Wednesday, July 11, 2007:
At ten years old, there was nowhere Elizabeth Mitchell would go that couldn't be gone there by cartwheels or somersaults. At ten and a half she learned how to walk on her hands and was sure that her feet would never touch the ground again. She insisted that her parents lower the counters throughout the house. They refused, so she insisted they buy her stilts. Her parents did not want to take down the chandeliers or to clean footprints from the ceiling, and it seemed sure the situation was headed towards a crisis. Luckily, Elizabeth's uncle was clever enough to buy her a guitar for her birthday. It was a challenge for Elizabeth to play A maj with her feet, but G maj was impossible. B7 was whatever was a step beyond impossible. Elizabeth decided she could sit "like normal," provided no one saw her; and that her feet could touch the ground as she sat, provided she washed them afterwards.
Each day her parents would make excuses to pass her door and overhear her practicing, and each day when she was done she'd put the guitar away and walk on her hands to the kitchen to find a snack. And each day her mother would say "don't ruin your appetite for dinner, honey," and each day Elizabeth would say "yes ma'am."
And then one day her parents heard her practice stop and the door open, and Elizabeth came walking down the hall but not to the kitchen, and on her feet, not on her hands. She was carrying her guitar and she walked into the living room where her astonished parents sat, and she stood there in front of them and said "Mom. Dad. Listen to this." And then she played something which sounded like all the joy and energy of an eleven-year-old channelled into music.
You Are My Little Bird is an album for children. Jordan @ Said the Gramophone posted "Three Little Birds" in March, and then Folkways sent me the CD as part of a package of promo materials. I do like it, but am sure that my niece would like it even more.
[Elizabeth Mitchell @ Folkways; various reviews @ Ryko Distribution]
children and cartwheels and chandeliers
Elizabeth Mitchell -- Who's My Pretty BabyAt ten years old, there was nowhere Elizabeth Mitchell would go that couldn't be gone there by cartwheels or somersaults. At ten and a half she learned how to walk on her hands and was sure that her feet would never touch the ground again. She insisted that her parents lower the counters throughout the house. They refused, so she insisted they buy her stilts. Her parents did not want to take down the chandeliers or to clean footprints from the ceiling, and it seemed sure the situation was headed towards a crisis. Luckily, Elizabeth's uncle was clever enough to buy her a guitar for her birthday. It was a challenge for Elizabeth to play A maj with her feet, but G maj was impossible. B7 was whatever was a step beyond impossible. Elizabeth decided she could sit "like normal," provided no one saw her; and that her feet could touch the ground as she sat, provided she washed them afterwards.
Each day her parents would make excuses to pass her door and overhear her practicing, and each day when she was done she'd put the guitar away and walk on her hands to the kitchen to find a snack. And each day her mother would say "don't ruin your appetite for dinner, honey," and each day Elizabeth would say "yes ma'am."
And then one day her parents heard her practice stop and the door open, and Elizabeth came walking down the hall but not to the kitchen, and on her feet, not on her hands. She was carrying her guitar and she walked into the living room where her astonished parents sat, and she stood there in front of them and said "Mom. Dad. Listen to this." And then she played something which sounded like all the joy and energy of an eleven-year-old channelled into music.
You Are My Little Bird is an album for children. Jordan @ Said the Gramophone posted "Three Little Birds" in March, and then Folkways sent me the CD as part of a package of promo materials. I do like it, but am sure that my niece would like it even more.
[Elizabeth Mitchell @ Folkways; various reviews @ Ryko Distribution]
Labels: children's, is fiction, PR
posted by Tuwa @
09:35 | permalink |
3 comments
|
Wednesday, June 13, 2007:
Jed played guitar in a band. On the weekends when they weren't booked and weren't practicing, he would drive his car out of the city to climb mountains. His favorite was Mt. San Isidro, a moderately tall and moderately difficult mountain which he would nevertheless climb solo. In the early afternoon one day as he reached the summit, he found there a building that had never been there before. It was a modest structure, made of wood and stone, and inside he found it attended by silent men with shaven heads. They let him wander about, unbothered, and when he lay down his pack and removed his coat and gloves they did not comment or even seem to notice. In one hall he found an empty room with a pallet on the floor and a low-cut rock for a pillow. He moved his belongings into it and had potato soup and a small cup of water for dinner. Over time he learned the customs of the place, beyond the overwhelming silence: where and when to bathe, how to help with custodial duties, what to cook and where to gather the ingredients. The ingredients were usually potatoes and dinner was usually potato soup. The soup was made from potatoes and water. Depending on the cook, it might be flavored with additional water.
Jed came to enjoy the silence because it allowed him to reflect more on its absence: on what to say and when to say it, and what to play and when to play it. On his seventeenth day at the monastery he found himself unable to shake a stupid couplet from a song he'd last heard years ago and last enjoyed never. He had found his mantra, though he did not know it.
Over and over it played: "won't you take me back to school / I need to learn the golden rule." The melody was facile, trite, the instrumentation facile, trite, the vocals soppy and ineffectual. The song itself was the very definition of rubbish, and in fact he could find nothing about it to recommend it. Nor could he stop thinking about it. He began to reflect on what this obsession might mean, on what melody might mean, on how rhythm could fit with melody to expand its meaning and leaven its sweetness.
After six weeks of meditation he decided to share his discoveries. "Music reveals itself through study, showing truth not only about specific instances but also about governing principles in general."
There was a silence, and he imagined this insight might be well received. It stretched on until he imagined it might not.
The man to his right spoke. His voice was hoarse, and cracked midway: "Dammit, Jed, we are not Sufis. And this is not a talk show." This was followed by another silence.
Then, from across the room: "He has not spoken for seventeen years."
It was a stinging rebuke.
That night he wondered if he could manage longer than six weeks of silence. He wondered if he wanted to. He missed his guitar; he missed creating.
In the morning he pulled his pack from the corner, put on his boots and coat and gloves, and made his way from the monastery. Halfway down he slipped, caught himself, slipped again, began to tumble. He woke up, which was more than he'd expected just moments before. He was in a bright cloudiness with a burning pain in his chest: covered in snow. He dug himself out, gasped for breath, coughed up icy water. Once he realized he could breathe he realized also that he had twisted his ankle. He limped down the mountainside, making it to ground level just before dusk. He carried on until it was dark, then made camp and slept in his coat and snowboots. The pack felt too comfortable as a pillow; he emptied it and put a rock inside.
In the morning his ankle was still swollen. He had decided on North as a direction and continued that way, concentrating on music, trying to tease out further revelations. He was bitten by a snake while within sight of the highway. On the highway itself he passed out, trying to work a bassline into that rattle he had processed as merely a fast tempo, a rhythm in search of a melody. A descending bassline could work, ascending could as well--eight to the bar? four to the bar? three to the bar? Simple repeating, repeating with variations, alternating patterns? The world was full of possibilities.
...
The desert was flat and Lucia was not yet hypnotized by interminable monotony; she slowed her car from well ahead and recognized the shape on the asphalt as human. She dialed 911 on her cell and approached the person with her finger on the call button. When she pressed it, it was to report a man delirious and feverish, leg swollen until the pants were tight around it.
Jed was airlifted to the hospital, his leg cut open to relieve the pressure from the swelling, a chunk of calf removed due to necrosis.
Lucia met him at the hospital as an excuse to miss a family reunion. She had not been on good terms with them since she had abandoned polyrhythm in favor of monorhythm: they were shocked about her behavior, worried for the future, unsure what to think but sure that somehow they had been deceived and betrayed.
Jed and Lucia began to chat, as people do when in a room together. Over a course of months Jed had new skin grafted on followed by extensive rest and physical therapy to learn to walk again. It was tedious and painful but the food was good. They began to get to know each other. Jed had ideas for some melodies. Lucia had ideas for some rhythms. They decided to form a band.
[Jed and Lucia probably have a Fanatic Promotion page, but I got the email about them so long ago that I lost the URL and Google isn't turning it up]
of mountains and monasteries and music
Jed and Lucia -- Off the GroundJed played guitar in a band. On the weekends when they weren't booked and weren't practicing, he would drive his car out of the city to climb mountains. His favorite was Mt. San Isidro, a moderately tall and moderately difficult mountain which he would nevertheless climb solo. In the early afternoon one day as he reached the summit, he found there a building that had never been there before. It was a modest structure, made of wood and stone, and inside he found it attended by silent men with shaven heads. They let him wander about, unbothered, and when he lay down his pack and removed his coat and gloves they did not comment or even seem to notice. In one hall he found an empty room with a pallet on the floor and a low-cut rock for a pillow. He moved his belongings into it and had potato soup and a small cup of water for dinner. Over time he learned the customs of the place, beyond the overwhelming silence: where and when to bathe, how to help with custodial duties, what to cook and where to gather the ingredients. The ingredients were usually potatoes and dinner was usually potato soup. The soup was made from potatoes and water. Depending on the cook, it might be flavored with additional water.
