m in my comfort zone, and I want to meet older people before the chance is gone. I want to trust new people and try new things in general before there’s no one left to trust and no opportunity to try new things. I don’t want to be that smart person who doesn’t put anything to use; I want to get out there and maybe become a little more cultured. What’s at the top of my to-do list right now? Meet cool new people, look alright, get good grades, and learn French rapidly. Nothing too different from what everyone else wants, although I feel that I have to be an overachiever at all those things, but I feel like I’m drowning in a pond, because everyone else is succeeding at these things, and I’m average in all aspects. But what’s on my to-do list for the future, when maybe I get out of the pond (hopefully)?
I was looking at the pictures of France that Mrs. Guyer has right below her whiteboard, and I’ve decided I want to see these sites with maybe someone special, who, at this point, could be someone I least expect to tour the world with me. Or maybe I haven’t met them yet. But I’ve decided we’ll listen to The Strokes and Elliott Smith and Bright Eyes (especially “A Perfect Sonnet”) and The Unicorns really loud and sing along obnoxiously and maybe off-key, and I’ll lose my inhibitions just for that, and he might have some, but I won’t know about them because we’ll be too comfy with each other. We’ll see the world through each other’s eyes. And we’ll love it. We will have picnics in the middle of nowhere in Europe and North America, and other places, too, and it won’t matter where we are, as long as we have the mix tapes we’ll have made for each other over the past few months or years. And yes, on our tours, there will be more handsome men than him (whoever he is), and girls I could never even dream of matching lookswise, but we probably won’t glance at them, or if we do, then we’ll sarcastically point out their flaws and laugh like stupid Americans because we adore one another more than all that superficial crap, or else we adore each other for our flaws and for our perfections. We won’t be sappy, though; if you’re in love, it doesn’t mean sappy. It just means that you inspire one another, and live for one another. We’d have our arguments and be immature and politically incorrect, and often not act like a couple, and make fun of each other, but that would be our quirk. I’d give everything I had and not question anything; I’d have everything to lose at that point. And he, well, I’d hope he felt the same way, or similarly; I’d at least hope that I wasn’t the one who felt more so that way because it would be awkward loving someone so much when they’d only love you three-quarters as much.
We’ll go to all these places…
I’d like, though, to end up here, on the bench, as though it was the last night of my life.
There’s more than meets the eye.
Um, yeah, but enough of being sentimental, because I should really be doing something else right now, like homework, and apologizing for being an ass. After all, it is now and not later. So I can’t really start on my life’s to-do list until I’ve completed the present’s list, now, can I?
As you start to raise your head?
Today, during la classe de…band?? Yeah, I think. Well, my section was talking about music. Maybe it was yesterday. I forget. We were talking about band and such, and then we got to discussing those bands you love to hate and you hate to love, but you love them regardless. Dashboard is one of them (Dashboard Confessional, with Chris Carraba, for n00bs), of course; I, well…I like Dashboard. And I hate to admit it because puny little Chris (ha, here’s an idea…go play Emogame; Chris on there is just like real life Chris) is the essence of “emo” and everyone calls him the “emo king” and shit like that. I used to be really into music that I thought was emo, like Bright Eyes since Conor, well, he sings about Padraic and Laura and prostitutes; he’s pretty emotional…but all that turned out to be indie, or folk rock, which I suppose is something that’s intertwined with indie when you’re as young as Conor is. We talked about Cute is What We Aim For and the infamous Fall Out Boy (which my friends and I refer to as FOB, pronounced “fahb” for n00bs; we also refer to every individual member as FOB, too) and Panic! At the Disco (which my friends and I refer to as P!ATD as in “paht-hddd,” duh). They’re catchy, and that’s why you hate them. But that’s also why you love them. For “EEEEEMOOO” they always sing about being hurt and broken hearts and shit for LAMFs (as in Lame-Ass Motherfuckers). I swear, by the way, cross my heart, and promise that I actually don’t use abbreviations for everything. Just, when you’re talking love-to-hate bands, you have to use abbreviations sometimes. Anywho, emo bands always sing about the same things; I’ll grant it to P!ATD and FOB that they have interesting lyrics that read like superdetailed prose. And they’re kind of witty, which is a new asset to pop culture. Bands aren’t witty. They tell you you’re supposed to be different, or the same, and they tell you about relationships. They’re never witty. P!ATD and FOB are sorta witty, thanks to FOB aka Pete Wentz. Also, let me just throw in there that I always felt really bad for FOB aka Patrick. He’s really cute, but then there’s this studlicious (yes, he is) Pete bass-player who gets the record company and the girls. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Pete writes the wit! By the way, boys, they don’t like him for his brain; they like him for his balls/face. So…keep that in mind the next time you like someone who likes Pete. Don’t think for yourself…?
