such loud noise

The Octopus Project - Hallucinsts [mp3] There’s this...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 09:02:00 -0400

The Octopus Project - Hallucinsts [mp3]

There’s this feeling like birth riding on these rails, emerging into thin air reflected in the window the sky and the clouds towering high above the columns upon endless rising tombstones stuck from the ground deceiving the faint glimmer of sight observing more closely now the writing on the walls for certain they are tombstones telling tales of tubular travel into the outer boroughs borrowing books for bucks, three dollars for a clunker without wheels left walking these streets up and down looking up and down at everything so tall and handsome hanging from the trees trying to perceive the difference between deli between cafe between butchery baiting with smell around the corner finding the intersection unlikely yet here it is so far from the center, a monolithic presence from Roman times descending into the stairwells again before broken glass a shining temple of knowledge below the forefront, ahead of the foreground for running and for talking but be careful what you say to complete strangers on the subway seeking anonymous encounters is an unusual array of the usual suspects drifting with blank stares staring only at the floor below their feet for resting their tired toes from daring to engage one another in a mutual game of crescendo cresting into the atmosphere again seeking past amassed bodies by the millions climbing stairs like sterling stallions assembled with no other purpose in mind but to stamp the earth for eternity stomping with designer shoes constructed for the express purpose of standing expressions beside a man in a peacoat smelling of teenage drama darting, the nubile senses alight before our eyes in volcanic eruptions interrupted installations left half-hung from the banisters bolted studly just so and say you’ll swing lightly just so and say we’ll go into the night just so walking arm in arm through the central repository, a maze of wonder with green fires blazing beyond the piercing needles hanging from the stars twinkling as if it had always belonged exactly as our breath exhales the soggy fashions of our lies let out to play and mingle, mighty fine evening for a stroll she says, “We drove right through this neighborhood and we were lost,” and it’s agreed instead into a loft and then another after another stealing whiskey for Wednesdays and sharing cocaine on Saturdays but anything for a dollar, anything for another with my love of this life lounging and lingering another moment too long in the halls of majestic literature another second squandered and squared away for another time when we find ourselves again by bus or by train in the throes of titanic proportions throughout the wandering Slavic drip dosing once more for the road my dark haired lady of the fright feeling forever we might have found a reason to keep on living like fools found another nugget of gold in the bottom of the pan but can you blame such wondrous souls so young in life leaving behind every last moment that passes forgotten until reassembled in a catatonic chaos like words we will say to each other over and over and over the end.

The Octopus Project is a rhythm and blues band from Austin. The featured song is from the album Hexadecagon. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Future Islands - Long Flight [mp3] It is a funny thing seeing...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Thu, 21 Oct 2010 05:45:00 -0400

Future Islands - Long Flight [mp3]

It is a funny thing seeing you these days so far from the past that it doesn’t even necessarily enter my mind except that I remember eventually and reflect on how far away time seems to me these days and I wonder if you wonder too about these things and do you feel like we forgot something, left something behind, perhaps it’s on the table or else it is still with us hidden in the pockets of our pants or the bulges of our bags and do you suppose that if we aren’t the same now as we were then that those people we’re simply not you and not I and instead they were parallel people and in a way, we are constantly living in alternate realities and divided dimensions when you think of it that way and there are no choices amassing, just distorted mirrors reflecting most of what we see now different enough that though we recognize the picture in the glass, we know it to be someone else, someone otherwise, someone regardless of the nature of existence and the options that now present themselves are wholly isolated from the big eye in the sky, a picturesque descending from the clouds in some fiery ball of memory and forgetting all the time the mistakes made massing manage to derail the positive reinforcements and then we find ourselves reflecting and isn’t it funny how we can be so different yet exactly the same in our peculiar proclivities pertaining to our prescient ways, a persistent reminder of the person that was is now and still isn’t exactly what we expected it to be?

Future Islands is a rhythm and blues band from Baltimore. The featured song is from the album In Evening Air. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Alex Tedesco - I Don’t Want To [mp3] Tallboy tender,...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 19:46:00 -0400

Alex Tedesco - I Don’t Want To [mp3]

Tallboy tender, tellingly tethered until the cold caved into my hands. The rotational pull of escaping air from a puncture the size of a thumbtack. En route for tacos on a Tuesday, we encountered a flattened wheel flattening and embarked to walk the remaining distance between the site of the incident and the site of fifty cent taco shells full of sopping wet beans slopping from their crevice onto a paper plate too thin to conceal the moisture from the table and we’ll use plastic forks to scrape up those lost toppings, peeling imperceptibly the bleached cardboard fibers and maybe scraping all the way through just slightly to the unwashed surface below, consuming from our forks whatever substances happen to happen upon the tines. She walked with the injured bicycle, her limp mimicking the lopsided reeling in the front and her forearm tensed at having to lift the frame slightly away from the pavement so as to prevent any damage to the rim. There was a slant in her words delivered at the angle of one who cares deeply about challenging the notions of “setback” or “inconvenience” as we considered the probability of having to journey homeward from the bar exactly as we arrived.

She asked, “Precisely how much beer does one need to drink to be OK with walking a crippled bike three miles through the cold night?” We settled on four and once arrived, we secured our bikes to whatever signposts were available in the vicinity and actually the sidewalk was far more free of bicycles than in times past on account of the nearing snow above in the sky, and downstairs in the basement bar the seats were far more free of people than in times past on account of the nearing snow above in the streets, and at the bar we received service far more free of pretension and disdain than in times past but probably that had nothing to do with the snow. Tacos and beer were consumed in a predictable fashion and as the time neared to depart, the snow began to fall.