Jed came to enjoy the silence because it allowed him to reflect more on its absence: on what to say and when to say it, and what to play and when to play it. On his seventeenth day at the monastery he found himself unable to shake a stupid couplet from a song he'd last heard years ago and last enjoyed never. He had found his mantra, though he did not know it.
Over and over it played: "won't you take me back to school / I need to learn the golden rule." The melody was facile, trite, the instrumentation facile, trite, the vocals soppy and ineffectual. The song itself was the very definition of rubbish, and in fact he could find nothing about it to recommend it. Nor could he stop thinking about it. He began to reflect on what this obsession might mean, on what melody might mean, on how rhythm could fit with melody to expand its meaning and leaven its sweetness.
After six weeks of meditation he decided to share his discoveries. "Music reveals itself through study, showing truth not only about specific instances but also about governing principles in general."
There was a silence, and he imagined this insight might be well received. It stretched on until he imagined it might not.
The man to his right spoke. His voice was hoarse, and cracked midway: "Dammit, Jed, we are not Sufis. And this is not a talk show." This was followed by another silence.
Then, from across the room: "He has not spoken for seventeen years."
It was a stinging rebuke.
That night he wondered if he could manage longer than six weeks of silence. He wondered if he wanted to. He missed his guitar; he missed creating.
In the morning he pulled his pack from the corner, put on his boots and coat and gloves, and made his way from the monastery. Halfway down he slipped, caught himself, slipped again, began to tumble. He woke up, which was more than he'd expected just moments before. He was in a bright cloudiness with a burning pain in his chest: covered in snow. He dug himself out, gasped for breath, coughed up icy water. Once he realized he could breathe he realized also that he had twisted his ankle. He limped down the mountainside, making it to ground level just before dusk. He carried on until it was dark, then made camp and slept in his coat and snowboots. The pack felt too comfortable as a pillow; he emptied it and put a rock inside.
In the morning his ankle was still swollen. He had decided on North as a direction and continued that way, concentrating on music, trying to tease out further revelations. He was bitten by a snake while within sight of the highway. On the highway itself he passed out, trying to work a bassline into that rattle he had processed as merely a fast tempo, a rhythm in search of a melody. A descending bassline could work, ascending could as well--eight to the bar? four to the bar? three to the bar? Simple repeating, repeating with variations, alternating patterns? The world was full of possibilities.
...
The desert was flat and Lucia was not yet hypnotized by interminable monotony; she slowed her car from well ahead and recognized the shape on the asphalt as human. She dialed 911 on her cell and approached the person with her finger on the call button. When she pressed it, it was to report a man delirious and feverish, leg swollen until the pants were tight around it.
Jed was airlifted to the hospital, his leg cut open to relieve the pressure from the swelling, a chunk of calf removed due to necrosis.
Lucia met him at the hospital as an excuse to miss a family reunion. She had not been on good terms with them since she had abandoned polyrhythm in favor of monorhythm: they were shocked about her behavior, worried for the future, unsure what to think but sure that somehow they had been deceived and betrayed.
Jed and Lucia began to chat, as people do when in a room together. Over a course of months Jed had new skin grafted on followed by extensive rest and physical therapy to learn to walk again. It was tedious and painful but the food was good. They began to get to know each other. Jed had ideas for some melodies. Lucia had ideas for some rhythms. They decided to form a band.
[Jed and Lucia probably have a Fanatic Promotion page, but I got the email about them so long ago that I lost the URL and Google isn't turning it up]
Labels: folk rock, is fiction, PR
posted by Tuwa @
11:27 | permalink |
4 comments
|
Monday, April 16, 2007:
Morningbell has a new album out. It's a Choose Your Own Adventure album; the adventure I chose was to listen to the tracks in numerical order, and then to give it some time and listen again. I'm happy for the ways it shows the group stretching out, expanding their sound, and while there aren't any tracks on it I dislike, I think the two being promoted are not the two I would have picked: my money is on "Utopian Fantasy at the Center of the Earth" and "The Octopus Walks Across the Coral."
I've written about Morningbell twice before, once for kicks and out of general excitement, and once as part of a failed experiment. What I haven't written much about is octopuses.
What can you say about octopuses that doesn't involve ink or the lack of a skeleton? They can camouflage themselves amazingly well, sometimes to ambush a shark; they can open jars for food and climb onboard boats to get at food stored in the hold; they can walk on two legs, six arms wrapped around them so they look like a coconut taking a stroll, or hold the other six arms up, twisted about so they look like algae. They can also regrow an arm, unless the budget doesn't allow it. And they can play the guitar but not the bagpipes.
[Morningbell's site]
[Morningbell's MySpace page]
[This was a Team Clermont promotion, but I would have picked it up anyway given my fondness for the band.]
The Octopus Walks Across the Coral
Morningbell -- The Octopus Walks Across the CoralMorningbell has a new album out. It's a Choose Your Own Adventure album; the adventure I chose was to listen to the tracks in numerical order, and then to give it some time and listen again. I'm happy for the ways it shows the group stretching out, expanding their sound, and while there aren't any tracks on it I dislike, I think the two being promoted are not the two I would have picked: my money is on "Utopian Fantasy at the Center of the Earth" and "The Octopus Walks Across the Coral."
I've written about Morningbell twice before, once for kicks and out of general excitement, and once as part of a failed experiment. What I haven't written much about is octopuses.
What can you say about octopuses that doesn't involve ink or the lack of a skeleton? They can camouflage themselves amazingly well, sometimes to ambush a shark; they can open jars for food and climb onboard boats to get at food stored in the hold; they can walk on two legs, six arms wrapped around them so they look like a coconut taking a stroll, or hold the other six arms up, twisted about so they look like algae. They can also regrow an arm, unless the budget doesn't allow it. And they can play the guitar but not the bagpipes.
[Morningbell's site]
[Morningbell's MySpace page]
[This was a Team Clermont promotion, but I would have picked it up anyway given my fondness for the band.]
posted by Tuwa @
02:28 | permalink |
6 comments
|
Monday, March 12, 2007:
Fuzzed guitar, booming drums, singalong melody, banjo mixed low: this song is like a three-piece hemp suit, the fabric woven just rough enough to be distinctive but tidy enough to get you into a nice restaurant.
Of God and Science are from Albuquerque and are Matthew Dominguez on guitar and vocals, Jeremy Fine on bass, Julian Martinez on piano, guitar, pedal steel, vocals, and banjo, and Ryan Martino on drums. They have an album coming out on May 1st.
[Of God and Science's official site, record label, and Myspace page]
Barton Carroll -- Scorched Earth
Brushed drums and violin, melody in leg-irons, a quiet charm to a forlorn track: the kind of thing that reveals itself slowly, weary but determined, hurt but not bowed.
[Barton Carroll has more tracks up at his site and at his Myspace page. His Love & War is on Skybucket Records.]
Of God and Science, Barton Carroll
Of God and Science -- America's QueenFuzzed guitar, booming drums, singalong melody, banjo mixed low: this song is like a three-piece hemp suit, the fabric woven just rough enough to be distinctive but tidy enough to get you into a nice restaurant.
Of God and Science are from Albuquerque and are Matthew Dominguez on guitar and vocals, Jeremy Fine on bass, Julian Martinez on piano, guitar, pedal steel, vocals, and banjo, and Ryan Martino on drums. They have an album coming out on May 1st.
[Of God and Science's official site, record label, and Myspace page]
Barton Carroll -- Scorched Earth
Brushed drums and violin, melody in leg-irons, a quiet charm to a forlorn track: the kind of thing that reveals itself slowly, weary but determined, hurt but not bowed.
[Barton Carroll has more tracks up at his site and at his Myspace page. His Love & War is on Skybucket Records.]
Labels: folk rock, indie, PR, rock
posted by Tuwa @
00:02 | permalink |
0 comments
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Monday, March 05, 2007:
Lylas -- Tiny Echoes
It's possible that Lylas have more than a passing acquaintance with Alan Parker and that they most like Paul McCartney's work on the white album. It's also possible (always possible) that I'm wrong but that, even when you're tired and hungry and don't understand the lyrics, you can walk around in a relatively good mood humming this melody.