Back to the purpose for this entry. We added Death Cab for Cutie to the list somehow. But I’m not really sure why. I know that Death Cab is popular (we call them DCFC as in “duh-suh-fuh-sss” or “duh-kuh-fuh-kuh” haha, duhkuh fuckuh) and they have a lot of hits, and for that, at first, I wasn’t really sure why I liked them. Or, for that matter, why they were on the radio and fucking huge. Then the other day (as in a few minutes ago; I never plan my blogs, and you should know this by now), I realized that I like Death Cab because they never sacrifice their intelligent lyrics or their mellow sound for what the general populus wants. That’s my take. The general populus likes them, though, I guess because they have their catchy songs, or something. At first, I thought maybe it was because they looked cool, all indie, or maybe they thought Ben Gibbard was hot, and then I thought about that and affirmed that he’s not necessarily hot, so maybe they didn’t know who was singing.
Upon thinking about it, I have to admit that I’m really left in the dark as to why most people hate my music. For one, it’s not loud. Another thing, it’s got amazing lyrics. And the artists’ voices may not sound the same as pop voices, or always do freaky Christina Aguilera show-off runs, or have perfect voices, but all that only makes them more amazing. The imperfections complete them.
As far as Conor Oberst goes, I’ve decided that I actually will kick your ass if you talk smack about him. First of all, his imperfections complete him. And secondly, this is a weird and long reason. For some reason, up until recently, I always listened to his songs through his perspective, either relating him to myself or just imagining I was him. Sort of weird; I just appreciated the lyrics and thought he was brilliant and beautiful. Lately, though, well, I’ve been looking at the lyrics and listening to the songs from a girl’s perspective (that’s what I am, after all), and it comforts me. His voice is like a hug. I appreciate how low his voice can go, whereas I used to appreciate how high it could go (I’ve always been a sucker for a hook with a high note). High notes are sort of cold. Low notes are warm and welcoming. It’s weird, the transition it goes through. And I used to think, “How could Conor Oberst be an asshole?” But he has a life, and that’s what he writes about. Obviously.
Update on Cora!: She’s a lesbian. Or she might just be radical, because she shaved her head. She’s also a little on the anorexic side.
P.S. Sometimes, even I wonder where I get the pictures I use. It’s great.
Filed under: Barrels of Fun
So today, instead of sitting on my ass, which was covered in these Abercrombie & Fitch capris, my only pair of capris and my only Abercrombie & Fitch clothes ever because they fit well…what was I saying? Oh yeah. I got up at close to 11:30 feeling…I don’t know…controversial. As usual, right? I got dressed around 2 and paraded over to E-Dawg’s house. Naturally, she didn’t call, I just ran over there in my bare feet and knocked down the door with a bulldozer and ate Mambo, M-Dawg (I’m so damn clever; pause to admire), who is her dog…and then called Godzilla to come over and bring Erika to Subway with me. Because I could. Actually, none of that happened, but I did go over to her house and Paige was there too. I feel like…intrusive…when I use Paige’s nickname, Sponge, so I just…don’t. She’s Paige. End of story. Well, we started to walk to Subway and she had no money so we walked back to Erika’s…
LONG STORY SHORT, we watched this movie, Bowling For Columbine. No underline, double-you-tee-eff, mate? Whatever. A Michael Moore movie, and he made Dick Clarke look like a dick. It was awesome. Did you know that Canadians don’t lock their doors at night, in general? Like…I would never think of not locking my door at night. And their media is a lot happier. Think of it this way: Our media in the States portrays every crime as a random incident, when really, nothing is that random. Plus, a crime will only happen in your exact area once unless you like to walk under ladders or something, or if you live in Richmond ell-oh-ell…so the media blows this all out of proportion, telling you to take extra precautions for something that’s already been done and won’t happen again. Better safe than sorry…but I play logic games, so I already know this kind of thing. You have to think about it, really. Here’s one of the best parts…hehe…
The movie was amazing. It’s opened my eyes, for realz. Michael Moore pointed out how fucked up the world is through a demonstration on film. This sort of makes me want to be all radical and do something like that, or maybe just buy “The Anarchist’s Cookbook” only not really. At this point, I’m really hyper, so I don’t really care what I type.