For as long as I could remember she would walk with her bike in one hand and a can of beer in the other, silhouetted against an array of sordid soaking fabrics falling through the hot bright streetlights of Main Street. The snow left wonder racing through our minds at such a tropical locale being visited upon by the solid moisture mainstays of our long forgotten motherland. It sat awkwardly on the palm trees before sliding from the leaves onto our bodies and we rolled walking in the sheets of foam melting into our clothing. The four beers fell short of warming our souls for the three mile jaunt and we soon found ourselves on the outer periphery of downtown, tallboys in hand. The snapping crack echoed through the menacingly manicured welcome rug which sat at the foot of the only skyscraper in town causing the both of us to laugh presumptively at our brazen display of public intoxication. Her hands were home to superior circulation and I found myself soon unable to contain what little warmth remained in my fingertips. The can was abandoned at the corner and for the remainder of the walk, she cackled wildly at her perspective by incongruity, at the settling sun in my heart, at the sheer abuse endured to do something just a little different that night and once upon the porch smoking a parting cigarette, we agreed that it were quite alright to do stupid things sometimes.

Alex Tedesco is a rhythm and blues band from Michigan. The featured song is from the album Future Strains. Purchase the music at Bandcamp.

The Raincoats - Red Shoes [mp3] The computer could only run...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 01:32:00 -0400

The Raincoats - Red Shoes [mp3]

The computer could only run Windows 95 but he thought it would adequately serve his purposes. He sat on the floor considering geographic options. The table had the advantage of being a table near the window, but that was the only surface available for eating his meals. He drew his gaze from the logical solution and cast his sight across each wall. The room lacked a desk, it should be noted, is why it wasn’t installed in the default location. It should also be noted that the room was the full extent of the apartment. The southwest corner was unoccupied except for a pile of cigarette boxes he was saving for an indeterminate art project. He wasn’t an artist though and he wasn’t feeling particularly charmed so he had already determined to dispose of the boxes to make room for the computer should he decide on that corner. As suddenly as he made that determination, he decided against that location for mysterious reasons. Probably the charm returned to him. The closet was strangely large for an efficiency apartment, possessed an inexplicable window and was largely unused on account of his lack of style. However, he was not at a point in his life where he could feel comfortable writing poetry on an ancient computer in a closet. Later in his life, after years of travel and countless lovers, he would spring at such an opportunity were it to arise simply for the novelty. Girls love novelty and think so much higher of a person if he possesses quirky habits. The kind of girls he preferred especially. That left the southwest corner.

He thought the computer tower looked neat standing freely away from the wall as its own wall boxing the monitor, keyboard, mouse and speakers into the corner and so that is how he arranged the equipment on the floor. He powered on the computer and watched the Windows 95 boot process. He was hunched over the peripherals with legs crossed, his left elbow jabbing into his inner knee and his right elbow pivoted to provide the optimal angle for which to maneuver the mouse. Windows 95 was taking a long time to start and his back had already begun to hurt, particularly along the lower spine. He hadn’t owned a computer before and it didn’t seem so absurd to set up the machine on the floor. Now though, he wondered if maybe that wouldn’t really work. Years later, he’d spend hours at a time in a position similar to that required of his first computer, in its first configuration. It was something of a protest and it did wonders for his concentration. He thought for a moment and decided it wouldn’t be so bad to have to move the keyboard out of the way to utilize the table for eating.

The boot process completed, he shut down the computer. He disconnected the components and relocated the computer to the table. The boot process took a very long time once he had reconnected the components and pressed the power button again, but it didn’t take any longer than it had the first time. It’s just, that whole process took a notably long time. He crossed his legs and looked out the window at the gravel alleyway. There was a dark stain in the dirt that was roughly the shape of the state of Georgia. Years later, that stain would remain and he’d imagine while walking across concurrent parking blocks in the lot beside with a feeling of supreme accomplishment at such a feat of continuous balance that the Georgia shaped stain would be his demise one day, that one day it would burst into flames as he passed over it in his car. He would accelerate as the first flames leapt beyond the hood of the car, driving into the street at the end of the alley without first looking to ensure the absence of cross traffic as he turned left toward First Avenue where a car would strike the drivers side window as it raced to make it through a yellow light. Even if it didn’t happen, it would make for an interesting story he thought as the Windows 95 welcome chime rang over the speakers. Of course, he wouldn’t recall that what he imagined later in balance was one of the first stories written on that ancient computer because he couldn’t imagine then the danger a computer placed so near the window faced or how comprehensively his memory would be erased as he placed more and more information into the machine.

The Raincoats are a rhythm and blues band from London. The featured song is from the album Odyshape. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Beach House - Gila [mp3] It was on a bike again that my...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 22:54:00 -0500

Beach House - Gila [mp3]

It was on a bike again that my tethered, leathered thought felt free to feel forever again like this was going to become a butterfly in commotion fitted to flitting in flits of fits, tits for tats fighting for space in the air we breathed sucking kisses against the battered batted wings barging into our face and daring our nose to inhale, exhale, impale such fragile fabled fabric fleeing to fly freeing our eyes to an abundance of audacious beauty. And remember when I said that we bleed love in puddles down the drainage pipe? From the porch each cigarette we smoked was an accord, a treaty of peace and together we leaned against the banister staring at the mattress below, discarded and discovered, one after another, each ash flicked and it floated flights of stairs invisibly descending step-by-step into the sopping wet disgrace. Upon each landing there was a crumble, a spattering of crumbs crammed into the corners to cover up a congealing of the head strong wondering, “Will I make it through to the other side again?” I could smell the nearby swamp water with all of my senses delighting at their newfound surroundings, uncovering with a delicacy best dealt to a man with the winning hand and in my eyes I could see an embrace of those butterflies circling the trail left by you in layers on the paved road, a wormhole dropped in front of my eyes to crawl into slowly and I abide, I leveled my body perpendicular to the butterflies and I looked deep into something unknown. I went searching for something unknown. I found something unknown and we decided it something unknown. I made it through to the other side and once again netted your surprise, in a criss-crossed white halo protecting us from the bugs, you looked toward me with the waning light of the day in your gaze and against the satin clouds clearing the forestry, a single spider spun a web spanning the distance from the earth to the stars, an elongation began in the morning only to find the strand destroyed once again, the nightfall befell our savory arachnid’s best paid silk and finest wine, we drunk in the curious forgivings and misgivings, presented without comment and colluded against for many months. On that night, the spider forgave the universe it’s trappings and told the tale another day of a boy and a girl, tied together by a single shoelace, dangling from a mobile circling the sun, constantly in chase of their sunken hearts.