[Lylas' site]
[Lylas' Team Clermont page]
[Lylas @ Myspace]
Conner -- Cold Feelings
Conner were born at the intersection between danceable New Wave and artsy alt-rock, producing head-bobbing smile-making music that sounds like a summer road trip.
[Conner's site]
[Conner's Team Clermont page, with additional mp3s]
Candy Bars -- Violets
This song is dark and cold and beautiful, like a Polish winter landscape seen from indoors. If it were a film it would be Decalogue Eleven: make a joyful noise unto the Lord. In this film Candy Bars would strive for, and never reach, catharsis, the film's text implying that pain is perpetuated in its expression, its cultural context implying the reverse: the audience would experience catharsis, happy to have known about the pain but not lived it, able to turn off the television and go make a sandwich.
[Candy Bars seem not to have an official site or Team Clermont page.]
...
Team Clermont sent me these songs; I don't always remember to say who sent me what but I think I have labeled all the IODA/promonet, band-sent tracks, and other PR (or partly PR) posts here, in case anyone's interested.
I'm not always prompt about looking over tracks sent to me but I do try to give them all a chance; and I'm always happy to find new (or new-to-me) good music.
Lylas, Conner, Candy Bars
Got behind; now I'm playing catch-up. Here are three from the mail bag (more tomorrow):Lylas -- Tiny Echoes
It's possible that Lylas have more than a passing acquaintance with Alan Parker and that they most like Paul McCartney's work on the white album. It's also possible (always possible) that I'm wrong but that, even when you're tired and hungry and don't understand the lyrics, you can walk around in a relatively good mood humming this melody.
[Lylas' site]
[Lylas' Team Clermont page]
[Lylas @ Myspace]
Conner -- Cold Feelings
Conner were born at the intersection between danceable New Wave and artsy alt-rock, producing head-bobbing smile-making music that sounds like a summer road trip.
[Conner's site]
[Conner's Team Clermont page, with additional mp3s]
Candy Bars -- Violets
This song is dark and cold and beautiful, like a Polish winter landscape seen from indoors. If it were a film it would be Decalogue Eleven: make a joyful noise unto the Lord. In this film Candy Bars would strive for, and never reach, catharsis, the film's text implying that pain is perpetuated in its expression, its cultural context implying the reverse: the audience would experience catharsis, happy to have known about the pain but not lived it, able to turn off the television and go make a sandwich.
[Candy Bars seem not to have an official site or Team Clermont page.]
...
Team Clermont sent me these songs; I don't always remember to say who sent me what but I think I have labeled all the IODA/promonet, band-sent tracks, and other PR (or partly PR) posts here, in case anyone's interested.
I'm not always prompt about looking over tracks sent to me but I do try to give them all a chance; and I'm always happy to find new (or new-to-me) good music.
posted by Tuwa @
21:52 | permalink |
2 comments
|
Thursday, February 15, 2007:
The Machine of Death is an upcoming collection of fiction about a rather terse machine predicting how people will die. Ruby Isle have got their entry in early.
As the Machine of Death site says:
"I called my baby, said 'baby, the end is coming'; she said
'Na na na na na, na na na na na, naa naa naa naa, na na na na na.
'Na na na na na, na na na na na, naa naa naa naa, na na na na na.'"
Ruby Isle's narrator is distraught (this is a horrible time to die). Ruby Isle are not (this is a great time to party).
[Ruby Isle's MySpace page and Fanatic Promotion page]
Ruby Isle -- Atom Bomb
Ruby Isle -- Atom BombThe Machine of Death is an upcoming collection of fiction about a rather terse machine predicting how people will die. Ruby Isle have got their entry in early.
As the Machine of Death site says:
The realization that we could now know how we were going to die had changed the world: people became at once less fearful and more afraid. There's no reason not to go skydiving if you know your sliver of paper says "BURIED ALIVE". The realization that these predictions seemed to revel in turnabout and surprise put a damper on things. It made the predictions more sinister -- yes, if you were going to be buried alive you weren't going to be electrocuted in the bathtub, but what if in skydiving you landed in a gravel pit? What if you were buried alive not in dirt but in something else? And would being caught in a collapsing building count as being buried alive? For every possibility the machine closed, it seemed to open several more, with varying degrees of plausibility.Or, as Ruby Isle would have it,
"I called my baby, said 'baby, the end is coming'; she said
'Na na na na na, na na na na na, naa naa naa naa, na na na na na.
'Na na na na na, na na na na na, naa naa naa naa, na na na na na.'"
Ruby Isle's narrator is distraught (this is a horrible time to die). Ruby Isle are not (this is a great time to party).
[Ruby Isle's MySpace page and Fanatic Promotion page]
posted by Tuwa @
12:10 | permalink |
1 comments
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Wednesday, February 14, 2007:
Odawas -- Alleluia
Titles are treacherous things, conjuring up images of what they will, regardless of what songs they're affixed to. I suspect this one slipped away in the night and found itself a home more to its liking.
If it's a song of praise, I have either never properly heard praise or never recognized it. It's a song of spare beauty, of echoing in a cave, of "this is all I have, stop it, this is all I have." Perhaps it's a song of resignation, of guilty relief, of a friend's death after protracted and painful illness.
Odawas have a website and a myspace page and an album due out March 6.
...
A fascinating discussion on the general American acceptance of rape in prison and what it says about the psychology of people accepting it.
...
I've recently noticed people accessing the site through proxies skirting censorship. It's useful to remember that there are always more than one; and in some cases there seem to be networks of them. In any case, here are some additional tips on how to access banned sites (like blogspot.com and typepad.com) from within India, Pakistan, and China, (and presumably also Iran and many other countries) and some more tips on circumventing censorship.
Odawas -- Alleluia
Odawas -- Alleluia
Titles are treacherous things, conjuring up images of what they will, regardless of what songs they're affixed to. I suspect this one slipped away in the night and found itself a home more to its liking.
If it's a song of praise, I have either never properly heard praise or never recognized it. It's a song of spare beauty, of echoing in a cave, of "this is all I have, stop it, this is all I have." Perhaps it's a song of resignation, of guilty relief, of a friend's death after protracted and painful illness.
Odawas have a website and a myspace page and an album due out March 6.
...
A fascinating discussion on the general American acceptance of rape in prison and what it says about the psychology of people accepting it.
...
I've recently noticed people accessing the site through proxies skirting censorship. It's useful to remember that there are always more than one; and in some cases there seem to be networks of them. In any case, here are some additional tips on how to access banned sites (like blogspot.com and typepad.com) from within India, Pakistan, and China, (and presumably also Iran and many other countries) and some more tips on circumventing censorship.
posted by Tuwa @
19:55 | permalink |
4 comments
|
Wednesday, February 07, 2007:
[Jericho Beach Music @
iTunes Music Store, and @ 
eMusic]
IODA: Wailin' Jennys
The Wailin' Jennys -- Long Time Traveller[Jericho Beach Music @
iTunes Music Store, and @ eMusic]
posted by Tuwa @
10:40 | permalink |
0 comments
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Tuesday, January 30, 2007:
Schuman the Human -- Tow That Line
Schuman the Human is an alt-country band unafraid to experiment. On their debut they serve up a strange and wonderful mix of sounds, from the pop bluegrass "Klutz," to a banjo-accompanied children's singalong reinterpretatiing of the Northern Soul "Oh How Happy" to the lighter-tempting violin-and-backbeat "Dark Regrets."
"Tow the Line" is one I like for its reverberating guitar, elliptical vocals, let's-all-hold-hands protest, and hints of mournfulness giving way to joyous hoedown.
Schuman the Human are Mark Foster on guitar and banjo, Chili Gold on vocals, Mick Frangou on drums and Gordon Maguire on bass and keyboards. Their CD is on SVC Records, record label of Simon from the returned-from-hiatus Spoilt Victorian Child.
[Schuman The Human]
[Schuman the Human's MySpace page]
Also missed, and also returned: Tofu Hut.
Schuman the Human
Schuman the Human -- Tow That Line
Schuman the Human is an alt-country band unafraid to experiment. On their debut they serve up a strange and wonderful mix of sounds, from the pop bluegrass "Klutz," to a banjo-accompanied children's singalong reinterpretatiing of the Northern Soul "Oh How Happy" to the lighter-tempting violin-and-backbeat "Dark Regrets."
"Tow the Line" is one I like for its reverberating guitar, elliptical vocals, let's-all-hold-hands protest, and hints of mournfulness giving way to joyous hoedown.
Schuman the Human are Mark Foster on guitar and banjo, Chili Gold on vocals, Mick Frangou on drums and Gordon Maguire on bass and keyboards. Their CD is on SVC Records, record label of Simon from the returned-from-hiatus Spoilt Victorian Child.
