This is surreal!



Lifted from ILX.

Au Revoir Borealis Dark Enough For Stars. There is a depression, real and imagined, in Michigan. It will soon be worse. Bankruptcy for the auto companies is looming the prospect is really very frightening. The entire state depends on these companies and soon they shall be run aground. The auto companies will morph into the government. Everyone will work for the government. They will make things that no one wants and demand excessive compensation for doing so. They will send their children to dermatologists and podiatrists and allergists and the like, just as my neighbours the sickly runts of the neighbourhood were smothered by medical care doled out for free by their union mothers. Au Revoir Borealis are from Michigan. This is sad music. This is melancholy music. It is music of the north Oakland county landscape in December, barren, overcast, chilly, unfinished. When I lived in Michigan it was a mad rush in flight away from the blighted city center. Farther away stretched the affluent suburbs. The urban core was rotten and turning to dust, it was grist for dynastic politics and death and other hell bound journeys. There existed only a few blocks in the city where I felt safe as a maudlin suburban outcast. This music doesn't play as informed by the circumstances but definitely infected by the overwhelming resignation. It's rather stunning. Second song now , Dark Western, slide guitar, very Mojave 3 this but with a smoldering feel that life exists outside of the library, more of an actual Slowdive in the country reflection, much more so than Neil Halstead could ever conjure. Singer Stephanie here is much the superior of either in Slowdive. There is a sinister edge gathered within from the storm hidden just beneath the horizon. The song lengths are not excessive, they don't lend themselves to boredom, concise romanticism. Why then do some bands go on for nine or ten minutes when they have used their quota of ideas at the 3 minute mark? Unknown. Is it so they can release an album with five songs on it? Do they all fancy themselves capable of creating a Hex? Probably. But even Bark Psychosis could manage only a rubbish and dire follow-up to that masterpiece, although it could be surmised that those same folks who love Codename:Dustf***er are probably those in thrall to I was Deeply Saddened by Matthew, Mark, Luke and Laura. Au Revoir Borealis started in 1998, in the wake of the first wave of Detroit Space rock. There were Mahogany and Auburn Lull and Astrobrite(briefly) and St Januarius Blood and Asha Vida. Aside from the first two it was mainly rubbish. Gravity Wax had that one really cool single. Burnt Hair Records never did become collectable. But then neither did Planet Records and they received far more adoring press than did tiny little Burnt Hair. Third song was as beautiful as the first two. I didn't mean to ignore it. Fourth song, acoustic guitar, stillness, serenity. Then a pickup with a distant soft squall mirroring the melody, gorgeous, really really gorgeous. Almost half of the songs are instrumental and while she has a magnificent voice they are stunning enough wordless that one doesn't mind and it allows a casual drifting and an expansion of the senses including that of the grandeur of this album. Instrumental music can with minimal effort more easily slip loose of the bonds of earthliness I find. More resonant hum building up in the background, very Auburn Lull this, this adding of layers of somnambulant sonics in a very IDM style instead of a progression of notes and countervailing melodies but a gradual increase in intensity through the impact of sound alone. The slight differentiation from the past being that there is a beguiling acoustic guitar in the foreground of the landscape of coming maelstroms that never arrive. It's a soft tremor. Music for holding hands to, for discussing the impending doom in our lives with a smile. Next song is another instrumental, it has a Spiritualized gospel drone feel. Also more Auburn Lull inspiration. That these beautiful records are being released in these dour times speak a great deal about the need for reflection in periods of difficulty. It is why in spite of the perpetual whining there wasn't a great amount of sad reflective, gorgeous music made during the Bush years because times were better than they were ever given appreciation for. Now that the lunacy of "dissent" has ended, what will become of those living the fantasy life of dissidents in their home town?, will there be a re-evaluation of the past 8 years. It was borrowed time certainly. The market was distorted by government policies and the rush to regulate after the dot-com bubble forced the creation of ever more exotic instruments in deepest darkest recesses in order to overcome the desire to regulate risk out of the marketplace. Give France the opportunity to design a financial system and you will only set up a more painful destruction in the future as prohibition fails when sunlight would illuminate. It is when governments feel they have safeguards in place and they maintain that the alert level of the vulnerable can be reduced that we run into real troubles. There was a remarkably prescient article in the New York Times ( of all places) in 1999 where they dissected the new policy of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac guaranteeing the purchase of subprime assets granting them AAA status simply as a matter of policy and how it will, well, let me quote

"In moving, even tentatively, into this new area of lending, Fannie Mae is taking on significantly more risk, which may not pose any difficulties during flush economic times. But the government-subsidized corporation may run into trouble in an economic downturn, prompting a government rescue similar to that of the savings and loan industry in the 1980's.
''From the perspective of many people, including me, this is another thrift industry growing up around us,'' said Peter Wallison a resident fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. ''If they fail, the government will have to step up and bail them out the way it stepped up and bailed out the thrift industry.''