Beach House are a rhythm and blues band from Baltimore. The featured song is from the album Devotion. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Deastro - The Shaded Forests [mp3] They had just crossed the...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 23:38:21 -0500

Deastro - The Shaded Forests [mp3]

They had just crossed the Missouri border when he said, “We’re out of cigarettes.” OJ doubted that conclusion. He glanced at the dashboard clock, noting the hours that had passed. He said, “It’s been hours since the explosion.”

Earlier: A motorcycle passes on the right. OJ is lighting a cigarette and Scott is sucking hard on a little glass mushroom when it happened. They each drop their wares at the sound and the lit cigarette starts to burn OJ’s leg, causing him to veer into the right lane. The motorcycle is gone around the corner a mile ahead before a discussion can be had. It passed on the right, as OJ drove far above the speed limit in the left. Scott could not feel his heart beating for a moment and even after the moment had passed, he continued to feel his chest for the familiar rhythm. It was faster when he found it.

Returning now: “If you think this is a game, well, you’re wrong.” OJ listened with interest to Scott’s pleadings. OJ didn’t know what Scott was talking about though and he forgot even the sentences exchanged just a moment before. His mind seemed to be playing tricks and he wanted to ask Scott if he had ever been betrayed unknowingly. But then, if he knew, it wouldn’t be a mystery. He was thinking about the motorcycle again, as it angled around the bend. He was thinking about the rush of wind and he felt it again. “What are we talking about again?” OJ asked. Scott stared ahead with a blooming in his eyes, the pupils dilated to their previous highs in the darkness of the passenger seat. Scott said, “There, it is.” OJ laughed at the odd sentence construction and they exited the highway.

Earlier again: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” Scott asked. OJ said, “WHAT THE FUCK! FUCK MY LEG!” They veered into the right lane and Scott worried that maybe they’d fall into a groove left in the road by the motorcycle. But OJ quickly recovered both the control of the vehicle and the cigarette. The hair on his leg was singed lightly. Scott stared stupidly at the snarled, blackened hair and he seemed to be on the point of caressing OJ’s leg when OJ said, “I think it was a motorcycle driving really fast.”

Now later: Scott struck a match and held it to the fuse. The firework started to crackle and they took a few steps back. The explosion brought them back once more to the scene on the highway, the motorcycle passing on the right at a speed in excess of their wildest dreams. The firework ascended into the sky and then all around, there were lights twinkling and reflected in the Iowa River. OJ asked Scott, “Have you ever been unknowingly betrayed?” Scott thought for a moment, thinking that maybe he had but how would he know. OJ told him, “You have, you just don’t know it yet.”

Deastro is a rhythm and blues band from Detroit. The featured song is from the album Keeper’s. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Learning Music Monthly - Short Tempered [mp3] Along the lime...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 21:24:08 -0500

Learning Music Monthly - Short Tempered [mp3]

Along the lime green pillar hangs a clock that tells the time and at the time, it told the man living inside underneath the hands swaying in a clock-wise direction, with clock-like wisdom chock full of whimsy, that it was time. And so at this now appointed time, with almost no time to prepare and with little time to consider, the man lifted his body up and out through the face of the clock. Inside of the clock, the man was two-dimensional and only his face and shoulders were visible. It seemed reasonable to think that maybe the man had nothing more to his body but then, here was now and there it was, the rest of his body. Brought into the third-dimension at the instruction of the third-dimension, the man stood for a time until such a time came that the sensation of standing wasn’t a frightening sensation. The weight of gravity upon his shoulders and the reactive force of the floor on his feet are the sort of things that one doesn’t find inside of a clock. All around him were people dining and drinking and reading political blogs and discussing the snow storm. The man turned on his heel, gazing for a short time at each person his eyes ventured across and thinking to himself all the time, “The addition of another dimension is a complex and wonderful thing.” After a time, he faced a window. He continued to turn for a time, peering with perplex at the snow falling from the sky at the time. If the man knew what a snow globe was, he might have remarked that the scene outside, as seen through the large windows, had the effect of making one feel like they were trapped inside of a snow globe. Except in this snow globe, there were no Christmas trees or NYC landmarks. Instead there were eager to please, hard working, fun loving, blindly idealistic (or relentless jaded) world changers and political wonks. There were laptops on every table and many patrons chose to frequent the cafe uncompanioned in a physical sense, but quite happy to be accompanied by Internet. The tables were large and strangers mingled, knowing that they could ignore the person beside or across by simply staring intently at their computer screen and listening loudly to their iPod tethered ear buds. But the man had never seen a snow globe from his limited vantage point inside of a clock hanging from a trendy cafe wall. In fact, no metaphors occurred to him as he stared. The snow fell in a soggy blanket, thick with moisture and destructive intent. Outside, people walked with umbrellas and cars traversed barely the roads saturated with white. The city was shut down that day in advance of the storm so that the citizenry would not have to danger tending to the issues facing our country. Or else, errands. The man lost track of the time as he stood retching his mind, attempting to contort his feelings and beliefs in a manner that could justify the growing expanse outside. And then, a large dog and a small dog passed each other for a time on the sidewalk in front of the window. The large dog scarcely noticed the small dog shuffling through the 8-inch layer of snow and the small dog understood this advantage. It lunged bravely, but briefly, at the large dog’s front paw with incredible violence. The man wondered how such a small animal could possess such an intense look in his eye, even if only for a brief period of time before being dragged away. The man decided that his time here was sufficient and that he needn’t see anymore of this multi-faced world. The man looked at the clock and asked, “Do you have the time?” The clock responded, “It is time.”

Learning Music Monthly is a rhythm and blues band from Los Angeles. The featured song is from the album This May Also Be It. Purchase the music at Cash Music.

Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea [mp3] It...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 20:14:00 -0500

Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea [mp3]

It was the saw that got my attention and he could tell. “That’s a musical saw he’s playing there.” Ben turned up the volume. Behind us, Cara, Dan and Allen stopped talking because the music was too loud. Instead, they looked forward at the back of our seats with blank expressions. Maybe they were thinking about nuclear weapons. In the front seats, Ben and I stared forward through the windshield at the traffic. The car on our right had Alaska plates and I wondered if they just drove into Des Moines today and why. Maybe they took it’s geographic location to mean that it was the spiritual center of the continental states. I started to think something else but the musical saw came ambling into my mind again. At least I assumed that the depressed warbling aloft underneath guitar fuzz and the depressed warbling voice of Jeff Magnum was a musical saw. I had never heard a musical saw before. I remember once while working on my Uncle’s pallet farm, dropping a standard non-musical saw from a short height and the sound it made was kind of nice and remembering it now, I thought, “That sounds kinda like the saw I dropped once.” Then I started to reminisce about the fort I built in the pallet stacks with my brother and we would watch the working men walking to their pallet posts through the spaces between each slat of wood, throwing rocks at the ones we didn’t like and making farm animal sounds at the ones that we did like when Ben started to shout.

“This is definitely one of those albums that you remember the first time you heard it. Where you were and who you were with. Last album I heard like that was OK Computer. It was Independence Day and I had my headphones on and I was laying on my back in the grass on a hill staring up at the fireworks exploding in the sky. Occasionally, I would forget what was happening and then my girlfriend’s face would come into my periphery as she neared in for a kiss. She would kiss me and behind her a firework would create a halo around her head.”

Ben had to yell his story and it annoyed me a little because I had to concentrate to understand his strained words over the music. I wanted to tell him that I don’t care about Radiohead right now. In the end though, I thought that the story Ben told was kind of charming and it made me want to listen to OK Computer. I had never listened to it before, I realized. Reflecting on what he said as the song came to an end, I wondered if I would remember all of this, as Ben suggested I might. I thought that I would but it depressed me to think that in several years time, I would listen to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea only to be returned to this dank van in Des Moines, en route for Dowling High School to compete in a debate tournament. I would remember that I spent one weekend in March discussing the policy implications of nuclear disarmament, or maybe a ban on nuclear testing, or else some strategic change in defense policy and that during that weekend, I was the victorious debater only twice in six tries. I might even begin to fret at the enormous threat posed by nuclear weapons the second I heard the opening chords.

I was worried and I was young. The rest of the album proceeded without much consideration for the impact my weekend might have on future listens. Instead, I thought about Cara and how I might come to have sex with her. And I forgot the fact that I should be depressed by my poor showing at Dowling in the future when I heard this album and so it was, until now.

Neutral Milk Hotel is a rhythm and blues band from Athens. The featured song is from the album In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

HEALTH - Before Tigers [mp3] In the middle of the stream, in...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 15:19:00 -0500

HEALTH - Before Tigers [mp3]

In the middle of the stream, in the rapids, on a log sits another universe. In this universe, spice and sand reign supreme without subtlety. On the banks of this stream sits still another universe and across the way on another log on another bank, another universe that is the same. In these mirrored universes, bombs drop like the upside down letter V, marking the places whereby sexual encounters will determine the fate of the Allied Powers. Further up stream, on a rock, another universe again, another again and again and again. The water sags on the rocks before rapidly flowing into the crevices of the centrally-located log. Time is frozen there, occasionally, for undress and with lavish care the clothing is re-adorned so as to give the impression of having never left. These universes all sit with legs dangling in the stream, the feet at the end cold from the water and bare for the travels. Up above through the tree limbs, the sun is meandering, a maundering steamy haze lifting in evaporative waves and it passes before the page, with each turn of the page and the light changes shape casting shadows on each next.

For each of these universes, time operates according to the rule of the page and in that stream, time passes according to the laws of the universe and after a different time, on a different page, in a different mind has passed its past, a rejoinder relieves the responsibilities inherent in literature. The universes step from their logs and their rocks and their banks to assail the foodstuff residing inside and they discuss the implications of such a peaceful passage of water through the graves, there are graves under the water and they agree that the earth is a grave.

HEALTH is a rhythm and blues band from Los Angeles. The featured song is from the album Get Color. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Ah Holly Fam’ly - Loneliest City [mp3] by Travis...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 20:16:00 -0500

Ah Holly Fam’ly - Loneliest City [mp3]

by Travis Meyer

We recall the shape of our dreams through the song of the break of day that clings to the evening, as if handling the places we’d been were a moth’s appeal to the ceiling, skimming invisible wings toward the big window’s view out into our lives like fixed dioramas of different, lonelier cities we’ve survived. The past isn’t a matter if you can manage forgetting the pulpy misadventures that brought you here, she said. And we can lie awake in the untamed air of this February indoors, pretending we’re at the shore of what our former selves imagined we’d have learned by now. No doubt they’d look at us like we’d returned from Antarctica, with mermaids for wives and fur aureoles encircling our chapped faces, our souls impossibly underwater, muted by an afterthought of the almond orchards along the gravel roadside. It was better to leave our clothes for later — our labors redivided — and pretend we were characters in an Antonionian reverie, spinning the globe and putting our fingers down, hoping we might catch ourselves where the ocean sprays at an igneous footing and evergreen ghosts sweat blueberry mists in the morning. You against the glass. You against the murk of an imitative pond tinted nicotine for the effect your eyes have watching the seagull ascend motionless in the Pacific wind. You against the white wall naked but for a black sheet draped like a night wind around your hips, goosebumped flesh from the cold that space heater doesn’t make up for, you’re spinning the globe again for a lonelier city, a place for coffee and bare boughs and ice cream with a matinee alone.