[Schuman The Human]
[Schuman the Human's MySpace page]
Also missed, and also returned: Tofu Hut.
Labels: alt country, indie, PR
posted by Tuwa @
22:59 | permalink |
0 comments
|
Monday, October 23, 2006:
Allmusic.com tells me that Roscoe Shelton was in the Fairfield Four before joining the spinoff The Skylarks. I'd never heard of The Skylarks, though I'd heard of the Fairfield Four--I saw three of them in O Brother, Where Art Thou? (a Coen brothers joke, since there are five members in the group. Speaking of, the Radio Four also have five members. Is that some peculiar counting system specific to gospel groups?)
I can't help thinking The Skylarks were probably misnamed; Roscoe Shelton's voice, at least, is a trained falcon, snatching notes from the underbrush and soaring away until it's a speck in the sky.
Bloody writhing metaphors aside, this is a very nice soul track that I'm glad to be introduced to.
[Remember Me Baby @ iTunes]
[Remember Me Baby @ eMusic]
The African Brothers -- Practice what you preach (MP3, 192kbps. Left-cllick download.)
Righteous political reggae taking some preachers to task for being hypocrites and leading children astray. Can I hear "amen."
[Want Some Freedom @ iTunes]
[Want Some Freedom @ eMusic]
Embee -- Send Someone Away (feat. José Gonzáles) (MP3, 192kbps. Left-cllick download.)
Embee is the Tin Man and José González is the heart. The producer is the Wizard, one of the few who can magic warmth into electronica.
[EP @ iTunes]
Pierre Ardene -- Cristalina (MP3, 192kbps. Left-cllick download.)
This track has such a warm and effortlessly welcoming feel to it that it puts me in mind of an infinitely generous host with a cozy house, the kind of place that in your weaker moments you might wish you lived. But you know it's absurd; you can't overstay your welcome, so you just thank the host, and mean it, and go on your way.
[Casa de Praia @ iTunes]
[Casa de Praia @ eMusic]
These four are all from IODA/Promonet, the site I mentioned a couple of months ago that lets mp3bloggers poke through their catalogue for tracks to post.
I'm not getting kickbacks (or getting paid for anything I'm doing here); I just like the service more than most of the PR firms that send me tracks. For starters, I get to pick the tracks, rather than having them foisted upon me (most of the ones I get sent are ones I'd never have any interest in posting), and the site's interface is good: the embedded Flash players give a brief sample so you don't have to download an entire track just to find out if you like it.
Speaking of usability, I reworked this site's HTML and CSS recently so that the main column appears before the sidebar in the source but the visual layout is the same. The result should be that the posts appear before the sidebar on PDAs and cellphones, as well as in Lynx and text-to-speech browsers. I've also tried to simplify the site's CSS for handhelds but I notice that Google's and MSN's mobile proxy both serve up the images that the stylesheet instructs it to strip. I'm still trying to figure out why it's done that; I think I have an idea but don't know how to get around it.
I'm still debating whether to strip the sidebar altogether from the information sent to handhelds; if you have one and use it to access the site, I'd love your feedback on it. I probably wouldn't use all my fingers counting the number of times I've used a cell phone, but I'm interested in making the content as accessible as possible.
Even if you don't use a PDA or cellphone to access the site, if you've noticed any bugs in the layout or behavior, or if you have any other suggestions, please send them along.
And now for some politics. Keith Olberman on The Military Commissions Act and the death of habeas corpus. And again. The reaction to this law among the general population seems to have been a protracted yawn, and I can't imagine why. The points in brief: Congress has decided, and Bush has agreed, that people can be thrown into jail, without ever facing charges, and with no legal right to challenge their jailing. Since this new law states that people in jail under the law have no right to challenge their jailing in court, there is also arguably no standing to challenge the law's Constitutionality. Yet the new law goes against our entire history of legal precedent and also is blatantly un-Constitutional since it destroys the balance of power set forth in the Constitution, exceeding the legislative authority and the Presidential authority both also set forth in the Contstitution. It's a stupid, dangerous, reprehensible law, the kind of thing that absolutely must go before the Supreme Court anyway and be defeated.
End rant, climbing off the soapbox.
IODA , usability, habeas corpus
Roscoe Shelton -- Worry (1962) (MP3, 192kbps. Left-cllick download.)Allmusic.com tells me that Roscoe Shelton was in the Fairfield Four before joining the spinoff The Skylarks. I'd never heard of The Skylarks, though I'd heard of the Fairfield Four--I saw three of them in O Brother, Where Art Thou? (a Coen brothers joke, since there are five members in the group. Speaking of, the Radio Four also have five members. Is that some peculiar counting system specific to gospel groups?)
I can't help thinking The Skylarks were probably misnamed; Roscoe Shelton's voice, at least, is a trained falcon, snatching notes from the underbrush and soaring away until it's a speck in the sky.
Bloody writhing metaphors aside, this is a very nice soul track that I'm glad to be introduced to.
[Remember Me Baby @ iTunes]
[Remember Me Baby @ eMusic]
The African Brothers -- Practice what you preach (MP3, 192kbps. Left-cllick download.)
Righteous political reggae taking some preachers to task for being hypocrites and leading children astray. Can I hear "amen."
[Want Some Freedom @ iTunes]
[Want Some Freedom @ eMusic]
Embee -- Send Someone Away (feat. José Gonzáles) (MP3, 192kbps. Left-cllick download.)
Embee is the Tin Man and José González is the heart. The producer is the Wizard, one of the few who can magic warmth into electronica.
[EP @ iTunes]
Pierre Ardene -- Cristalina (MP3, 192kbps. Left-cllick download.)
This track has such a warm and effortlessly welcoming feel to it that it puts me in mind of an infinitely generous host with a cozy house, the kind of place that in your weaker moments you might wish you lived. But you know it's absurd; you can't overstay your welcome, so you just thank the host, and mean it, and go on your way.
[Casa de Praia @ iTunes]
[Casa de Praia @ eMusic]
These four are all from IODA/Promonet, the site I mentioned a couple of months ago that lets mp3bloggers poke through their catalogue for tracks to post.
I'm not getting kickbacks (or getting paid for anything I'm doing here); I just like the service more than most of the PR firms that send me tracks. For starters, I get to pick the tracks, rather than having them foisted upon me (most of the ones I get sent are ones I'd never have any interest in posting), and the site's interface is good: the embedded Flash players give a brief sample so you don't have to download an entire track just to find out if you like it.
Speaking of usability, I reworked this site's HTML and CSS recently so that the main column appears before the sidebar in the source but the visual layout is the same. The result should be that the posts appear before the sidebar on PDAs and cellphones, as well as in Lynx and text-to-speech browsers. I've also tried to simplify the site's CSS for handhelds but I notice that Google's and MSN's mobile proxy both serve up the images that the stylesheet instructs it to strip. I'm still trying to figure out why it's done that; I think I have an idea but don't know how to get around it.
I'm still debating whether to strip the sidebar altogether from the information sent to handhelds; if you have one and use it to access the site, I'd love your feedback on it. I probably wouldn't use all my fingers counting the number of times I've used a cell phone, but I'm interested in making the content as accessible as possible.
Even if you don't use a PDA or cellphone to access the site, if you've noticed any bugs in the layout or behavior, or if you have any other suggestions, please send them along.
And now for some politics. Keith Olberman on The Military Commissions Act and the death of habeas corpus. And again. The reaction to this law among the general population seems to have been a protracted yawn, and I can't imagine why. The points in brief: Congress has decided, and Bush has agreed, that people can be thrown into jail, without ever facing charges, and with no legal right to challenge their jailing. Since this new law states that people in jail under the law have no right to challenge their jailing in court, there is also arguably no standing to challenge the law's Constitutionality. Yet the new law goes against our entire history of legal precedent and also is blatantly un-Constitutional since it destroys the balance of power set forth in the Constitution, exceeding the legislative authority and the Presidential authority both also set forth in the Contstitution. It's a stupid, dangerous, reprehensible law, the kind of thing that absolutely must go before the Supreme Court anyway and be defeated.
End rant, climbing off the soapbox.
Labels: electronica, politics, PR, reggae, RnB, world pop
posted by Tuwa @
01:36 | permalink |
0 comments
|
Thursday, August 17, 2006:
The Big Three Trio -- Till The Day I Die (MP3, 192kbps)
This is an early R&B group put together by Willie Dixon. I like the song for the background vocals, the alternating leads, and the anachronistic melody. The piano doesn't hurt either--it's very simple, because sometimes simple is perfect and complicated is not.
