“Doctor’s leaving for the holiday season | got crystal ice picks, no gift for the gab
and in the parking lot is a sedan he bought | he never, he never complains when it’s hot”
Now that I look at the lyrics, seems to be a coincidence: currently typing away at a paper on Walter Freeman and ice pick lobotomies. But that’s besides the point. I started listening to Pavement about a month ago after hearing about this underrated yet heavily influential 90s alt rock band announcing tour dates for the summer. Pitchfork likes them. I don’t agree with half of the things that Pitchfork has to say, and such was my thought after I bought a couple of the band’s albums: underproduced and underwhelming. Maybe it was a case of Tom Waits Syndrome: hate it or you love it — but most people hate it. I had more or less given up, until I finally developed that acquired taste on Sunday… it’s now chilling with brussel sprouts and mushrooms somewhere in my head.
What did it was Quarantine the Past, not so much as a best hits, but rather a wave of songs that should get you into the right soundspace to appreciate the idiosyncrasies of Pavement. When “Grounded” — somewhere in the middle of the album — made its way to my headphones, my ears were already warmed up. My take on Pavement: Lou Reed meets early Radiohead… Lou Reed in its nonchalance, and Radiohead in its musical experimentation. Take a look at some of the guitar tunings if you get the time — very unconventional. But it works. Or Steve West on drums? If you put any drummer in the Pavement studio and said, “Okay, play along and we’ll record it,” this is exactly what you would get. But that’s all that it needs, nothing more. It’s Pavement, it’s druggy, sloppy, and definitely sounds better when you’re a couple drinks in. And that’s exactly where I am.
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“When the dream came | I held my breath | with my eyes closed
I went insane | Like a smoke ring day | When the wind blows”
I’ve been out of the blogging business for a while, haven’t I? Apologies to avid followers. What started as a short hiatus turned into a dismissed routine. Truth is: I went through a bit of a musical drought. Nothing was motivating me to write. No earworms to share with the world. A lot has happened since December-whatever-it-was… 21st birthday in February (at the height of my disappointment with music) brought Neil Young knocking in the form of his latest box set, The Neil Young Archives Vol. 1. I’ve been so impressed by the quality of the live performance that I could honestly write a dozen unique posts. Everything from the tuning dialogue to the subtle variations to the little imperfections make this 8-disc set utterly addicting.
I’ll start with “On the Way Home,” and “Don’t Let it Bring You Down” off of Live at Massey Hall (1971). Massey Hall is a museum of rock and roll in downtown Toronto, right around the corner from Yonge and Dundas Square where, yesterday afternoon, a crowd of thousands and thousands erupted as Crosby buried one behind Miller in Gold Medal OT. If hockey is Canada’s sport, Neil Young is Canada’s musician. I was so moved by this album that I went out and bought an acoustic guitar the other day — I’ve slowly been working my way through each song. With this song, I too am on my way home… the past two weeks have been a well-needed surge in patriotism. Congratulations, Canada.
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Monday, December 14, 2009
“Ég verð undir þér og ég skal dansa bara og aðeins fyrir þig | Ég skal syngja bara ef þú temur mig.
Ég verð undir þér og ég skal dansa bara ef þú hemur mig | Ég skal syngja bara fyrir þig.”
I guess if there’s one thing that separates my blog from others, it’s my slight obsession with all things Icelandic. Oh wait, blogs have already been through that phase… thanks a bunch, Sigur Rós. Truth is: most Icelanders are tired of their association with sleepy post-rock bands. Sure, there’s little to no light in the winter months, but don’t doubt that Icelanders know how to party.
I met Mammút at the Eistnaflug (literally: “flight of the testicles”) festival in Neskaupstaður, Northeast Iceland. I had been touring with a progressive rock band, Perla, and wound up at a local bar taking shots with the three lovely ladies (Kata, Asa, Alexandra) who constitute the core of the band. As far as I can remember, they were dressed up (read: dressed down) in Pocahontas costumes. “Svefnsýkt” was No. 1 on Icelandic charts while I lived there in 2008, though a language barrier prevented it from reaching North American shores that summer. This isn’t Josie and the Pussycats, this is real rock… a little evil, but undeniably sexy.
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