Rather astute, this Peter Wallison. These homes were not actually owned by anyone, they didn't make an investment, they didn't save to place a down payment, they didn't even have to prove they had the income to make the payments. And the government guaranteed to purchase the falsely securitized assets. That is the start of a bubble my friends. But the sophisticates pulling levers behind a curtain can't seem to grasp this. The need for the government to step in came as a direct action of the federal government pressuring banks to change their sound, at the time, lending practices. This is the result any time the government steps in to "olve" a crisis. Anyhow. Next song. My favorite on the record, the Houdini song, as it is about an escape artist. Surely it is metaphorical as well as literal, it is most assuredly a showcase for a beautiful voice. The sort of song you play on a tiny boombox when you are on a first date on the roof of the local mall. There are peaks and valleys and membranes and all sorts of interesting odors and the exhaust from the life existing within, you sense the confused muddle of body heat, breath held, warmbloodedness and the feeling of an undiscovered country as you walk from area to area uncovering different surprises. You look to the sky and it is dark enough for stars next to the muted glow of consumerism. Now my Ipod has just stopped working. Apple is a disaster. They are constantly let down by the hardware. I suppose it is the same cult identity that will afflict us all during the Joebama years. There will be a blind allegiance and a willingness to overlook all of the failures of policy because it will be presented in an attractive package. The inaugaration will surely be a Leni Riefenstahlesque extravaganza as we move back into the age of style over substance. For all of his shortcomings Bush never sought to obfuscate his true feelings by employing "soaring rhetorical" skills. Granted, those were not in his toolbox, but the real fear we should lament over is of a government that says one thing and does another and that is my fear with this administration. All of these things that the voters who support them felt anger come about as a result of what the government did not do for them and suddenly now the fear has shifted to people who fear what the government will do to them. And those most obviously within the crosshairs willingly pulled the lever for their own vilification. Next song. Another instrumental, strings and backwards masked dissonance and loveliness. I will stop with the political posturings. I just find interesting this reversal, but normally Democrats take charge when times are good and people want to buy into the notion of sharing the wealth with a greater proportion of the populous but now we are to believe that they understand markets and job creation and other intrinsic matters of finance in a world beset with problems. It is all turned upside down. The Clinton "boom" was actually a Reagan "boom", it was 17 years of growth interrupted only by 2 quarters of contraction caused by an external global crisis. What will happen to the softies of today that have never experienced a downturn. Already the media is making this out to the be the worst economic crisis since the depression. Jobs are being shed but this will ease, except of course when the auto companies go extinct. But then they should have outsourced all of their production long ago, there is the lesson of unions, we'll ride the beast straight into the grave afraid of evolution which is the normal course of human events. Thank goodness nature is open shop. Next song The Key, stunning and gorgeous, again, acoustic and soft focused ambience, without a great amount of percussion on this album the pace seems organic. We do not miss percussion. Her voice is in balance with the ambience and there exist dramatic touches as when her voice ticks up at the end of each line and then a romantic drawl intones the wordless bits in between. Piano. Beauty. Remarkable. And so short, well done. Next. Breeze on the Tree. Will there be a resurgence of outstanding popular music in these turbulent times? The angst of Punk and then the increasingly venerated nihilism of Post-Punk came alive under the misguided policies of Jimmy Carter. We have one same actor in the current drama in Paul Volcker, or so it appears. Tall Paul will be steering the ship, he can't be worse than Hank Paulson, surely but the he's fond of difficult medicine, much to Jimmy's chagrin, will the current generation so inconvenienced that they've had to reduce their cable subscription and postpone purchase of flat panel televisions for their bastard kids be able to cop with real hardship. My job deals with luxuries. We are feeling the pinch at the moment and surely it will be worse than that in the coming months. 2009 is going to be a disaster with the cumulative effects of a credit hangover, the crash in non-residential construction and the continued shedding of jobs. Ah, but I am tired of writing about this just now. This is an amazing album, in my top 5 easily, it stands alone outside of circumstances, and my favorite thing these days is walking in the moon shadow and the accompanying darkness with it in my ears. I am confident that things are not as bad as they are made out to be and the resilience of beauty and art will help to carry people through. Times of opulence and living off the fat are never conducive to the creation of beautiful things, see the current state of indiepop for evidence on this count and hopefully an economic malaise will draw down a new state of hopeful reflection among us all and beauty will return to every day life as people attempt less to buy a sense of aesthetics and move instead to creating a unique vision of the zeitgeist in small groups isolated from the whole. In the internet age this may be impossible. But this record is terrifically small, it's tiny, there a exquisite moments of grandiloquence and dreams put on tape and it is a statement to that effect. Maps of the Sky is playing now and the entire record has at this precise moment reached its climax, just 2 minutes into the last song with a duet, a piano, rising crescendoes and elegance all on display. It's marvelous, uplifting and hopeful. Remember in beauty and loveliness lies hope in these bleak existences and the heart should turn inward to appreciate the subtleties apparent even in the shades of grey that threaten the blue skies overhead. Dream. The last is an instrumental, tender and romantic and everything else we long for in the cold forever night.

The Au Revoir Borealis album is beautiful.

Update: Really, really Beautiful!

Update: It is love.

New Moto Boy EP out on December 3. Woo. It's still my favorite album of the year. Could a Cocoanut Groove album supercede it?

Update: Will this be on the Ep?