[The Best Of Delta Records @ eMusic]
Spot Barnett & Friends -- Fence Walk
Latin soul/funk that tiptoed out of the 1960s all the way to 2006. You'd think that after a walk that long it must be tired, but no. It wants to stay up all night and plan heists. It has the suit, it has the fedora, it has the unfiltered cigarettes and strike-anywhere matches.
[Soul Diggin' @ eMusic.com]
Innerstance.Beatbox -- Helium Disco
Turntables, thick distorted bass, RJD2's soundbanks, a modem connecting, and a whimsical arrangement with looped lyrics encouraging you to dance. What can I say? The song bakes a pineapple-carrot cake and gives it a cream cheese frosting. Who can argue with that? Why would they want to?
[Your Eyes Are Like UFOs My Darling @ iTunes]
IODA || Yoda eta pi
Three tracks today from IODA/promonet, a new service to promote independent musicians, allowing use of certain mp3s on mp3blogs and in podcasts. I poked around a bit, found some things I liked, look forward to returning in a few weeks to see how the selection has expanded....The Big Three Trio -- Till The Day I Die (MP3, 192kbps)
This is an early R&B group put together by Willie Dixon. I like the song for the background vocals, the alternating leads, and the anachronistic melody. The piano doesn't hurt either--it's very simple, because sometimes simple is perfect and complicated is not.
[The Best Of Delta Records @ eMusic]
Spot Barnett & Friends -- Fence Walk
Latin soul/funk that tiptoed out of the 1960s all the way to 2006. You'd think that after a walk that long it must be tired, but no. It wants to stay up all night and plan heists. It has the suit, it has the fedora, it has the unfiltered cigarettes and strike-anywhere matches.
[Soul Diggin' @ eMusic.com]
Innerstance.Beatbox -- Helium Disco
Turntables, thick distorted bass, RJD2's soundbanks, a modem connecting, and a whimsical arrangement with looped lyrics encouraging you to dance. What can I say? The song bakes a pineapple-carrot cake and gives it a cream cheese frosting. Who can argue with that? Why would they want to?
[Your Eyes Are Like UFOs My Darling @ iTunes]
Labels: electronica, funk, PR, RnB
posted by Tuwa @
15:35 | permalink |
2 comments
|
Sunday, August 13, 2006:
Far be it from me to say someone was doing miracles by halves, but it's written that Jesus turned water into wine yet there's no record of him healing anyone's hangover. Chevy Downs wants to set that straight. They want to set that straight with a bluegrass stomp, because Jesus is a sucker for catchy music, especially if it makes him tap his foot in a steady two-four beat underlying some fancy fretwork.
[Chevy Downs' site]
Tremendous Fucking -- Every Fucking Time I Believed In You
This song sounded somehow familiar when I first heard it, so of course I had to grep the hard drive to see if it had been posted as part of John's "Fuck" mix (starting here and going through the next four posts). Apparently not. The song is a cross between The Pixies and being thumped by the Hulk. And there's someone else it reminds me of, but I can't place it.
[TremFu's site]
Both of these tracks are releases from Musical Family Tree, which focuses on indie music in Indiana. Their CD release Delicious Berries is ace, but neither of these tracks are on it. (Highlights on the disc include Heidi Gluck's "Wake Up,"Brando's "Your Nelson Now," and Emperor Penguin's "Overboogie," but there's enough diversity on the disc that everyone will probably have different favorites.
Musical Family Tree
Chevy Downs -- Jesus, Heal My HangoverFar be it from me to say someone was doing miracles by halves, but it's written that Jesus turned water into wine yet there's no record of him healing anyone's hangover. Chevy Downs wants to set that straight. They want to set that straight with a bluegrass stomp, because Jesus is a sucker for catchy music, especially if it makes him tap his foot in a steady two-four beat underlying some fancy fretwork.
[Chevy Downs' site]
Tremendous Fucking -- Every Fucking Time I Believed In You
This song sounded somehow familiar when I first heard it, so of course I had to grep the hard drive to see if it had been posted as part of John's "Fuck" mix (starting here and going through the next four posts). Apparently not. The song is a cross between The Pixies and being thumped by the Hulk. And there's someone else it reminds me of, but I can't place it.
[TremFu's site]
Both of these tracks are releases from Musical Family Tree, which focuses on indie music in Indiana. Their CD release Delicious Berries is ace, but neither of these tracks are on it. (Highlights on the disc include Heidi Gluck's "Wake Up,"Brando's "Your Nelson Now," and Emperor Penguin's "Overboogie," but there's enough diversity on the disc that everyone will probably have different favorites.
Labels: country music, PR, rock
posted by Tuwa @
00:27 | permalink |
0 comments
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Monday, July 17, 2006:
Here's Syl Johnson with a song about living in the ghetto. This isn't the maudlin Mac Davis ghetto, and Syl Johnson isn't most interested in mamas crying because they had a baby; he's more interested in mamas crying because they lost a baby, in couples fighting becaue they're jealous, and in people burning to death because there's no back door on the apartments. The vocals are, appropriately, not mournful but full of a simmering rage; the guitar snaps, the strings stab, the lyrics sting:
Here in the ghetto, it's a bad situation / Call it what you want to; it's just a concrete reservation.
Johnson's also known for his track "Is It Because I'm Black?" which I have by Johnson only in a version that drags on a bit too long for my interest, though Ken Boothe also recorded an impressive version of it.
"Concrete Reservation" is off Is It Because I'm Black?, which is also available in a pricy re-release with Dresses Too Short; or you can pick it up on the greatest hits comp Twilight and Twinight.
...
More HiFi finds: "I Am a Demon and Will Swallow Your Soul," "Olivia," and "Ocean Bottom," another track from The Scarring Party. It's my favorite song about writer's block at the bottom of the ocean with percussion by a typewriter.
...
Monday last week I got a promotional email for an indie rock band--not at all uncommon for an mp3blog--but the music was good, which is somewhat less common. Gentleman Caller's track "Bomb the Castle" seemed likely to be an A-B-A-B-C construction with chunky distorted guitar on the bridge, with people screaming into the mic, and it wasn't, and I liked it for it. They have other tracks up, mostly with a dreamy pop-rock vibe with countryish vocal stylings. They self-compare to Okkervil River and Rilo Kiley.
...
Secretly Canadian sent me an email about a new release from Jason Molina, and I enjoyed the track there for download, and so I'm passing it along.
...
Vindaloo, the fight song, and the response: a writer's fight song. 99/100 for that, -1 for failure to include "B.I.C."
Syl Johnson -- Concrete Reservation
Syl Johnson -- Concrete ReservationHere's Syl Johnson with a song about living in the ghetto. This isn't the maudlin Mac Davis ghetto, and Syl Johnson isn't most interested in mamas crying because they had a baby; he's more interested in mamas crying because they lost a baby, in couples fighting becaue they're jealous, and in people burning to death because there's no back door on the apartments. The vocals are, appropriately, not mournful but full of a simmering rage; the guitar snaps, the strings stab, the lyrics sting:
Here in the ghetto, it's a bad situation / Call it what you want to; it's just a concrete reservation.
Johnson's also known for his track "Is It Because I'm Black?" which I have by Johnson only in a version that drags on a bit too long for my interest, though Ken Boothe also recorded an impressive version of it.
"Concrete Reservation" is off Is It Because I'm Black?, which is also available in a pricy re-release with Dresses Too Short; or you can pick it up on the greatest hits comp Twilight and Twinight.
...
More HiFi finds: "I Am a Demon and Will Swallow Your Soul," "Olivia," and "Ocean Bottom," another track from The Scarring Party. It's my favorite song about writer's block at the bottom of the ocean with percussion by a typewriter.
...
Monday last week I got a promotional email for an indie rock band--not at all uncommon for an mp3blog--but the music was good, which is somewhat less common. Gentleman Caller's track "Bomb the Castle" seemed likely to be an A-B-A-B-C construction with chunky distorted guitar on the bridge, with people screaming into the mic, and it wasn't, and I liked it for it. They have other tracks up, mostly with a dreamy pop-rock vibe with countryish vocal stylings. They self-compare to Okkervil River and Rilo Kiley.
...
Secretly Canadian sent me an email about a new release from Jason Molina, and I enjoyed the track there for download, and so I'm passing it along.
...
Vindaloo, the fight song, and the response: a writer's fight song. 99/100 for that, -1 for failure to include "B.I.C."