Ah Holly Fam’ly is a rhythm and blues band from Portland. The featured song is from the album Reservoir. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

The Blind Shake - Midnight Scream [mp3] There is this little...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 09:02:00 -0500

The Blind Shake - Midnight Scream [mp3]

There is this little white orb and it bounces. It is of a plastic polycarbonate slightly perforated construction and it bounces. We in our hands, each right, each night, hold tight, we rhyme a paddle with our saddles and it bounces. Probably it is not polycarbonate but it bounces. We drink beer and it bounces. He looks across the table with a glare gleaming as I lay in wait dreaming and it bounces. A sip, we sip, another sip before he lifts into the air slightly tumbling a trembling, it nearly nears the pergola ceiling before neatly attacking the near nothing and it bounces. For a time our gaze guides little lasers into the corner without so much as a shuffle, our weight leaning back and forth before a slice recoils and it bounces. He is no grander gardener than I as he tramples the dying daffodils daring a playful prayer, it propels into the air and it bounces. Something like a scuffle with the fence, a left and a right into the wooden planks before a kick dislodges with might, we might, she might, let’s might and say we did but it bounces. “Holy shit!” and it bounces. Consecutively we flail forgetting the laws of physics, we slide a cradle under the little brittle blur bouncing leaps and bounds, it travels leaps and bounds, I leap and he bounds bullets blasted and bucked, bending and ending with a “pong” neverending and it bounces. Something like awe overcomes the contestants competing for no prize, a thirst for a sip abates with rapt attention, the ball travels together with hopes healing a long dormant rivalry recalled, he thinks, “Remember when we used to do this all the time?” and it bounces. These clicks, his clack with such power performing under pressure was never his game but it bounces. A blast for the win is caught from his knees but then an elated return, a deflated reply, the point is his and it bounces underline.

The Blind Shake is a rhythm and blues band from Minneapolis. The featured song is from the album Carmel. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Bibio - Haikuesque [mp3] She asked, “Have you been in a...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 10:00:00 -0500

Bibio - Haikuesque [mp3]

She asked, “Have you been in a perpetually liminal state for a long time?”

Out the window, the dark side of the road passed slowly shifting shapes and shadows lifting up into his eyes sifting through his thoughts and inside resides, sitting upon a rocking chair without a rock the bus burling a beast bowling down the icy lanes and highways drifting drops just right of insight outside of momentum. The days December deceive and become January joining. Those nights watching the little litany weaving wisps of wherewithal, they would laugh at the convolution contorting control over a crevice of discovery, designing doubt and delight with delicate care. He wonders where it all began before, and being existence extols elaborate ideas brewing beyond. But this is all a ploy he would ponder, perfunctory remarks reveal a revolving relapse rehearsed and repeated. She felt forever that way last night and he believed because.

In clear blusters, they hold hands and recite, “Hello, I’m glad.” Walking willfully bliss, a theoretically blasé affair predicated on an airing of grievances an airing of gravity an airing of gratuitous thinking for the sake of feeling, a thought about felt and he felt he thought he feels she thinks and a circular conundrum of collected misunderstandings and interpretation imbues something like mystique mistook for an always myopic perception. This mystery of movement of massive drifting and the snow falls fleeting filament landing lashes and batting, they speak in mistakes and poorly translated traversing telling tales tallied toothlessly and perfect, performed aside alleviating an alienating ellipses until.

He answered, “Yes. But you would understand.”

Bibio is a rhythm and blues band from the UK. The featured song is from the album Ambivalence Avenue. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Biosphere - Daphnis 26 [mp3] We would wallow up willing our...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 08:47:05 -0500

Biosphere - Daphnis 26 [mp3]

We would wallow up willing
our ways and our eyes
upon a prize so wrought with
mystery and unknowable satisfaction
warring our once thought-over union
untold to untruth and
unlike another

from above
we could view in fits and trembles
a train traversing
the mirrored body of water
the mirrored body of sky
the mirrored convalescence of
our conversation consuming the counsel,
currying cries of shuttered delight
dealing blows to the reunion,
regaling tales of told miracles
murmured from that point in the atmosphere,

an almost aimless atomizing
accrued and accredited
to the nearest institution
enlisted and instilled
we still we stand
a friend a friend
they wander while and wonder
while we wonder while they wander
wiling
whereto we go
where do we go
from here

and the train
it scoots across the most picturesque
scene
sauntering
in our minds
as a backdrop to our blight.

Biosphere is a rhythm and blues band from Norway. The featured song is from the album Dropsonde. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Cluster - Gissander [mp3] Dave had just finished smoking his...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 11:00:00 -0500

Cluster - Gissander [mp3]

Dave had just finished smoking his cigarette when I came out.

“Ah hell. I guess I’ll have to smoke another.”

“Yeah, if you want. We could discuss things over a cigarette.”

Dave lit his cigarette and mine too with a struck match. I had my hands in my coat pockets looking for a lighter and instead I found a piece of paper with the words “Actually, it’s a John Hancock jumper long sleeve shirt” written in sloppy cursive. I handed the paper to Dave and he said that she must have been cute.

The porch is attached to the back of our second story apartment. Below us is a parking lot for the convenience store found in the first floor. We stood smoking in silence for a moment, staring ahead at whatever objects filled our vision. I was looking at a squirrel when a familiar car pulled into the parking lot. It sat dead, the engine hissing slightly in the cold, it’s sparkly silver glistening in a way that concealed the possibility of sentience. The door burst open and a man hopped out, all nerves and withdrawal.

“There he is,” says Dave. I just nod. The man paces the length of his luxury sport utility vehicle, looking left and right as he nears the street. Once he determines that the parking lot is secure, a lit cigarette materializes and the man begins to smoke feverishly. Dave takes an audible drag on his cigarette, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs and blowing it out with above average force. He observes, “This is the fourth time I’ve seen him out there smoking in the last two days.” The man’s glance darts left and right and for a second I wonder if he might finally notice us up above, watching his every movement. I say to Dave, “How does he not ever notice us? We’ve been watching him smoke cigarettes in this parking lot for the last week and somehow he never notices.” Dave thinks maybe since he’s so distracted by the notion that someone (who?) might catch him smoking street level that it never occurs to him that someone above him is fully aware of his strange habit of rapidly smoking cigarettes in the parking lot of Lulu’s Deli.

“I’m gonna go down to talk to him.” I tell Dave. I stub out my cigarette and Dave raises his eyebrows. “I am going to tell him we know. I’m curious how he will respond.” I go downstairs to meet the man in the parking lot. He jumps into his vehicle and quickly rolls the windows up at the sight of me, his cigarette disappearing as neatly as it always appears. He doesn’t start the engine though. I knock on the driver’s side window and make a motion that he should roll down his window.