Surely the Mutators would be more interesting if her voice/growl was front and center instead of dumped below some generic tuneless rubbish. Life without Buildings were brilliant in spite of the music's mediocrity because they had sense enough to unleash the pixie. In my head all of the backing members in Life Without Buildings were fifty and portly. Canadians!

Palms It's Midnight in Honolulu is interesting.

Mogil Ro, there are fancy punctuation bits that I am deciding to leave out. I was out walking in the dark last night, late last night and up a hill I climbed, towards a whitewashed wall alongside the motorway when there was a group of three coming towards me. Laotians? Hmong? I thought of them as wild unbridled beings who were roaming the cityscape at this piqued hour on a Sunday evening looking for flesh to boil off of bones and pavement to crack in order to send souls spiraling madly into the abyss. But they were wearing Toronto Blue Jay ball caps and thus were disarmed by their wee patronage. Mogil is Icelandic. We could have gathered in a circle in the center of the freeway, my mythical assailants and myself, chanting hopelandish but there is a train that runs down the center of the freeway although honestly were it to stop in honor of our prayer circle devoted to the gods of mutual funds and money markets we would not have impeded anyone's progress. Trains here run empty all evening long, ghost trains on spectral subsidized rails in the arteries of a concrete paradise. In Iceland there is an actual depression. I am not sure anyone there exactly understands why. Apparently much was due to the fact that people in Iceland executed mortgages in countries other than their own and when all confidence was lost in their financial system and banks went under and the currency plunged to unseen depths their mortgages doubled overnight. Amazing. I don't know if this is a treatise on such activity or not. It is in Icelandic. It is beautiful. It's an organic hodgepodge of strange whistles, blowie things , accordions and sadness. It seems a terminal condition, melancholia in Iceland. Iceland has thier genetic profile to fall back on. The isolation of their population makes them a gold mine for geneticists. Perhaps their residents will become free to sell their genotypes to the highest bidder. Imagine and Icelander with webbed toes! Precious. Her voice here is almost hymnal, a sunday service with the golem in tow. An Icelandic Golem would be fearsome. Polar bears arriving every thirty years to dig the clay from the riverside to be molded into a protector saving Iceland from evil Capitlaists such as Damon Albarn and John Reilly. Second song, some jazzy fog and scrapes and tenderness. Third song, this one's marvelous, thrilling violins and a operatic voice charging in out of the blue to captivate. Gorgeous. Daunting. Is mogil a new phenomenon? Or have they been tantalizing ears the world over for a decade? I found the first Rocketothesky Lp and it is not nearly as marvelous as the second. This is much more exciting than that pompous Efterklang record. Flutes and scraping violins, bass low, it's jazzy but I am not irritated by its jazziness. it's strange how my irrational meltdown has releived the pressure that I had concealed inside of my head. It is as if there was a stuck valve inside my brain and when I overloaded the circuitry I had a reset and I feel fine. For now. I can sleep at night. I wake up and do push ups and sit ups while listening to Mogil and have goose pimples while eating my hot cereal and watching Becky Quick in the morning. Becky Quick vs. Maria Bartiromo? It's a difficult choice isn't it. Fifth song, random sounds, distant echoing voices, incidental jazz meanderings. This is a beautiful record. I've just visited the Pipas website and god knows we all love Pipas but politically astute is a charge never to be levelled against him. He's making the play that a vote not for Obama is racist. Not directly but he is claiming that McCain is using the race card to divide voters. I am not sure from what context he is teasing this out from but if anything McCain is not highlighting the truly frightening aspect of Joebama's policy goals. It is collectivism. Granted, Pipas are surely proud collectivists. In most sane minds collectivism is a frightening thing. The elevation of the state above the individual always leads to calamity. if you are going to engender an entirely new social contract than you need to be honest. Speak about hos Income inequality will be reduced but with the accompanying truth that overall income will decrease reducing the standard of living for everyone. Socialized medicine will increase coverage for all but will diminish innovation, will force the acceptance of the ideas of social justice(not in itself indefensible really) such as premature births below a certain weight will be abandoned, if you are over 60-no dialysis, if you are over 65 and you develop cancer, well sorry, resources could be better spent on someone who can contribute to the state's coffers. Private property-unheard of. Private wealth-ha! Look at Argentina, the government is nationalizing private pension plans because its mismanagement of finances has prevented it from being able to raise money by traditional means other than through the extortionate terms of Hugo Chavez. Bob Stanley's hero! next song playing now, Salar Minnar. The most distressing aspect of political life in this country is how much attention is paid to an event with so little bearing on everyday life. Joebama is entirely unqualified for the position, yes we know but then to be fair everyone is, but we have the inertia of the bureaucracy to balance out even his colossal incompetence. He'll want to implement loads of disastrous ideas but the glacial pace of the gears of government will thwart him at most points in the road. Thank goodness for that! More John Cale-esque violin scraping, a Wreck Small Speakers on Expensive Stereos bit of radio primitivism, human whistles and caterwauling loveliness. Have you read reports on the new Animal Collective record? it sounds splendid! A mix of AC and Person Pitch, I listened to Person Pitch for hours last night, it's amazing and miraculous. The dopes on I Love Music don't want an AC album that sounds like Person Pitch but they're going to vote for Joebama so...whatever. I am going to vote for McCain. Yes, I am a racist. Next song, Heimbleikur, more of the unprocessed dissonance and unfocused static and her statuesque voice, this one with a more rousing build-up into the denouement. Perhaps one of Animal Collective will marry the singer for Mogil and steal her away to New York or Baltimore. Song over, it's religious. I don't think McCain would be a good president. The marvelous result of his being elected would be legislative gridlock. Will the NEA have its nose to the trough under President Joebama? Was this record funded by an arts council? What are the landmark achievements of musical history that have been funded by arts endowments? Loads of Flying Nun bands received public funding but that always seemed a bit ridiculous. How was the public interest served by funding of a third Able Tasmans lp? I am not sure. Will Mogil qualify for more founding because they sing in the mother tongue? Gorgeous voice, thumps on pvc pipes, minimalism and strength. She seems sirenesque amid the shortwave radio hum. Could I buy Iceland? I am solvent. I have only my vehicle as a debt but my assets exceed my liabilities. I could probably purchase half of the countries on the planet at the moment. General Motors could be mine. Next song, distorted passages and underlying guitar pluckings, disorienting and serene, very Dorinne Muraille. Beautiful. The last song, an epic of confusion, no voice, not as of yet, clarinet, scrapes, static and skittering percussion. Perhaps they need a remix? A FatCat recording budget? A backwards tape loop masquerading as pretension? All of these things, but none could entice even a ounce more of grace than is already present in abundance, hurrah. Splendid splendid.