Labels: dance, indie, pop, PR, RnB, rock
posted by Tuwa @
21:16 | permalink |
0 comments
|
Wednesday, January 25, 2006:
Here's a bit of sunshiney easy-going funky R&B certain to put a grin on yer mug. The Doobies wrote it, sure; but I think it's better here, without the thick glasses and the bowtie. (Thanks, Andy, for the correction--you're right; I had it backwards.)
This track is from the 3+3 incarnation of the Isley Brothers; it isn't rare at all, but it is great.
[Isley Brothers -- 3 + 3 @ amazon.com]
Team Clermont (a PR firm) sends me a fair amount of emails promoting various bands (sometimes promoting the same bands and songs they've been promoting, and sometimes promoting something not previously mentioned) (but at least they're not sending links to e-cards with the songs embedded, a sure-fire way to have their songs not listened to). Some of Team Clermont's bands are absolutely not my cup of tea, but there have been things I've liked in what they've sent:
Meredith Bragg and The Terminals -- Work and Winter
"Work and Winter" is a folkish pop tune: acoustic guitars, an occasional triangle, keyboards in the background, stuttering drums accenting the song's angularity, all of it smoothed over with that vocal melody like mannah from heaven.
Jeff Merchant -- Landlord Song
"Landlord Song" finds the narrator living in a dive and trying to make light of it; the flutes, the easy open melodies, and the gently drifting pace help give the song a falsely bucolic feel.
Jeff Merchant's myspace page.
...
I took part in the Metafilter swap at the end of last year. So far I've received three of the five mixes and they've been uniformly excellent; if everyone else is as happy with what I sent as I am with what they sent, then they're very happy indeed.
...
Neil Gaiman points to a bad agent. I point there too: it's a good read. You couldn't make this stuff up (or, if you did, people would say it's too absurd to be good fiction; no one would believe it).
Isley Brothers -- Listen to the Music
Isley Brothers -- Listen to the MusicHere's a bit of sunshiney easy-going funky R&B certain to put a grin on yer mug. The Doobies wrote it, sure; but I think it's better here, without the thick glasses and the bowtie. (Thanks, Andy, for the correction--you're right; I had it backwards.)
This track is from the 3+3 incarnation of the Isley Brothers; it isn't rare at all, but it is great.
[Isley Brothers -- 3 + 3 @ amazon.com]
Team Clermont (a PR firm) sends me a fair amount of emails promoting various bands (sometimes promoting the same bands and songs they've been promoting, and sometimes promoting something not previously mentioned) (but at least they're not sending links to e-cards with the songs embedded, a sure-fire way to have their songs not listened to). Some of Team Clermont's bands are absolutely not my cup of tea, but there have been things I've liked in what they've sent:
Meredith Bragg and The Terminals -- Work and Winter
"Work and Winter" is a folkish pop tune: acoustic guitars, an occasional triangle, keyboards in the background, stuttering drums accenting the song's angularity, all of it smoothed over with that vocal melody like mannah from heaven.
Jeff Merchant -- Landlord Song
"Landlord Song" finds the narrator living in a dive and trying to make light of it; the flutes, the easy open melodies, and the gently drifting pace help give the song a falsely bucolic feel.
Jeff Merchant's myspace page.
...
I took part in the Metafilter swap at the end of last year. So far I've received three of the five mixes and they've been uniformly excellent; if everyone else is as happy with what I sent as I am with what they sent, then they're very happy indeed.
...
Neil Gaiman points to a bad agent. I point there too: it's a good read. You couldn't make this stuff up (or, if you did, people would say it's too absurd to be good fiction; no one would believe it).
posted by Tuwa @
12:53 | permalink |
6 comments
|
Wednesday, November 30, 2005:
This song is like an overnight drive back to your loved ones, sunrise glinting through the trees. You're tired but you can't stop, and besides, you've had too much coffee to sleep. So you drive on and stop occasionally to get out and walk around and bring some feeling back into your legs. In the car you pound on the steering wheel in time, looking out at all the mostly-empty streets; you pound on the steering wheel and sing along, poorly, loudly, because it makes the time go faster. In your neighborhood you watch the people stepping out bleary-eyed and bathrobed to collect the paper, and then it's one turn more and you've arrived and parked and let yourself in. Your family is up already and it's big hugs all around and a home-cooked breakfast. And then suddenly you are tired, and once things quiet down a bit you sit talking and find yourself dozing, perfectly at peace, and sprawl out on the couch and someone comes up and puts the blankets over you.
Why do the stars jump side to side? I don't know, but they do. They do.
[seems Ian Love has no website.]
Listing Ship -- Chinese Song
This one's like the next day--or is it the next season?--raking leaves, baking pumpkin pie, sipping apple cider. The song's got a cloistered warmth to it, a sort of autumnal peacefulness in the strings that's belied by the lyrics.
I love the crazy instrumentation--what's that, bass, woodblocks, violin, theremin? Is it? Works for me. Folkadelic.
[Listing Ship's site]
...
I got these two in a PR email yesterday from Team Clermont Publicity. Pleasant surprises....
There are other emails I've read but not yet followed through on, and still others that I've downloaded and liked and for some reason not yet posted. There's really no rhyme or reason to it. I'm sorry.
Ian Love and Listing Ship
Ian Love -- The Only NightThis song is like an overnight drive back to your loved ones, sunrise glinting through the trees. You're tired but you can't stop, and besides, you've had too much coffee to sleep. So you drive on and stop occasionally to get out and walk around and bring some feeling back into your legs. In the car you pound on the steering wheel in time, looking out at all the mostly-empty streets; you pound on the steering wheel and sing along, poorly, loudly, because it makes the time go faster. In your neighborhood you watch the people stepping out bleary-eyed and bathrobed to collect the paper, and then it's one turn more and you've arrived and parked and let yourself in. Your family is up already and it's big hugs all around and a home-cooked breakfast. And then suddenly you are tired, and once things quiet down a bit you sit talking and find yourself dozing, perfectly at peace, and sprawl out on the couch and someone comes up and puts the blankets over you.
Why do the stars jump side to side? I don't know, but they do. They do.
[seems Ian Love has no website.]
Listing Ship -- Chinese Song
This one's like the next day--or is it the next season?--raking leaves, baking pumpkin pie, sipping apple cider. The song's got a cloistered warmth to it, a sort of autumnal peacefulness in the strings that's belied by the lyrics.
I love the crazy instrumentation--what's that, bass, woodblocks, violin, theremin? Is it? Works for me. Folkadelic.
[Listing Ship's site]
...
I got these two in a PR email yesterday from Team Clermont Publicity. Pleasant surprises....
There are other emails I've read but not yet followed through on, and still others that I've downloaded and liked and for some reason not yet posted. There's really no rhyme or reason to it. I'm sorry.
posted by Tuwa @
02:17 | permalink |
8 comments
|
Monday, November 07, 2005:
After months of humidity and stultifying heat, we had two days of fall--chilly mornings and brisk breezes--and then it snapped back into good weather for shorts and sandals. If Florida were a person it would be not be a Buddhist: it's quite attached to summer and stands terrified at the prospect of anything else: "what would it be like, this ... 'coldness' thing of which you speak? Sort of a humid heat, only ... without hurricanes? No? Oh. So ... sort of a humid heat, only ... less hot?"
Tom Paxton -- Bottle of Wine
Tom Paxton kicks us off with a very springy sort of song: picked guitar ringing out "life-fun-everything great," with lyrics that it would be easy to sing along to without paying much attention to: "Bottle of wine, fruit of the vine, when you gonna let me get sober? / Let me alone, let me go home, let me go back and start over." Tricksy, that: a cheerful-sounding song about a drinking problem.
Paxton has a strong voice--confident but not overpowering, giving just enough and not a bit too much. His work ranges from the bitterly satiric to the plaintive to the mellow and accepting. He started performing in the 1960s, often focusing on political themes (some of which, like "Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation," are more specific than universal; others, like "Daily News" or "What Did You Learn in School Today?," still have a clear relevance). Paxton is still performing, still releasing new albums.
Tom Paxton's site;
I Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound @ amazon.com;
Karamelo Santo -- Fruta Amarga
Sylvie from Delanuca Records wrote some time back introducing me to Karamelo Santo, an Argentinean ska-punk band. "Fruto Amargo" is a Rubén Blades cover: stuttering funky bassline, horn section, slightly distorted rubber-wristed electric guitar, and a melody that telegraphs high noon, barbecues, volleyball on the beach. Good times.
Karamelo Santo's site;
Delanuca Records, which has a downloads section under "media/press";
Sylvie's blog;
Soft -- Higher
The rock band Soft, based in Brooklyn, wrote me a few days ago mentioning that their EP would be released soon. They have a good sense of composition and arrangement--when to add things, drop them out, bring them back--and a great sense of melody; I bet they put on good shows. I posted their track "You Make Me Wanna Die" about a year ago and I was glad to hear from them again.
