Edwin Moses Love Turns You Upside Down. I love Edwin Moses. I seemingly always start these posts with my declaration of various colours of love. I don't actually love anyone now. I'd welcome love with an exploding heart; I'd die,but it would be for love, it would be glorious and serene and sad melancholic groups of people would rediscover my lost manuscripts and thus having died for love I would become pinup hero to goth girls the world over. I'd rest in peace alongside Sylvia Plath, scorning Ted Hughes as he tried to ride sidecar on our already bedecked tandem bicycle. But my love for Edwin Moses surely makes me a racist. Racists are an expanding class. Should you not vote for Obama then you are a racist. Honest. I am voting for Mickey Lolich. He was born right handed and after a tricycle accident was forced to switch hands. Marvelous. What has Obama ever done to compare to that? Mickey Lolich could probably turn black even though he's been saddled with being born white and makes doughnuts now. His doughnut shop is directly across the street from the post office where I mailed more mixtapes than from any other. A Landmark of the future "Sights" of the "boy who died for love", mixtapes of course being the embodiment of dreams of love and devotion. Second song for Edwin Moses, I'm Feeling So Much Better, glorious, it's slow burn seventies soul music made by two "white" guys in Spain. Thus my racism. I'm sorry for being a racist. He's got a lovely falsetto. Nice horns, drums that sound like handclaps, strings, marvelousness abounds. It's dance music, it is physical. My dancing style is key. How does one dance during a depression anyhow? Jim Cramer says if Uncle Ben and Uncle Hank don't get this package through then when I go to the ATM tomorrow there isn't going to be any money in the ATM. How will I pay for my Indian Food? Will they have Indian themed soup kitchens when we are in the midst of the next depression? I hope so. I am glib. But is it not an exciting time to live in? This impending collapse of everything and the sensing by unredeemed Marxists that this is their time thrills all sorts of idiocy will escape from the shadows. Will I be sent to a re-education camp by Joebama? i hope so. In a depression you dance close to conserve heat. I'd like to slow dance someday, I might be encouraging a depression soon, I could picket Janus Funds, whose office lies just down the street from here, "more profligacy, less responsibility" would be on my placard! I could dance with someone special then, take pity on my charitable cause. Third song is playing now, a slow burner, again, Glory Glory. Does anyone who knows anything about soul music rate this stuff? Or is it merely simpleton musical colonialists such as myself who rate this stuff? Who knows. They make fabulous cover art for Edwin Moses records, well except for this one, it was a bit understated and dull which is odd since this is the best Edwin Moses album. There is a mythology attached to each record that the label has created especially for the band. The real Edwin Moses does not feature within that mythology. The high hurdles were never a glamourous event even as Edwin Moses went something like 10 years in between losing races. It could have been that inconclusive facial hair. How magnificent would a life be where you wake up every day for ten years straight knowing that you are going to win. I can barely bat .500 in a day. Or was he unable to sleep believing rather that each evening was the evening before he was about to lose to the Chinese national in lane 5. Of course he actually lost to Danny Harris. I missed a free lecture on Chaos and Linear Dynamics today. Edwin Moses has a degree in physics. Oooo! Best song now, Summertime in India, strings are wonderful that guitar shimmer, the vocals, it's the how and now like melted velveeta. I could start my own mythology. I could make the claim that I was once the drummer in Edwin Moses but I was kicked out because i wasn't actually racist, I merely pretended to be by listening to Edwin Moses records and playing drums for Edwin Moses. I am am involuntarily adopting my non-depression dancing style while listening to this, it's groovy man. Coda packed with horns, big, booming horns, some low end slinking towards a pretty string fade out. Ah. Next song, this one carves out tiny teaspoons full of the surface of the sun and places them in the air in front of your to grasp at. But you can't grab hold of delight such as this, it is an ephemeral apparition, beauty fluttering alone, drying its wings from the morning dew, unshackleable. He's smouldering now, well he is semi-smouldering now. Maybe he is black. I could be racist for assuming he is not. The Moors and Othello and a world of history could compel some sensitivity in my case, but it has not. I have declared indiepop dead. Alistair Fitchett has done as much already but then still he raves about nonsense like Bobby Baby. He may not have raved about Bobby Baby. But have you noticed that everything posted on indiepop sites is rubbish? Truly. S*********** has an especial talent for discovering indie nonsense, congratulations. They should adopt my point of view and instead spend their life discovering lost Margaret Sullavan movie clips and post them instead. I have almost finished a Skeptics entry, for real, and it has attached to it their video for Affco. So disturbing. S*********** will run crying from the room, but that only means that he's a nice kid and not a bitter old clod like myself. When Dear Catastrophe Waitress came out I compared the song If She Wants Me to Edwin Moses. Someone told me that Stuart Murdoch is black. He was probably searching for Curtis Mayfield or Teddy Pendegrass or even Lou Rawls and here I disparage him with my facile comparison. There isn't anything lugubrious about this album, not a single thing, this is the sort of music that needs to be constructed and disseminated during the oncoming depression but then reality begs and I bet the employment office somewhere is already bustling with people seeking employment as the new Woody Guthrie. Of course, the new Woody Guthrie will be avaialble exclusively on ITunes. Last evening I watched a man going through a sobriety test in the parking lot. He didn't