Mogil is delightfully odd!

RockettotheSky Medea. It starts off menacing. A tortured whisper in the darkness. Field recordings, woodwinds, the sound of an orchestra of vagabonds and thieves warming up with mission to back up a fairy dancing in the meadow cleared among the fir trees and the snocapped peaks in the distance echo back this dreaminess. It is tingles and sighs more than it is song, it's primal and a relief. She isn't a marvelously technical singer, she's in some sort of Bjork meets PJ Harvey school of singing/cooing. Passion as stand in for technique. It's marvelous. Here arrives the big climax just now with heavenly tones and twinkles and absurd ambition taking hold. It's a hybrid of mythical records that could have once been released on Too Pure and 4ad. It's marvelous, really. LIttle lost girl twirling her fingers in her hair whispering into a stranger's microphone underneath a bridge in darkest Helsinki or Bergen or wherever. Second song, stronger, louder, multi-tracked vocals, beautiful all over. I've since found her first album and it is more conventionally singer-songwriter. Not as thrilling as this record, this has star making material, in a world that cared more of substance than style. Spoken word, Jean Smith as pixie-ness. Second time that I have used pixie today. I have been taking days of recently, I have recaptured some of my imaginative brain matter. I don't dread the night of sleep of night before tedium nights of sleep any longer. I have been discovering these beautiful records on these idle days. This is near top of the roost. Third song. Just now Devotchka is playing on my television, I can't see the screen, it is How It Ends, the beautiful bits of How it Ends in glorious technicoloured sound and glory. I've never seen Little Miss Sunshine, this is a novel experience. Third song, vague and artful, coo coo and now high pitched squealie wordless moments of glee. A background of simple keyboards plonked and winds through the willows. Very Piana. Next song. More of a new wave feel to this, almost dancey, technologically savvy for a start and thrusting until it falls away and her tender spoken word bits take to the center. Multi-tracked tenderness. I've ben listening to the Au Revoir Borealis album all evening long, it's the most beautiful thing really. This has suddenly turned all Debbie Gibson, you won't mind, will you? There is a strong streak of Kate Bush in this. Somewhere between Hounds of Love and Never Forever, less of the brilliant literary allusions and more of the eschatology from the north, a passionate crawling out of the darkness into the sunrays glimpse. Very Bjork at the moment. what is it about Scandinavia that engenders this sort of epic and heroic tales in pop music feel of the music. It's in Efterklang and Mum and Mogil but strangely not in most Swedish music. Is it because Sweden is not as austere in their traditions and attitudes and seem more apt to borrow from other cultures whereas things that escape their compatriots lands seem more diy and darker by nature. I recall reading that although Norway is rather prosperous streets resemble those in Havana with run down autos and there a raucous furor over gauche types installing electricity in their holiday retreats in the wood. Next song, a hum and a signal beacon from a commodore 64 and her eerie vocals wavering and quashed by technology and time. It's dramatic and silly but we don't mind, she's going for the enchanted chanteuse angle is she not as successful in the same realm as Joanna Newsom and Coco Rosie certainly but she has an adventurous streak that is now leading to some sort of rush of electronic harpischordishness and hollowed out wails to heaven. Gorgeous. I've just seen the photos of the new look Pipettes, a bit jarring to see the new girls in their polka dots and dreadful bangs. This song has just turned very Cocteau Twins. Who knows what the new Pipettes sound like. I do not and I don't really have any desire to hear them even if the one that remains is the only one who could actually sing. They seem so professional minded, in league with accountants and preteens. Next song. A folkie number, now with twinkles of piano and her stunning voice over the top of everything. Fairy tale music has never ben this beautiful surely. There is a circular majesty to this, no beginning or end just a revolving melody and hr dreaminess laid bare for voracious appetites. There is a sophistication in the arrangements, again very Kate Bush, Kate Bush meets early His Name is Alive. When Joebama wins what will become of my impulse towards escapism, will it be stoked even more furiously as he leads us down into the abyss? Who is Joebama? That is the real dilemma, even for his supporters, he's running as a symbol rather than as a candidate. How long before he's cast out as a false prophet? 