Above Dave is watching with interest and he holds his breath to hear our interaction. It’s all mumbles though and he starts to wonder what we are saying. He guesses that I am telling him about our perch above and that we know he smokes. He guesses that the man is excusing our perception that he is a secret smoker and maybe the man is suggesting that from our perch it is difficult to understand the world below. Dave wonders for a moment if maybe the man is right, maybe looking down on the parking lot from a porch one story above ground does cause a misunderstanding of the world below and then he finishes his cigarette.

Dave goes back inside before I finish talking to the man. We have been talking about Colombia and the man has just invited me to his villa down there and Dave too. I tell him that’s not what I came down to talk about but he just shrugs and turns the key. I take a step back and watch him drive off. Back upstairs Dave asks me how things went. I say, “We talked about his villa in Colombia.” Dave kind of laughs and then he selects a book from the shelf standing next to the desk where he is seated. He hands it to me and says, “Sometimes we don’t see things that are there. Sometimes our eyes play tricks on our head.”

Cluster is a rhythm and blues band from Berlin. The featured song is from the album Qua. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

The Band - The Weight [mp3] by Lauren Raheja A home is a hard...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 10:40:00 -0500

The Band - The Weight [mp3]

by Lauren Raheja

A home is a hard place to find, an easy place to keep, and a place that combats secrets and fears with the cool sounds of an ever-changing yet un-moving river as it floats across saturated June air. A home is a place where frozen off-brand pizza tastes good, where apple juice tastes like champagne and computer speakers put concert hall quality sound to shame.

“Where might one find such a place?” someone asked.

“A home is not a place and it never has been, either,” she told the person. “It is not a where; it is not a when; it is not a what.”

“Then what is it?” they cried. “What is a home?”

“A home for me is not the same as a home for you,” she replied. “A home is a who—a home is a you and a me, a she and a he and a we.”

“What do I do when I find it?” they asked.

“Find it first,” she said. “And then you’ll know.”

“What do I do if I’ve already found it?” they asked again.

“What are you waiting for!?” she cried. “Take a seat, have a bite, jump in.”

The Band is a rhythm and blues band from North America. The featured song is from the album Music from Big Pink. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Jesus Lizard - Gladiator [mp3] A man walks into the bar...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500

Jesus Lizard - Gladiator [mp3]

A man walks into the bar without hesitation, glancing with confidence at the patrons seated on stools bathed in the afternoon sunlight shafting through the open door. He approaches the jukebox and deposits $20 into the machine, bringing Jesus Lizard all around the room for the old men watching football to hear. A woman at the pool table makes a comment about the loud music, calling it “crap.” The other woman in the room is behind the bar serving drinks. The man selects a few more songs, leaving 22 selections on the jukebox before seating himself at the bar for a beverage. He tells the bartender that she may select songs from the jukebox at her leisure and that he would like a Greyhound.

Several Greyhounds later and 14 songs remain. The man has ordered three shots of Vodka; one for the friend who has just joined him, one for the friend who had just left him and one for himself. The shots remained untouched though, sitting in front of their Greyhounds. He turns to his friend and asks him how his Greyhound tastes and he tells him that the Vodka they are drinking is “top shelf.” The Vodka is Stolichnaya, belying the Greyhound moniker and his friend says the drink is good. It is the first time his friend has had such a drink and the man is enjoying life so he wants to be sure his friend is also. But then he remembers what it is that brought them here today, to this bar on the strip in the middle of the afternoon and he looks at his friend’s somber expression nearing tears and he orders another Greyhound.

There are 13 songs remaining when the man rises for a cigarette. His friend doesn’t smoke so he tells him to pick a song from the jukebox. Standing just outside of the bar, the man lights up a cigarette when suddenly that first Jesus Lizard song comes on again. He can already hear the woman at the pool table calling it “crap” and he thinks to himself, “This song is exactly right for the occasion.” There are 12 songs left when the man tells his friend that he picked the same Jesus Lizard song. The man asks why he selected that song and his friend says through a strained facial expression, the sort of strain that constrains stray tears, he says, “He liked that song.” They order another Greyhound and the man tells his friend about the bartender.

“Last week I was in here about this time. The sun was just the same shining through those little windows and the open door right across the top of the bar and Debbie was in here serving booze to the regulars. I was telling this man sitting next to me that Debbie, she’s got a fine set of tits and a beautiful smile. I don’t know if Debbie heard me but my shots of Beam were double shots from that point on.” Song 10 was just expiring when Debbie called back across the bar, “It wasn’t your comment about my tits that got you the double shots. It was your money.” The man just smiled and his friend smiled a bit too.

With 9 songs remaining, the jukebox went silent. Debbie asked the man and his friend what they were going to do with the three shots. The man told Debbie that he and his friend would drink their shots and that the third should be poured onto the ground somewhere in the vicinity. His friend explained to Debbie that their friend had performed in this bar once and that he liked Jesus Lizard and that is why it kept playing and that he had smoked cigarettes in front of this bar at one time and that all of those places seemed an appropriate place to pour the shot. The man selected that Jesus Lizard song one last time and told Debbie to forget the pouring, that the shot should be split between him and his friend and so it went.

The man and his friend left with spirits in their stomach and 8 songs left on the jukebox. A week later, the man learned that Debbie had played that same Jesus Lizard song with all 8 of those plays to drive out the woman at the pool table who was “a fucking bitch who tipped too little.” And the man, he just had to laugh.

Jesus Lizard is a rhythm and blues band from Austin/Chicago. The featured song is from the album Liar. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Mark McGuire - Acquaduct [mp3] We rode our bicycles to the...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 15:32:00 -0500

Mark McGuire - Acquaduct [mp3]

We rode our bicycles to the other side of town, taking the Greenway through the heart of Minneapolis and crossing the bridge designed specifically to assist cyclists, it’s cable suspensions merging lines into the purple sky above. Sitting upon a bench on the Sabo Bridge, we smoked a cigarette together feeling the rush of traffic gust bustling wind upward as we looked out at the darkened city below us. There were lights on in some of the homes and inside there were things happening that we could not understand, nor see. The Minneapolis skyline held high in the air looked back at us as if sentient, the offices illuminated for no particular reason appearing as if a million eyes. If indeed the skyline were able to gaze, no doubt the shifting colors atop Target Plaza represented the frontal cortex of our beloved city, it’s matter changing before our eyes as it considered those things occurring throughout.