appear to be heading for a passing grade. I mocked him in the distance by hopping along the freshly painted lines in the parking lot on my left foot with my right hand in my left ear. I may have been sober. I had had a few pints of Coors light, err... and some wings but it had been a couple of hours. i recommend the chinese wings at the Piper. The piper is a biker bar near where I work that my boss is partial to even though he does not own a bike and he's a square, everyone I work with is a square, some are squares with guns. Let You Down was a blast that just passed and now to the title track. Cool rhodes piano, smooth guitar, some funky wikki wah wah in the background. When the strings come in it's a bit like we're occupants of a church rather than a den of inequity. They need to work on that. I wrote an entry on their third album The Gospel Years some time ago. It's somethign fabulous too but it actually has a bit of Spiritualized in it, funny enough, but then Jason Pierce is endlessly on about he makes soul music. He doesn't. Odes to little snack debbies. Being in a state of not being smitten with anyone is a clear thinking state. I've identified my shortcomings and am thinking of working on them some day. I've started to observe people at work and I am going to steal all of their personality defects for my own race of book people, there are some that are over fastidiousness, many who possess poor judgement, those who express endless streams of vulgarity, and laziness abounds. All of these things are those that I clearly lack. Ha. I am not fastidious, certainly not, I am not vulgar and I work seven days a week. I do deny the sabbath so it appears then that I am truly vulgar. Only the title appears in the lyrics, it's a bit of Spiritualized-aping foreshadowing here, it is majestic and swooning. I am thinking about what to wear today. I hardly have any clothes at all. i am thinking I need to buy some, I could assemble my wardrobe based on moods I wish to convey, assemble a surrealist outfit, assemble an outfit when I am raging against those who describe everything as surreal even though they have no idea what surreal means, an outfit with a definition of surrealism on the front and an umbrella on a dissecting table on the back. Got surrealism? This next song Holding Back for Sorrow epically sad and beautiful. Pianos, chimes, loads of chimes on here, this is splendid. Really! Do buy this album. Make love to yourself. While the Greenwood Village police were censuring the poor soul who was walking the lines poorly just outside the Bonefish grill after his having had two too many Sam Adams Summer Ales they might have been missing an opportunity to break up a high school kegger with loads of high school chicks to pick up and defile in the back room of donut shops not owned by Mickey Lolich. Mickey used to pitch nearly 400 innings a season. John Santana has never thrown over 125 pitches, madness! Or while geting this menace to good sense off of the streets were there armies of pedophiles cruising the Chuck e Cheese looking to do research for the great american novel Lolita 2. Is Sound of Arrows indiepop? Perhaps by association. They are on a wimpy label who release the wimpiest political records ever. Have you heard Radio Dept's "Freddy" single? It's a larf. So wuss. Perhaps an indiepop version of Rage Against the Machine is what is called for on this eve of the next great Depression. Some impecunious graduate from Brandeis forced to live on his trust fund while discovering himself and whose parents audaciously corrupted him by plying him with everything he wanted merely out of the bourgeois conspiracy of love and slow dance. But man he's got a prius now, he's sporting dreadlocks, a girlfriend whose parents knew Herbert Marcuse in junior high school and all 100 cloudberry releases. Fury on the glockenspiel! It will be unleashed on the unsuspecting masses and it will be massive. Someone call Jimmy Tassos! James Feagin will give it five stars, "Objectively Speaking". Here is another party track Blues Away, so much of a party with its lovely guitars and overall funkiness that it is crashing my computer, the file is corrupted by the soul fired funk. Here is a quick memo to all of the incoherency- Macbook's suck! Honest. Mine crashes four or five times on every use, I've gone through and purchased spyware doctors and virus detectors and calld Apple and I can't get no satisfaction, thank god. So then I must skip the second half of Dance Party USA a.k,a Blues Away and move into the soul folk of the next track which is called Streams of Love and Hate. Pedro Vigil is the musical brains behind Edwin Moses. He does make cold cut music as well, big symphonic ham adorned records with wordless songs that are rather good. But this is where his genius truly flowers, his approrpiation of all of the best elements of spanish folk from say the likes of Le Mans and Soul and Space rawk have made me consider Edwin Moses for mythological beatification. Next song, acousitc guitar, a bit Plain White Tees, they could be stars, chimes, only just now it has turned a bit Air Supply perhaps. The dentist market beckons. This is beautiful. Did Pedro hold auditions for his singer? This guy is fabulous, when the swooning strings swoop in onver the horizon it is dramatic and remarkable and emo. Emo soul, it's time has come. More chimes, so friendly. Is this big in Japan? Is Siesta Records big in Japan, I would imagine Angie Tillett and Jez Butler are deities to be stored in prayer huts there, each captured in their arrested state of cognitive development. What about China? Do they have the same fascination with adolescence? I spent the last few days with a gentlemen who runs factories in China and he talked about the chinese mob and the government gladhanding and the smog and the new airport in Hong Kong but he didn't mention Momus' stature on the mainland. Perhaps when Chine overtakes the US in the space race and sends a variety of firsts up into space including the first cirque de soleil acrobats, the first red pandas and the first general secretaries they can then send the first indiepop star into space as well. Over. Soon there will be a new Prefab Sprout record to allow me to endure my drought of smittenlessness.