11 months? Next song. Elephant Van Sant, looping piano and counting and vocals stepping out from the ether, again with the circular structure it's song poems there are words but I can't seem to understand what they impart but I am sure it is much to do with the contents of her dream diaries and the night sky and comets and heaven and fields of gold and clouds in the shape of forgotten friends. It's delirium and beauty and grace. Too Pure would never have released this, I lied. 4ad would have. Rough Trade would have. Now anthemic qualities of hushed backing vocals, low end and hymnal chants and exquisiteness. I am being vague and ethereal at the moment. The end of daylight savings, I had another hour to cavort and commit sins of revelry and I was asleep and dreaming I could have joined the Pipettes. In my dreams. But I did not. Instead I dreamt of the new Chemical lasers which will apparently incinerate the foes of a US military. Really, read the new issue of the Economist, Ronny Raygun's Raygun will be a reality rather soon it appears. How brilliant when Joebama invades Iran to have a giant chemical laser there to cast everyone into the fires of hell, literally. Don't think Joebama won't take us to war with Ira, he'll get a pass from the media and will thusly be permitted absolute ruthlessness in his pursuit of nothing in particular. Next song. Very Kate Bush backing vocals. Kate Bush must be her hero. All young girls should hold Kate Bush as their heroine for life. Kate Bush is my hero. I keep meaning to write about The Dreaming but what words could do it justice? None that could originate from these scarred fingers torn from the domain of creativity and put in employ of mindless pursuits of binary emptiness. I had a date this weekend. I met a really lovely young woman who lives in a different world than I do. Who knew there were in existence multiple universe under the different noses of different passersby, they see the sky is full of leopards and jesus and you see it filled with amethysts and bowls of rice. It was a strange evening. And sex. Second to last song, longest track on the album, Chorus. I can make out the words here. What is the kernel of genius? Is it labour or inspiration? I have been reading books on brilliant people and it appears to be labour. Obviously they are endowed with gifts prodigious and uncommon but they also have a singlemindedness of purpose that I clearly lack. The ability to sit down and think on a problem for days at a time, to hold a flame of passion alight protected from the buffeting winds of failure long greet kindly greatness. i don't own any of these particular characteristics. I can dream them into existence but when I awake the moment has faded and mundanity returns. What of these people who chase immortality, it seems it turns them only narcissistic with rage. I don't want to fall in love with a fool. Somewhat epic is this, second movement is whispers and amniotic overflow. Will the new Pipettes be odd and delicate and flowery and esoteric? Unlikely. I am pretty certain the other two' output will be parody proof. When the election ends there will not be any more election advertisements. Those whom in advertisements are alleged to be murderers and rapists and baby eaters shall be elected to office and the world will keep turning and nothing will change and in two years it will all begin again. What a vile system. Elect RockettotheSky, she's more in tune with reality than Joebama surely. Interesting, I've just googled her image and she looks like she escaped from a box of swiss miss and she has a fantastic bowl haircut. Chants to belial. Woo. Last song, antiqued, recorded from under the floor boards, tell tale heart and Tippie Hedron style, silent movie soundtrack music and an even more delicate whisper. The range of whispers is impressive. This is a gorgeous farewell from a magnificent record. I will walk out into the darkness this evening armed with Au Revoir Borealis and RockettotheSky as prized companions and will barely feel the envy welled in my footprints as they echo back the richer memories of travelers past.