Speaking of anarchy, there was a negligible snippet in the film about this girl going to court simply because she wanted to start an Anarchy Club at her school; it had to do with silly over-the-top precautions people took after Columbine (like suspending some kindergartener or something for pointing a chicken finger at his teacher at lunch and saying, “Bang! Bang!” Like he even knows any better; he’s five! Oh, and it was a chicken finger…what’s it going to do? Fire ketchup?). Back on topic, I don’t really think kids these days who support anarchy even know a damn thing about what anarchy really is; they just think it sounds cool because it’s chaos and lack of rules. Just to clarify for les estupides, anarchy is an opportunity for utopia. It’s not just chaos and the government collapsing and rape and murder and pillaging. Anarchy is freedom. Because really, is any one man or any group of men supposed to have dominion over all other men? No. Or, for that matter, is any one species supposed to have dominion over all others? No. If people did bad, karma would come back around to them on its own; justice would be served, but in a more fair way, like if you murdered someone, you’d probably be justified in doing so, but at the same time, people would hate you and probably come after you to repay you for what you’ve done. That’s just…one example…it’s not like everything would be total chaos. It’s just…things would be more fair and natural. As far as issues like money go, I don’t know what would happen. I just think that people might get along better if there wasn’t one leader.
Then again, is utopia really what we want? Wouldn’t it be a bit boring if things were perfect and completely balanced? Yeah. I’m just saying, anarchy isn’t as bad as people often make it out to be. And also, doesn’t everyone have their own idea of a utopia? Mine has to be different from yours. I mean, in mine, we’d all eat vegetarian cuisine and be really healthy and let the animals do as they please. And you might like roast beef, so…that wouldn’t work out too well.
By the way, my sister gave me a Tamagotchi she doesn’t use. It hatched as a girl, so I named her Cora! X, only it just appears as Cora!, since that’s how Tamagotchis are. She just laid a shit, so I have to clean it up. She’s a white blob, and she’s ugly. As in fugly.
By the way, I’m quite liberal, so if you’re offended by my colourful language…then I’m sorry. Or sowwy.
Filed under: Music
I basically prefer blogs to MySpace. Because with blogs, there are no expectations. You’re not reading this because I look “hott” (yes, with two Ts). And you’re not reading this to be nice to me; if you actually read this regularly, then that means you like my writing, or you were just searching Google for “sarcasm is the refuge of losers” and got a little bored and/or lazy, so you clicked the first link. You are my audience and I don’t want feedback for the hell of it; I want feedback because I want to know who my audience is and what they think. Because honestly, people, I’m not writing for me. I’m writing to help people like me. Of course, nobody like me has read this yet, and whether or not that’s because I’ve labelled myself (which you have to do these days, or losers who don’t know what they’re talking about will read your shit and be like, “Oh…this sucks. Now I’m going to go play Halo 2 and do my AP Calc homework for kicks and giggles!”) or because I have no cred, or because I’m a hopeless loser…Well, nobody’s told me, so I’ll be really stoked when someone like me read this, even if it’s a flame and then they tell all their friends to read this cheap-ass blog and stuff. My expectations are obviously low, but hey, I write about what I’d want to read, and there’s got to be someone out there who needs this information.
Anywho, we had band practice all godforsaken day. Nine hours. I cried when I woke up. But now I’m pumped and ready to go out on the town and look at that…I have nowhere to go. How sad. I’m sweaty and gross, though…so I guess I’m a little glad, to say the least. I’d have to take a full shower if I was to go somewhere.
Moving on to the music. I’m a reluctant person. Indie music that has sold out, fuck it. I don’t want to hear it. It’s crap. Alternative and rock-based stuff, I don’t normally like because I’m so laid-back and mellow. And I’m not saying that in a braggy way; I really am. I’m shy and pathetic and lethargic, and the only things that make me pissed off are clingy people, freshmen, and liars. So I like mellow music, and I’m not a rocker, mostly. I’m into the intellectual stuff. Complex thinking music. Higher level thinking, haha yeah. Well, I’d seen The Strokes in Blender, ElleGirl, Teen Vogue, read about them on LesInrocks (I think), and heard about them from my friends and strangers. I thought they were just too common. So I avoided them at all costs. Here’s a piece of advice for you: If you’re having doubts about The Strokes, who aren’t indie but wear Chucks and sort of have fros…don’t doubt a brother. Love. Just…listen to them. E-Dawg introduced me, and it’s tight shit. They’re not crazy rock, and they don’t write about stereotypical things, and their sound is possibly to die for, though perhaps not like…Death Cab to die for, or…I dunno…Barry White to die for? I don’t know, if you think Barry White is to die for, well, uh, each man to his own, not that I mind Barry White, but he sort of reminds me of someone I know, and not exactly in the way you’re thinking unless you’re Geeeeilllll or E-Dawg, since they just know things.