The band Soft;
The Soft EP @ insound.com;
Pet Politics -- In My Head
Magnus from Pet Politics emailed me in late August; we swapped a couple of emails and then the conversation fell off. He had a round of postings in September but here he is again in case you missed him. Pet Politics is one of those "bands" that's just one person: that's Magnus arranging drums, playing guitar, singing. His music has sort of a wintry quality to it that I like quite a lot: it's like sitting in watching a film, cozy in your pile of blankets, cold creeping in around the curtains. There's something about the melodies he comes up with that's somehow both new and immediately familiar; it gives his sound a sense of nostalgia and oddness at the same time.
The Pet Politics site, with another mp3 up for download;
Calvanes -- Buzz Buzz Buzz
The Calvanes are a doo-wop group that cut a few sides in the 1950s and never put together a full album before 2001. In Harmony has some great tracks on it, especially this one, their Leiber/Stoller cover "Smokey Joe's Cafe," and their lead-off track "Travellin' Stranger". This one's exuberant, catchy, with an open love and a contagious joy broadcasting sunrise, dewy grass, tweeting birds, green twigs, flowers in bloom.
In Harmony @ amazon.com.
Tom Paxton, Karamelo Santo, Soft, Pet Politics, Calvanes
After months of humidity and stultifying heat, we had two days of fall--chilly mornings and brisk breezes--and then it snapped back into good weather for shorts and sandals. If Florida were a person it would be not be a Buddhist: it's quite attached to summer and stands terrified at the prospect of anything else: "what would it be like, this ... 'coldness' thing of which you speak? Sort of a humid heat, only ... without hurricanes? No? Oh. So ... sort of a humid heat, only ... less hot?"
Tom Paxton -- Bottle of Wine
Tom Paxton kicks us off with a very springy sort of song: picked guitar ringing out "life-fun-everything great," with lyrics that it would be easy to sing along to without paying much attention to: "Bottle of wine, fruit of the vine, when you gonna let me get sober? / Let me alone, let me go home, let me go back and start over." Tricksy, that: a cheerful-sounding song about a drinking problem.
Paxton has a strong voice--confident but not overpowering, giving just enough and not a bit too much. His work ranges from the bitterly satiric to the plaintive to the mellow and accepting. He started performing in the 1960s, often focusing on political themes (some of which, like "Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation," are more specific than universal; others, like "Daily News" or "What Did You Learn in School Today?," still have a clear relevance). Paxton is still performing, still releasing new albums.
Tom Paxton's site;
I Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound @ amazon.com;
Karamelo Santo -- Fruta Amarga
Sylvie from Delanuca Records wrote some time back introducing me to Karamelo Santo, an Argentinean ska-punk band. "Fruto Amargo" is a Rubén Blades cover: stuttering funky bassline, horn section, slightly distorted rubber-wristed electric guitar, and a melody that telegraphs high noon, barbecues, volleyball on the beach. Good times.
Karamelo Santo's site;
Delanuca Records, which has a downloads section under "media/press";
Sylvie's blog;
Soft -- Higher
The rock band Soft, based in Brooklyn, wrote me a few days ago mentioning that their EP would be released soon. They have a good sense of composition and arrangement--when to add things, drop them out, bring them back--and a great sense of melody; I bet they put on good shows. I posted their track "You Make Me Wanna Die" about a year ago and I was glad to hear from them again.
The band Soft;
The Soft EP @ insound.com;
Pet Politics -- In My Head
Magnus from Pet Politics emailed me in late August; we swapped a couple of emails and then the conversation fell off. He had a round of postings in September but here he is again in case you missed him. Pet Politics is one of those "bands" that's just one person: that's Magnus arranging drums, playing guitar, singing. His music has sort of a wintry quality to it that I like quite a lot: it's like sitting in watching a film, cozy in your pile of blankets, cold creeping in around the curtains. There's something about the melodies he comes up with that's somehow both new and immediately familiar; it gives his sound a sense of nostalgia and oddness at the same time.
The Pet Politics site, with another mp3 up for download;
Calvanes -- Buzz Buzz Buzz
The Calvanes are a doo-wop group that cut a few sides in the 1950s and never put together a full album before 2001. In Harmony has some great tracks on it, especially this one, their Leiber/Stoller cover "Smokey Joe's Cafe," and their lead-off track "Travellin' Stranger". This one's exuberant, catchy, with an open love and a contagious joy broadcasting sunrise, dewy grass, tweeting birds, green twigs, flowers in bloom.
In Harmony @ amazon.com.
Labels: doo wop, folk, pop, PR, punk, rock
posted by Tuwa @
09:54 | permalink |
5 comments
|
Wednesday, November 02, 2005:
Walter Meego -- Usually
Sometimes you get an email that makes it feel like Christmas. Sometimes that email comes from Walter Meego.
Said email might start off like this: "Hello. Will you listen to this track?" (which, if you're me, prompts the mental response "I don't know. Maybe. Keep going"), and might follow that up with a mention that the song will be released soon and that if I like it I can post it. Direct and to the point. So I go to the URL and download it and give it a listen. It starts off with some fragile percussion, an approaching warbling noise, a rumble of conversation, and what sounds like a young Jimmy Stewart (is that right? I can't place the dialogue)--then up with the distorted guitar, the bouncy drumbeat, the delirious horns. At 1:25, the filtered vocals: a feel of old-school jazz (think 1930s and 40s) melded with electronica and shoved out onto the dancefloor.
Walter Meego is (or "are," depending on your location) a band consisting of Justin Sconza, Colin Yarck, and Jarrett Spiegel. Davis Jones (the band's manager) tells me their press agent describes the song as "about yearning, about brand new love and butterflies in stomachs," which is a better description than I'd had, so I'll thank them and lift it shamelessly. The band has had some press already (coverage on German radio) though I can't work out from their "news" page where they are or are from ("Chicago," says their Myspace page. Also, "We're a three-headed monster of musical mayhem. We're a freakish, axe-slaying, beat-crushing pack of disco ninjas.")
The Walter Meego website has an acoustic version of the track offered (ripe for additional remixes? I think so) as well as other tracks for download. It's a well-designed site and, thankfully, it's too damn sensible to use Flash for everything. No. It is like that email: simple, direct, and clear.
Walter Meego's Myspace page
...
Then, sometimes, you get an email that you don't know what to do with.
I've been informed by someone who works for a PR firm that I am a "reputable influencer"; following through to the link in the sig I see that the firm is looking to start "grassroots marketing," claiming it places products in the "hands of influential tastemakers and trendsetters" and "develops and manages groups of 'Brand Loyalists' that become micro-marketing armies."
All of which gives me roughly the same feeling you might have when eyeing the dinner meat just after watching Leolo or reading Portnoy's Complaint. Which is to say, an instinctual revulsion. I'm not sure I'm a tastemaker, or a "reputable influencer" (or, for that matter, a reputable anything), but this PR firm thinks so, and wants my help, and after pondering it a bit I decided I shouldn't shoot the messenger for the delivery. The DVD they want mentioned looked cool, so I'll mention it. I've often enough been in a situation where I didn't understand all the social conventions, so I shouldn't hold it against anyone else when it happens to them.
I've emailed some other musicbloggers to get their take on it and there are a range of reactions, from the gently amused to the purely pragmatic, but one reaction that I didn't see was an agreement with the PR firms that we are or should be "tastemakers." If anything, I think people like what they like and sometimes just haven't yet been exposed to. I remember the first time I heard Sister Rosetta Tharpe, A Band of Bees, DJ Shadow, The 5.6.7.8's (and, earlier, The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Cure....) Some bands take warming up to; others you like immediately. No one made you do it; if anything, it was a pleasure to find something new, something that hadn't been dumped out of a can and heated until it was lukewarm.
Where I am, at least, Clear Channel is the tastemaker--lukewarm canned spinach, day in, day out, then the music industry wants to act surprised when people say something like "damn! but I'm sick of lukewarm canned spinach." For someone who loves music, starting a musicblog is only the natural response to boring redundant monolithic programming. If it's the carrot and the stick, fine, so be it, and if I've got the carrot, that's because Clear Channel chose the stick.