Cocoanut Groove. Some Single plus bonus tracks! Close your eyes, conjure a vision of Rodney Allen had he grown up and joined the Clientele. He would have released this record. We are still waiting for the debut release of the Rodney Allen Experience are we not? I believe, yes, we are. Cocoanut Groove is someone from Sweden, obviously, in the romanticist realm of Montt Mardie and Moto Boy. Solo crooners with passion and disgust for the mundane sterility of indiepop. Or so I imagine it. Idealistically. There are genuine performances here, depserate and romantic and intrigued. Whereas the Clientele fancy themself far too erudite to really let it cut loose there exists a smooth little groove here, not only in the name, but in the music. This first song, The End of Summer on Bookbinder Road even sounds a bit like Bookshop Casanova but whereas Alasdair can't quite shake free from his academician roots here Cocoanut Groove/Olov sounds delightfully effervescent and charming. Second song, has a bit of Morissey in it, circa Yes I am Blind without the murderous Christians and kegs of powder between his legs and it is also a bit Mccartney and slightly Billy Bragg. It's marvelous. The album must come soon. When does the album come to save us all? Here is beauty on display, effortless and graceful. It seems filled with fallen tears. Was there anything concerning truth or beauty or truth as beauty about the Pas/Cal album? No. There were not even tiny moments of wonder. Pas/Cal was all a mess, florida noise and cleverness and wit and surely chock full of musical puns and inside jokes that I don't understand but which sophisticates will chortle over endlessly but the music still won;tt cause them to move a bone in their spine or a muscle in their heart and it won't save us from the coming Depression either. Delicate violin, now, Swedish English pop songs, he uses the word 'firmament', that seems a very Clientele word. I have the new Clientele ep, I've not listened to it. I could append an entry about it onto the back of this. Next song. Walking to Madeleine Street. is this the title track from the album that is months too late for our salvation from capitalism. Have you heard that new Moto Boy song about his bed having a memory, it's devastating. The indiepop slayers. There are photos of the Pocketbooks on the indie-mp3 site. I've not heard the Pocketbooks but they look odious. All indiepop bands have dreadful band photos these days. The pseudoserious glances, the faux beards, the thrift shop clothes and the 300 dollar shoes as they prepare to unleash another song about Audrey Hepburn's haircut. I long to download the Smittens album and do rude things to its contents but I am terrified that I might then teeter over the edge. I had a bit of a meltdown at work last weekend. I quit my job. I was coaxed into returning but I am not doing so happily or with my heart in tact, I do not love my job these days. Next song, very sophisticated, there is some Edwin Collins here as well. But his voice has that Rodney Allen hopeful fire of earnestness. Is he young? Rodney is only a few years older than I am. Does he still make Blue Aeroplanes records? There was Careful Boy always along as companion on my ride to university. The mornings when I would sit on the quiet street in my auto with the engine running with the Blue Aeroplanes on the stereo and my notebook in my hands searching for a future among the notes taken with the relativistic effects of the age, the increasingly foreshortened distance between my silly conundrums of indecision and my future. My future arrived unwrapped flickering and uneventful. I can't see any further into the future than the end of this pop song now. Perhaps I can reach back to the past and rewrite it. I don't know. Cocoanut Groove have made this a partially marvelous week though, even as we head into Depression. I walk in the evenings, long walks into the darkness. On the Cherry Creek trail when I stare into the west I search the horizon with my cataract imparied visions and see visions of leopards and canines and large rodents bearing towards me from the mountain side in a pant inducing race for the center of my existence. I close my eyes there are visions of fairy lights and actors with impeccable hairdos not feeling disappointed by their own mediocrity. Every decade has a poster boy for mediocrity George Segal, Tom Berenger, Edward Burns, Mark Ruffalo. At least Geaorge Segal had opportnity to kiss Senta Berger. I would die for a kiss from Senta Berger. Midsummer Dreaming nearly over. There is some Riachrd Davies in this as well. But its the youth that serves Cocoanut Groove so terrifically. It's youth that revives the clever boys from their cocoon of erudition and inhumanity. Richard Davies, attorney at law, silenced. We miss your black heart. Lovely trumpets, these guitars were lifted from the last Clientele album. Right? Will they call Richard Davies, attorney at law, to begin litigation? His voice, softer, more naturally acclimated to the pop surroundings. Has he a desirable young violinist in the ranks as well? Unknown. I search for the album as I pine for the winter to chill the movements of the day, grind the machinery to a halt with the viscosity of bleakness. Swedish pop stars sem so accustomed to expressing themselves in English, is it because they can intuit moments in English rather than in their native tongue? I know no such ability. But has an American or Brit ever successfully translated their heart's contents into Swish? Unlikely. We're such bastards, native english speakers, that is. The economist, shortly before endorsing Joebama, is lamenting the death of languages that no one speaks and lamenting the placement of the environment aside while we attemt to avert global financial calamity. A neighbour has purchased a smart car, it looks preposterous. Gasoline prices are in the midst of a severe plummeting, all she would be left with then is a definitive smugness about reducing her emissions in an attempt to save her more gluttonous counterparts in this heartless society if only the earth had warmed since 1998 and if only there hadn't been as much cooling in the past 12 months as there was warming for the previous 2 decades. Thank goodness for Lehman Brothers then. There is a Russell Yates insouciance to his manner, the tender words, the gentle hum of his tones, it's a delightful afternoon drama in technicolour. I have updated to Leopard. I was forced to since my old OS X decided to stop working. Planned Obsolescence? Best Buy was out of Leopard. I was forced into an Apple store. I loathe the Apple store. I know someone whose boyfriend works at the Apple store but it is so pretentious it makes my skin crawl, just imagine my horror of life mimicking the ambience of an Apple store. Joebama!

New Ally Kerr is disappointingly dull. New Murcof record in December, a live recording of unreleased material.

Loads of groovy things coming to the surface RockettotheSky, Rio En Medio(so Cloudboy), Cocoanut Groove, etc...More later.

