Wednesday, September 30, 2009
So it seems like there’s still some jazz lingering in my system:
If you’ve heard of The Mahavishnu Orchestra, you’ve undoubtedly heard of John McLaughlin. I give to you “Dawn,” off of The Inner Mounting Flame: tamer than others (see “Birds of Fire”), but unquestionably representative of the group’s menacingly eclectic sound. An absolutely shredding guitar solo [...]
Monday, September 28, 2009
I’m buckled down for the night — study calls.
Ever so often I’ll exhaust a jazz album I’ve been using to get through clumps of work: even if it’s improvisation, I’ll whistle the entire score if you swing a ride for me. Not with Mingus. “Pithecanthropus Erectus” is as primitive as it sounds: the only thing [...]
Sunday, September 27, 2009
“He said I’m fabulously rich | C’mon just let’s go.
She kinda bit her lip | Jeez I don’t know”
I’d like to see Gord Downie try his luck at a singles bar: he really is the master of opening lines. For all the Americans who pop up on Google Analytics (that’s right, I’m watching you!), here’s an [...]
Sunday, September 27, 2009
“And the price is right | The cost of one admission is your mind”
A little rainy day music. Imagine “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!” on drugs the Beatles wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. From a carny mishmash to a psych jam, this number is undeniably bizarre — probably an ancestor of today’s electro [...]
Saturday, September 26, 2009
“Sexy Sadie, what have you done? | You made a fool of everyone
You made a fool of everyone | Sexy Sadie, ooh what have you done?”
It ain’t easy to write about the Beatles, you know? First and last time. Probably. I could write about the chiastic verses or some story involving the Maharishi and a piece of [...]
Saturday, September 26, 2009
“To the centre of the city where all roads meet, waiting for you,
To the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank, searching for you,
I was moving through the silence without motion, waiting for you,
In a room with a window in the corner I found truth.”
There’s no doubt that Unknown Pleasures unearths Ian Curtis’ terminal apprehensions [...]