Later, we found ourselves together with others at the VFW drinking whiskey and PBRs. We took our leave to the Hexagon and walloped a good time upon the slippery, beer stained floors and then we left together, the two of us assembled upon our bicycles tracing our steps through Minneapolis and resting again on the bridge just to think. Riding the Greenway this late is said to bring danger but not on this night. The snow was falling heavily but beautifully, with no wind and little sound otherwise at 2 AM, my friend and I were able to ride freely without cold or worry or threat of injury. We would fall from our bicycles in the slickness of the snow and crash softly into the tufts of white flakes billowing from underneath our heated bodies our bikes sliding across the surface and ourselves rolling not because of force but because of fun.

We exited the Greenway at Nicollet Avenue and biked directly down the middle of the road all the way to 22nd Street. The road was emptied but illuminated brightly by streetlights and Christmas decorations strung from every lamp post and otherwise, lights twinkling in a surreal orange glow set against the purple and the snow blinding white directly into our eyes. We rode down Nicollet Avenue without our hands and even there we crashed safely into the road, singing songs as we descended into the soft embrace below.

And when we arrived home, we wondered if it should end as we smoked a ceremonial cigarette on the porch of Garfield. We wondered if this were our one and only opportunity to enjoy the glory of such a remarkable ride and we wondered if it were time we did that again. Stubbing out our cigarettes he said to me, “Maybe we should just accept that there will never be again.” We went upstairs into the dark lair of Garfield, a fog of smoke seemingly awaiting our arrival and cartoons projected onto the window curtains and we knew then that indeed, it will never be again.

Mark McGuire is a rhythm and blues band from Cleveland. The featured song is from the album A Pocket Full of Rain. Purchase the music at Pizza Night Tapes.

Dan Bern - Wasteland [mp3] * This was not written in...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500

Dan Bern - Wasteland [mp3]

* This was not written in traditional such loud noise manner. Indeed, this is a simple concert preview exhibiting fairly mainstream journalistic tendencies. Please excuse the total sense of logic, I will be posting another entry within a few hours in accordance with the defined goals of this blog. For those in Columbia, SC, Dan Bern will be playing at White Mule on Sunday. Be there.

Dan Bern sounds like Bob Dylan. He is also of Jewish heritage like Bob Dylan, from the Midwest like Bob Dylan, sings songs titled “Talking X Blues” like Bob Dylan, has the letters D and B in his initials like Bob Dylan, possesses one X and one Y chromosome like Bob Dylan, etc. Dan Bern is not Bob Dylan.

When Dan Bern takes the stage at the White Mule, he will do so with a simple request, one that he made in the opening seconds of his debut album in the song ‘Jerusalem’: “Don’t ask what kind of music I’m gonna play tonight / Just stay awhile / Hear for yourself awhile / And if you must put me in a box / Make sure it’s a big box / With lots of windows.” In the intervening years since the release of his under-appreciated debut album Bern has managed to enlarge his box all on his own, irrespective of the allowances afforded by audiences and critics. Across 15 albums in 13 years, Bern has established himself as a witty lyricist with an avid interest in popular culture. The world in which his folk music resides is populated by all manner of celebrities and athletes behaving just as you might expect in your wildest dreams. Whether its a road trip to Alaska with Leonardo DiCaprio, a meditation on Tiger Woods’ huge balls, a visit with Ani DiFranco’s mom or the hypothetical marriage between Marilyn Monroe and Henry Miller, Bern weaves characters from the cosmos of Hollywood and beyond in and out of his songs with great comedic effect.

His pop culture acumen goes much deeper than simple parody though. Dan Bern is a cultural philosopher privy to some of the most fundamental truths underlying the everyday life of an American. His fascination with popular culture is simply an extension of his concern with the post-modern dirge that most people experience on a day-to-day basis. As a lyricist, Bern is genuinely concerned with the human condition and the American condition. His songs might make you laugh a lot, but they just as often will make you cry. Sometimes even, they will make you laugh with tears at the absurdity of our society and the utter hopelessness of our circumstances.

This is one area where the similarity to Bob Dylan rings most true. Just as Bob Dylan was an innovative artist with a penetrative understanding of how an individual interprets reality in the context of the broader society, so to does Dan Bern understand that there are forces outside of our singular orbit that have a great emotional impact. In particular, Bern shows a fascination with the wandering souls of the world. The growing population of transient American citizens can certainly relate to Bern when he says “And everyplace I go is one less place I could call home / And every girl I kiss, well I just cross her off my list / I don’t go far / I just go crazy.”

Dan Bern is well known for his live performance skills. A Dan Bern concert is a folk music and stand-up comic routine all for one low price. Where many musicians use on-stage banter to fill the time needed between songs to tune instruments and take a swig of beer, Bern tells long and invariably hilarious stories about touring the country. His performance at The White Mule will be the final stop on the southern leg of his tour following preceding performances in Decatur, Charlotte, Tampa and Fort Myers so you can be sure that he will get in a word or two about Southern culture before the night is over.

As was made clear already, Dan Bern is not Bob Dylan. The good news in that statement is that instead of Bob Dylan, we got an American original from the heartland with a keen eye for the absurdities of American life.

Dan Bern is a rhythm and blues band from Iowa. The featured song is from the album Dan Bern. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Dirty Projectors - Not Having Found [mp3] I sit staring at...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 20:29:00 -0500

Dirty Projectors - Not Having Found [mp3]

I sit staring at Frida Kahlo and she stares back at me too and speaks to me too and she looks past me too as she says to me too, “Show me respect.” She says it in Spanish though and though I don’t understand Spanish though I understand what she is saying though that though she is simply a picture of Frida Kahlo, she’s a living breathing Frida Kahlo capable of deep feelings and complex understanding of spatial relationships and she is not hanging from the wall. We stare at each other for some time unblinking, unspeaking, listening to Dirty Projectors sing rightly soaring from the computer speakers in anything but a blare the music just sort of swims in waves of pleasure from the computer speakers into our ears but neither of us smile, we just stare. Her present predicament is not unlike many similar predicaments she has had to endure since coming into my possession last winter. She lays against the wall in a corner, obscured slightly at certain angles by the bookshelf which holds her journal in full color, magazine glossed glory.