Here’s a picture of The Strokes, for your viewing pleasure.
They’re pretty spicy. Not too frolicious right there, but certainly paprika-like.
Yeah, paprika was a nickname one of my bfffffs used for one of her crushes once, hence ruining that spice for me FOREVER, considering who it was with the nickname. So they’re rather posh-like. Haha pun-ish, I’m so clever, only not really.
Another thing, before I close this entry, I want a Skannerz UPC toy thing, and secondly, I want a Tamagotchi. Maybe I’ll get a Tamagotchi with my allowance. When I was eight, I had a Salem (from Sabrina the Teenaged Witch, yeah, you know the show–don’t deny it) Tamagotchi-like thing, but it died on me. And I had an Italian Tamagotchi (it was red, white, and green, in some order), but I lost it. Band does weird things to me…
I will buy one. Tomorrow, maybe…
Filed under: Music
I’m too nervous about school. I’m actually afraid. When this summer break started, I was such a small person, and more narrow-minded and shallow, and I thought I knew what I wanted, but I really didn’t. Even over the past few weeks, I’ve gained a little confidence and revamped my closet and I’m just a different person. I feel like I can take the dagger-reminiscent glares from enemies. I feel like I can speak back to them, and throw something harder back, like maybe a mace instead of daggers. Um. Yeah. But at the same time, I’m so nervous that I won’t have, well, friends. Scratch that. I know I have friends, but in my classes, I mean. What is this world coming to? I’m afraid of making new friends. Isn’t that what school’s all about? How did I survive last year?! I feel like I need a tour guide or something. I’m not ready.
So I’m sitting at my desk listening to De-Phazz and trying to calm down. Really cool.
Speaking of which, what the fuck is De-Phazz? You probably think I’m a little fucked in the head. Either you’ve heard of them and you’re wondering why I’m listening to jazz/lounge music, or you’ve never heard of them. And that’s okay. Actually, this song, “The Mambo Craze” is one featuring the lovely Pat Appleton. Sort of sixties, fifties. Sorry if I’m off a decade. It’s nice, as in lite and…catchy. Yes, catchy. I’d put it on the soundtrack to my life. You should go out and listen to them, too. It’ll calm your nerves in a feel-good way as opposed to a lovesick kind of way, and it’s not lame. That’s just my advice, though.
Filed under: Music
Take The Arcade Fire. Right. Their sound. Now throw in some synthesizers and maybe a little rust. Put that shit in a blender (to mix it up), and you’ve got Wolf Parade.
I took Wolf Parade for granted for a while. They’re an essential indie band and you sort of hear about them everywhere, and you think you’ve heard their songs even if you haven’t. They just sound familiar because they’re always in the background. And because they sound so similar to a faster-paced Arcade Fire, you don’t really need them for a while. You don’t appreciate them. They’re like your second-favourite pair of jeans. Your first favourite is like…Bright Eyes, Rilo Kiley. The Arcade Fire. Originals. Second-favourite is The Strokes and The Elected and Wolf Parade. Your favourite pair of jeans is the one that means most to you and you look best in them. And you don’t care what other people think of them, but you really hope they like them. The backup pair is nice but you wear them less. That’s all.
Well, you really should wear in your next-best pair because you never know when your best pair will be dirty…per se. So listen to Wolf Parade. I’d recommend tracks like “Dinner Bells” (personal favourite) and “I’ll Believe in Anything” and “Grounds for Divorce.” “It’s a Curse” is also appreciated. Go out and buy the CD, though, for God’s sake. Screw LimeWire for this once. It’s worth it. And if not…well, then you must be a pop fan. Ha. No money-back guarantee. Sorry. Not really.
Actually, I am sorry…sorry if this entry is lacking. I’m really tired. Maybe I’ll make up for it tomorrow by writing something about one of Wolf Parade’s songs as an individual entity. I don’t know. I don’t normally write a blow-by-blow plan of my blogs. So enjoy this picture. It’s nice.
INDIEchouette 