Rio En Medio is terrific. Frontier. First song, coffee shop guitar, radioshop electronics and a multi-tracked whisper. Loveliness. Very Cloudboy. I've mentioned that somewhere else. These seem less apt as dream narrations than as a random recounting of space and time. It's random and disassociated, both very good things to be. I went to lunch today, always Indian on Sundays, I should alter my pattern of behaviour. Perhaps Somali or Vietnamese? Do you consume anything of a culture when you consume the food of a culture? I suppose there are the memories and experiences of everyone who has preserved this cuisine over the millenia. But then they serve goat in India rather than Lamb. I am not consuming anything of actual Indian content. Surely all of he ingredients are local. Perhaps a few special spices are smuggled back in the underpants of entrepreneurial Indians to escape the food nazis from Center for Science in the Public Interest. Has India been a target of their scorn? I am not sure. My experience is entirely metaphorical. The creams and delightfulness portend ill omens from the nannies who wish to forbid indulgence on any level. The sky this evening was like a Tandoori Chicken, fiery and orange and turbulent, aflame with colour and vigour. The colours of an indian dish delight the eyes with brilliant oranges, deep greens, creamed browns and earthy beiges all mixed together to make a palette of goodness to paint the soul's insides with warmth and heartiness. Rio En Medio is not Indian. She matriculated at birth into the red somewhere in California, how unfortunate, but she has turned her parent's mistreatment into a benefit as the music is escapist and fragile and always in fear of being discovered. Cracks and peelings left untouched and a gentleness pervades. Cloudboy is the definitive touchpoint in my ears but who would know what that means? Would Rio En Medio? Demarnia Lloyd would be a likely candidate to tour communes and kibbutzes given the opportunity I am sure. Third song. Industrial samples and violins and the metronomic guitar lines. I picture her very short with long fingers. I have no idea. Spaced out event horizon effects here, her voice heavy with reverb, nice. When you see a sky like this evenings you are stopped suddenly in tracks even though you've seen hundreds of night skies as lovely. It is the grandeur, the cathedral roof of the world painted afresh every evening that beguiles. The fresh snows on mountain tops one hundred miles away that accompany as supporting actors. It's a wondrous country. Big sky country. This music was made for turbulent skies aflame. Horns, very Red Rubicon, nice. Of Montreal is playing this evening, but for 20 dollars, pah, full frontal should not be more than 13 dollars. Next song for Rio En Medio, lp static, sampled strings and then a whisper. Same as always. Random lists of accumulated images, not as profound as she would imagine it is. The segments seem pasted together inelegantly, hardly seamlessly, it isn't in the realm of a Mum or a Lara Lockton collage is it now. But it is nice. I really enjoy this album. I would listen in the library while reading of the Borgias but my experience of listening to music in a library is tainted by a young woman at Oakland University in the early 90s who had me thrown out of the library because I refused to stop listening to an album she couldn't hear because I was tapping my foot unconsciously along to the beat. I can't recall which record was my demise. Possibly Northside or something equally dire but she was really very rude. Oakland University had an insane imbalance among their female/male quota. Far too many young women and too few young men but then that is the case in most universities these days as boys are a dying breed among the educated. Pity. Spoken word samples in some made up language of yore. This is filler. Sorry. Let's talk about the brilliant sky paintings instead. Over. Next song, a long one, Venus of Willendorf, could be some sort of statement on the theoretical matriarchal pre-history of humanity. I don't know. Mainly spaced out Murcof-ish effects and some twinkles and beeps. Filler, but lovely filler all the same. When they play this live surely there is some scruffy looking humanities major with soul poured over a box load of electronic gear trying to conjure and coax mysiticism from his radio shack gadgetry. I picture him pulling his hair behind his ear incessantly and wearing a tam even though he grew up in Boulder. Now whispers have returned, eveyrthing else has been turned down, nice effect this. It is all a bit like Set Upon a Curve. Cloudboy's site is never updated except for news of new releases by Demarnia's rapping brother. I don't care about Jody Lloyd actually. This is meant to be serious music. I am not always certain we need serious music. When was the change from fatuous, mindless fun to fatuous, pompous rock? Was it Somebody to Love? I heard it on the radio and it is absolutely joyless and dour and ridiculously awful. Did Grace Slick kill rock music? Possibly, though I bet Jefferson had loads more po-faced anthems that no one cared about before that song. What is the point of the rock and roll statesman anyhow? Poetry doesn't move anyone these days. Will Maya Angelou be at the coronation? Surely. Or Toni Morrison? How about Jewell? Next song, after the long song, a more conventional folk song, with guitars, melodica and small splashes of electronic percussion in the background. Very nice. I have to go to work early again tomorrow morning. Always. Work dominates my life. I think about it all weekend this time of year. I need a new job. It is not a good time to change jobs though. Now Last Child's Tear, another long one, starts off with squiggles and pointlessness, then a guitar, reminiscent of the second song's melody, is it a larger suite we're dealing with with revolving employment of melodic ideas I am too simple to comprehend? Now singing. Lions. All very spiritual. I quite like this. Her voice is very nice, are most whispers enjoyable then. I've never recorded my own whispers. I could be lovely at low decibels. Unkown. This is very quiet and spare. A donation to the fabric of space time in peace, now to the next segment of recorded vocal snippets and gibberish then drum machines