We Move Together, Sea Ensemble
When Author graduated from graduate school with high honours and retuned to his home town, he moved in with a lovely and fun woman a few years older than he who had never thought it made sense to go to no goddamn university and had instead been busy promoting shows, managing records stores, and playing music with the kinds of people who defecate in the kitchenware sometimes for laughs in dilapidated living spaces more or less run like arts collectives. This woman did a lot of this in the city of Vancouver, where she invariably hooked up and shacked up with a popular local rock and roll Lothario who ended up sleeping on the sly with most of our lovely heroine’s pretty and/or insecure and/or available girlfriends. A local artist of comix in that august coastal city once made her up as a Jessica Harper in Suspiria! Some will chalk it up as “posterity,” though today We have perfectly reasonable friends also who would call that behaviour “stalking.” Author assures you they never made that comix picture. Author and this woman lived in Calgary, and mostly the situation was such that they mostly had to work to scrape by and became recreationally inclined to mostly blow off steam solo and together. Mostly it was Author who posed for the Polaroids, some of these slightly blue. Author was mostly working or wasted, but was otherwise not focused on music, unfortunately in his dissipated ruin more inclined to toil inconsolably at poems, short stories, and pugnacious essays incomprehensible and/or vile to most. Still, our beautiful hero and heroine did sometimes make informal music together and liked the idea of a project called Cancer Panties, the whole very-fine-bourbon-inspired principle in the name a nod both to David Cronenberg’s original 1970 Crimes of the Future and Tim Burton’s idiotic but not dismissible 1989 version of Batman, which We believe involves a Crimewave of Tainted Cosmetics. Author and Lady always together for their almost exemplary but ultimately too-rocky years of co-bundled ardour said they believed the ultimate expression of collaborative romantic love transmuted into musical alchemy was Sea Ensemble, the Ensemble that is just a couple named Don and Zusaan, or at least that’s be the case on We Move Together, which Author and Lady listened to ceremonially and regularly on compact disk, of which they owned you’d imagine many thousands, but which had originally been released by the legendary ESP on vinyl LP in 1974, the year Duke Ellington died. Also recalled of this period: a simpatico fanaticism between our wired and racked common-laws of yore for Olympia, Washington’s Beat Happening. Especially the 1985 debut. Probably also Black Candy.
99¢, Santigold
Author has regularly succeeded in escaping and then escaping back to Calgary serially these past many years. He’s single, God knows, but he very much likes to carry on and fraternize and/or consort, most especially with talkative females, though in this respect he is not ever pushy, understood likewise by all sensible persons actually witness to his maybe-a-little-wonky workaday conduct to not at all be notably prepossessing or insistent or coercive. It’s a fact that’s he’s sometimes directly praised on this account. Whatever. He likes pop music, and he especially likes pop music made by attractive and lasciviously creative women. Author told Aya that he believes both that 99¢ by the undeniably-striking Santigold is the finest pop album he has ever heard and that he thinks he has to be, solipsist (if not all-out narcissist) that he sometimes is, the only person on earth who chalks it that way. It is of note, avers Aya, that Author is also hugely enamoured of both Neneh Cherry and Robyn, and that the whole pulsing intercomplex of this twine of twain is very heavily cast-over with elements drawing from the Caribbean, Scandinavia, and the very scary Occult city of London, England. Author attended the Satigold show when she brought her 99¢ rodeo to Calgary, and he’s pretty sure it’s the Star herself who asked that “Mind Your Own Business” by Delta 5, a fave of all of us here at ANTHROPOTECH, be pumped through Flames Central as house music in advance of her set. It was very, very dope, says Author to Aya. Author also asks Aya to ask Santigold to what extent the whole show—choreography, costumery, grocery store props and big-screen video segments—was consciously inspired by Jean-Luc Godard and Jean-Pierre Goran’s 1972 film Tout va bien. [The Calgary Flames are the preeminent local sports franchise and an extremely over-cutesy brand. Flames Central in now mercifully called The Palace Theatre again.]
Diamonds in the Rough, John Prine
Our man Lloyd here, dunkin’ his dang donut like a rube, may just be a glorified rent-a-cop from Moose Jaw, S'katchewan, but it’s our foremost insistence that when the cops are ultimately more revamped than defunded: this, sir, be your wheelman. Lloyd absolutely insists that the hella-imagistic and modernist-poetry-lapidary Diamonds in the Rough is fuck rights at the top of the pops there with the best of Dylan, Kris Kristofferson, and Townes Van Zandt, and bugger all to hell and gum anyhow, Nate, ‘cause nobody is gonna raise thunder anywhere in range if you got any one of these dead-or-alive genius geezers on hand ticklin’ ‘hind your ear and waitin’ ‘round to die. “Sour Grapes.” “Talkin’ John Garfield Blues.” That’s there the shakes, and you said it, Sunny! Coney Island ain’t no more no kind of San Francisco North Bay State of Mind, Larry, and Chicago—well, she’s the pits. Coney Island means you go down with your waivers and die a dog’s death out there on them rocks. Lloyd's positively flummoxed that Penny just scooped a new compact disk of this humbling solvent-huffing Skid Row drunkard's masterpiece in a near-abandoned shopping mall for $5.95.
Fire Escape, Sunburned Hand of the Man w/ Kieran Hebden
And here We At ANTHROPOTECH Finally Resolve to “Just Embed a Good Chunk.”
Author escapes with his: a) life; b) that handsome feather in his natty peacockin' cap—
No comments:
Post a Comment