Frida Kahlo sits staring at me and I stare back at Frida Kahlo too with her birds perched painfully on each shoulder, two more flanking her neatly laid arms and a cigarette drips from her fingertips as she sits staring at me and I stare back at Frida Kahlo too attempting to penetrate her infinitely wise gaze her infinitely prolonged gaze her infinitely etched into the acid-free paper which her eyes were infinitely sketched onto with an ink jet printer and Frida Kahlo sits staring at me and I stare back at Frida Kahlo too and decide at that point that the painfully beautiful music of Dirty Projects is just too unbearably gorgeous that I am unbearably unable to continue sitting and staring at Frida Kahlo.

I arise from the couch and walk to the corner where Frida Kahlo sits and I hoist her into my arms. This is overstating things since she is simply a poster, essentially, printed nicely on acid-free card stock and slipped into a plastic slip, more accurately I lift her easily with my thumb and forefinger and I clutch her as if a football and suddenly I am a football player. I dart left and right out the door and Frida Kahlo and I take a walk together down the street. I wave at the neighbor, a gay man of considerable discretion and privacy and I hold Frida Kahlo proudly displaying her fine gaze to him and though she doesn’t wave also, he gets the drift and frowns. We walk further down the street, encountering no other people and I say to Frida Kahlo, “Isn’t it nice to get some fresh air?” She makes no comment in response and eventually we turn back to the house and return. The neighbor is no longer sitting on the porch and his blinds are now closed though it is quite bright outside. I put Frida Kahlo back in the corner and I imagine her saying, “Nobody puts Frida Kahlo in a corner,” but Dirty Dancing was not out yet so she couldn’t possibly conceive of such a joke. I explain to Frida Kahlo that I would like to put her in a frame first before hanging her from a wall but unfortunately I am far too poor to afford a frame now so she’ll just have to wait.

Dirty Projectors are still gloriously extolling the beautiful nature not having found something you were looking for and I nod my head in agreement. “See Frida Kahlo, it’s a difficult time finding things like money or picture frames. You should be quite happy to have found me at least. I will take you on another walk soon, I promise.”

Dirty Projectors are a rhythm and blues band from Brooklyn. The featured song is from the album The Getty Address. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.

Elizabeth Anka Vajagic - Where You Wonder [mp3] Two days ago I...

jason.spidle@gmail.com — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0500

Elizabeth Anka Vajagic - Where You Wonder [mp3]

Two days ago I was preparing to shop for a Halloween costume, packing my bag with Borges and a notepad and pens, packing my wallet with Josephine’s money, affixing the U-Lock to the rack on the back of the Univega and her and I talked about the great bargains I should shop for at the costume store and that I should keep my eyes peeled for sales on pearl necklaces made of plastic made to resemble pearls and zombie makeup kits to make believe a biker zombie whose head was smashed and whose spine was smashed unceremoniously upon the hood of a large automobile traveling above the speed limit on Sunset Road right at the intersection of Avondale Drive where I was attempting to turn left and hanging out in the middle, little, gray section of the road, a ghost in the middle of the road, unknown in the center of it all, the only spot of cement along the cathedraled, tree-lined stretch of Sunset Road open to the sunlight and looking death in the face with each passing vehicle waiting patiently for a turn to turn, vehicles quickly moving in front and behind and really you can’t ask for a better costume especially if you get a good deal on the makeup.

I told Josephine before I left that she should listen to Elizabeth Anka Vajagic, that Vajagic is part of that Godspeed school of music and that she’d like Vajagic’s voice and the drawn out nature of the tunes. She loaded Lala and after convincing her that she should listen to Elizabeth Anka Vajagic before the new Devendra Banhart album which advertised itself at the top of Lala, she played the first song and I deliberately elongated my preparations so that I could gauge her reaction to the first song or two. I attached the pump to the front tire of the Mercx and inflated it to 100 PSI, then the back tire and then I also inflated the tires on the Univega even though I wasn’t going to ride that bicycle. I made myself a large glass of water, sipping irregularly with my bicycle helmet unsecured and wobbling each time I tilted my head back. I washed my hands and heard from the living room Elizabeth Anka Vajagic wailing, “Let it go now, before your hopes get lost. Let it go now, they’ll hate you more.” Josephine was reading about the vast and complicated nature of hurricanes on Wikipedia because the PowerPoint presentation about the vast and complicated nature of hurricanes which Professor Subra supplied was useless. I noticed that Josephine had a pained expression on her face as Elizabeth Anka Vajagic sang and that it couldn’t possibly be because of a Wikipedia article. I asked her what she thought of Vajagic and she said her voice was very deep. I agreed and told her the third song was best and then I left with “Where You Wonder” in my head.

Later that night, “Where You Wonder” again began looping in my head as I sat with Emily on the back porch of a house where a Halloween party was occurring. The zombie makeup kits were sold out so I sat as Jerry Seinfeld in a puffy shirt explaining to Emily the wonder of a red lantern illuminating softly the cheeks and bodies of those people standing in the backyard conversing. The porch was screened in and through the infinitesimal tiny gray windows, a grainy red scene was unfolding before us in the most asinine fashion. Nevertheless, the gathered ones were dead and hungry for something else in this cinematic rendering of the standard back and forth, Emily saw it and I said it for the benefit of the two of us, the people on the backyard nodded unwittingly and Emily and I just had to laugh. We laughed and laughed, even after death flashed across our faces. A slight slip slapped across our faces. And we just had to laugh.

Elizabeth Anka Vajagic is a rhythm and blues band from Montreal. The featured song is from the album Stand with the Stillness of this Day. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.