and volume. Return of the rock and echoes and reverb and her voice in a more determined whisper. Perhaps she is merely soft spoken. It is still pointless, lyrically, tone poetry that owes more to inanity than anything else but that's the beauty of lyrics in music they really do not have to be about anything at all and if they are about anything lest they be interesting on their own then the fact that they are poignant or relevant in any current social setting it all means very little to me. These words sound nice, they might make Rio En Medio cathartically cry all night long while she's recording her dreams in a dream journal but they move me only physically. My head becomes heavy and permeable. Now the title track, some more intricate guitar picking and distant thrum of percussion and kitchen pots and pans tinkering and others, chants. Can you make a living by playing all of the communes in the world? Can one be the Nana Mouskouri of the Kibbutz set? There are certainly commune sympathies in the new administration. Of course the glorious thing about communes is that they are voluntary. Communism only fails when it is compulsory. Israeli Kibbutzes are always heralded as bulwark examples of the triumph of collectivism but these are people with the same motivations of making themselves feel superior to everyone else. Nothing wrong with that. It is actually a rare flowering of market philosophy when like minded groups assemble and attempt to find a niche. They're poor, malnourished and short, they play spin the draidle and they read books written in ink made from black bile on hemp hewn pages. Again, nothing wrong with that, my own upbringing was unromantic and dull. But when Rio En Medio shows up at a commune in New Mexico do they play acoustic or guerilla style by tapping into the 440 on the poles that lead to the way out of the neolithic age. I don't know. I've never been to a commune. Perhaps Rio En Medio thought it paradise. Demarnia Lloyd would. This is very Cloudboy/Demarnia. I've said that already. It is a few weeks after I began this entry. I have this job that is decidedly odd when described to people and it has dreadful hours. I was up at 4am this morning, Sunday, to work for a few hours before the rest of the world woke from its slumber and made its way to Starbucks in their hybrid Outback wagons. Where I did work is called the Highlands, it is an incubation region for future Joebama yuppie types. Next song has started. Whispery folk, lovely thing. Highlands is not nearly posh, conservative or generic enough to qualify as authentically yuppie. Home prices have not reached the stratosphere as of yet, even before the property crash. This is the issue with these yuppie Joebama types they are like the kibbutzers and communers in that they want access forbidden to their little enclaves where they are hermetically sealed with their pre-approved national chains that cater to Joebama types, their Borders books and Whole Foods grocery stores. They walk the streets and in passing see loads of people with $1200 baby strollers and their outfits tailor made for walking slow or walking fast or whatever. I run, ha, but I do sometimes and I wear ratty bermuda shorts and a tee shirt. I've never thought to acquire running "gear". Is there not joy in running because of the primitive brain sense that it is the most low tech of exercises. I will admit to buying a good pair of shoes but that is merely for podiatry's sake. Who wants bad feet when you are old? But I pass people with LED lamps on their heads, their fanny packs with six different power bar compartments and drink holders, the velcro arm strap for the ipod with the heart rate monitor and the spandex leggings and nike ball cap. What an ordeal. Ridiculous. Even more so when couples match. I am so judgemental. Judgment will be key in the near future. Because instead of finding solutions to anything the immediate rush will be to pronounce judgement on the preceding 8 years in some attempt to solidify the movement at hand. Not a bad thing actually as solutions offered by Henry Waxman and his crew would be dire. No coal fired plants. There isn't a viable alternative and government grants will not lead to one. Perhaps the death ray could heat my house, if placed on a lower setting. But we must save the polar bears even as they are thriving. Sharon Lawrence has tears on command ready for the skinny polar bears, emaciated from competition. And the Europeans arresting Rwandan officials. There is judgement there. In Spain they have bravely indicted the dead. Ah. But when all of your energy is spared for the aftermath you tend to overlook a great amount of injustice and atrocity as it is actually happening like say in Darfur and Myanmar. But we can't muster the spirit to combat evil but we can muster it when we need to condemn it after everyone has died. Never Get You. Klezmer doodlings. I have begun The Yiddish Policeman's Union and I rather love it. Is The Wonder Boys good? It was a failure as a movie. I should try it next. I recommended At Swim Two Birds to someone and they love me now. Ah. I only read it long ago because Peter Jefferies had named a record after it. Well played Peter. Later when he wrote me a letter denouncing Stereolab in means of praising Snapper I forgot to mention I loved the book. But I do. Read it. Next song, nice, whispers and percussion and guitar squeaks. It seems decidedly low tech but I bet it took some effort to make it appear so. Ah well. Do they sell Kibbutz material at Whole Foods? I was there the other day and they have fireplace logs made of coffee. it was 50$ a box, it sat near to a regular bundle of "wood" which was 3 for 10$. The coffee logs did not appear to be big hits. Are they fair trade coffee logs? Was the wood cut from rainforests? These are important questions for a Whole Foods patron, the majority of which early in the morning appear to be in their 50s with long hair that should have been shorn 2 decades earlier and a twinge of grey highlighting their decidedly asexual appearance. But their mind is glorious, it is enhanced by the kibbutz tea. Next song. Last song. Humms and beeps at the moment, rain storm checking in, this is another long one. I forget whether or not this is the best song on the album. It probably isn't.