I think we musicbloggers mostly just post what we like, and if others like it too we're always stoked about it, but sometimes there's not any response, which can leave you wondering if anyone gives a damn. Of all the musicbloggers I know, I think John Seroff consistently gets the most comments, and that's because he posts questions each time. Even a huge site like Said the Gramophone will sometimes get only a few comments. That's a microscopic percentage of their visitors, so it's hard to know what anyone thinks--silence could mean any number of things. We all love comments; we sometimes ask for them, or write about them, or pose questions to provoke them, but for the most part they don't happen. Which, coupled with just doing what we love anyway, even if it doesn't get a response, gives rather a different impression from that of a PR firm telling us how important we are.
Which brings me back to the uneasy feeling, the instinctual revulsion, the uncertainty how to respond. I won't speak for all musicbloggers because I'm only one of them, but I'm posting here because I love music. The songs might be ones I've known for decades and ripped from an LP that's out of print; they might be digitized from a movie playing on the VCR; they might be from an email I got early this morning. The source is entirely incidental to the music, and if any certain product goes up amazon's rankings, that's great, but it's not my primary concern. I'm happy to help out musicians who put out music I like, but first and foremost I need to like it. Which is by way of saying, for me at least, flattery is not required. Show me something cool instead.
As for the "marketing armies," if I wanted to be part of someone's "army" I would have, well, joined the Army, and I'm fairly certain that I'd rather be spoken to plainly than to be eyed like a pawn on a chessboard.
...
In [cough, cough] completely unrelated news, The Concert for Bangladesh DVD (the celebrity musician concert held in the early 1970s with George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Ravi Shankar, Klaus Voorman(!), and Billy Preston) has been re-released. There's the older release with some details in amazon.com's catalog about features and then a new deluxe edition which I would assume has more features than the earlier version, though there's no evidence of it in the item description.
Walter Meego -- Usually. and reputable influencers
Walter Meego -- Usually
Sometimes you get an email that makes it feel like Christmas. Sometimes that email comes from Walter Meego.
Said email might start off like this: "Hello. Will you listen to this track?" (which, if you're me, prompts the mental response "I don't know. Maybe. Keep going"), and might follow that up with a mention that the song will be released soon and that if I like it I can post it. Direct and to the point. So I go to the URL and download it and give it a listen. It starts off with some fragile percussion, an approaching warbling noise, a rumble of conversation, and what sounds like a young Jimmy Stewart (is that right? I can't place the dialogue)--then up with the distorted guitar, the bouncy drumbeat, the delirious horns. At 1:25, the filtered vocals: a feel of old-school jazz (think 1930s and 40s) melded with electronica and shoved out onto the dancefloor.
Walter Meego is (or "are," depending on your location) a band consisting of Justin Sconza, Colin Yarck, and Jarrett Spiegel. Davis Jones (the band's manager) tells me their press agent describes the song as "about yearning, about brand new love and butterflies in stomachs," which is a better description than I'd had, so I'll thank them and lift it shamelessly. The band has had some press already (coverage on German radio) though I can't work out from their "news" page where they are or are from ("Chicago," says their Myspace page. Also, "We're a three-headed monster of musical mayhem. We're a freakish, axe-slaying, beat-crushing pack of disco ninjas.")
The Walter Meego website has an acoustic version of the track offered (ripe for additional remixes? I think so) as well as other tracks for download. It's a well-designed site and, thankfully, it's too damn sensible to use Flash for everything. No. It is like that email: simple, direct, and clear.
Walter Meego's Myspace page
...
Then, sometimes, you get an email that you don't know what to do with.
I've been informed by someone who works for a PR firm that I am a "reputable influencer"; following through to the link in the sig I see that the firm is looking to start "grassroots marketing," claiming it places products in the "hands of influential tastemakers and trendsetters" and "develops and manages groups of 'Brand Loyalists' that become micro-marketing armies."
All of which gives me roughly the same feeling you might have when eyeing the dinner meat just after watching Leolo or reading Portnoy's Complaint. Which is to say, an instinctual revulsion. I'm not sure I'm a tastemaker, or a "reputable influencer" (or, for that matter, a reputable anything), but this PR firm thinks so, and wants my help, and after pondering it a bit I decided I shouldn't shoot the messenger for the delivery. The DVD they want mentioned looked cool, so I'll mention it. I've often enough been in a situation where I didn't understand all the social conventions, so I shouldn't hold it against anyone else when it happens to them.
I've emailed some other musicbloggers to get their take on it and there are a range of reactions, from the gently amused to the purely pragmatic, but one reaction that I didn't see was an agreement with the PR firms that we are or should be "tastemakers." If anything, I think people like what they like and sometimes just haven't yet been exposed to. I remember the first time I heard Sister Rosetta Tharpe, A Band of Bees, DJ Shadow, The 5.6.7.8's (and, earlier, The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Cure....) Some bands take warming up to; others you like immediately. No one made you do it; if anything, it was a pleasure to find something new, something that hadn't been dumped out of a can and heated until it was lukewarm.
Where I am, at least, Clear Channel is the tastemaker--lukewarm canned spinach, day in, day out, then the music industry wants to act surprised when people say something like "damn! but I'm sick of lukewarm canned spinach." For someone who loves music, starting a musicblog is only the natural response to boring redundant monolithic programming. If it's the carrot and the stick, fine, so be it, and if I've got the carrot, that's because Clear Channel chose the stick.
I think we musicbloggers mostly just post what we like, and if others like it too we're always stoked about it, but sometimes there's not any response, which can leave you wondering if anyone gives a damn. Of all the musicbloggers I know, I think John Seroff consistently gets the most comments, and that's because he posts questions each time. Even a huge site like Said the Gramophone will sometimes get only a few comments. That's a microscopic percentage of their visitors, so it's hard to know what anyone thinks--silence could mean any number of things. We all love comments; we sometimes ask for them, or write about them, or pose questions to provoke them, but for the most part they don't happen. Which, coupled with just doing what we love anyway, even if it doesn't get a response, gives rather a different impression from that of a PR firm telling us how important we are.
Which brings me back to the uneasy feeling, the instinctual revulsion, the uncertainty how to respond. I won't speak for all musicbloggers because I'm only one of them, but I'm posting here because I love music. The songs might be ones I've known for decades and ripped from an LP that's out of print; they might be digitized from a movie playing on the VCR; they might be from an email I got early this morning. The source is entirely incidental to the music, and if any certain product goes up amazon's rankings, that's great, but it's not my primary concern. I'm happy to help out musicians who put out music I like, but first and foremost I need to like it. Which is by way of saying, for me at least, flattery is not required. Show me something cool instead.
As for the "marketing armies," if I wanted to be part of someone's "army" I would have, well, joined the Army, and I'm fairly certain that I'd rather be spoken to plainly than to be eyed like a pawn on a chessboard.
...
In [cough, cough] completely unrelated news, The Concert for Bangladesh DVD (the celebrity musician concert held in the early 1970s with George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Ravi Shankar, Klaus Voorman(!), and Billy Preston) has been re-released. There's the older release with some details in amazon.com's catalog about features and then a new deluxe edition which I would assume has more features than the earlier version, though there's no evidence of it in the item description.
Labels: electronica, indie, personal, PR
posted by Tuwa @
11:57 | permalink |
6 comments
|
Sunday, August 07, 2005:
Horace X -- Strategy
So you're hanging out at the park when an Irish Setter comes up and sniffs your shins and your shoes. He licks your hand when you go to pet it, lets himself get scratched behind the ears, then runs off and comes back with a ball that he drops at your feet. He looks up at you, smiling, panting, eyebrows raised, then nuzzles the ball forward a bit. You pick it up and give it a good toss and he sprints after it: over a slight rise and across the park, and then he's back in a flash, scrambling to a stop just in front of you. He drops the ball at your feet and looks up, panting, smiling, eyebrows raised. He waits a beat and then nuzzles the ball forward.
A couple dozen tosses later you're wondering whether the dog will get tired before you do.
The Irish Setter is Horace X's music. The ball is the CD. You keep giving it a spin. You've been listening to it all day; you are, finally, beginning to tire of it; you think that maybe you should stop but the fun is just too contagious.
Horace X are a UK band mixing reggae, toasting, funky bumping slapping basslines, saxophones, fiddles (lovely, lovely fiddles), violas, some well-placed dub touches, and more kinetic energy than explodes out of a cannon. And, as I've said, they're a hell of a lot of fun.
"Strategy" is the title track from Horace X's recent EP; it's one of the slower songs on the disc. Other slap-happy bits of wonderfulness on it are "Puppet Show," "A Tune For Valerie," and "First Love" (which is available on the site for download).
Drew Miller at Omnium Records was kind enough to send me the CD twice--not because I wanted one for my best friend, though I do, but because I'd just returned from a longish trip and sent him the wrong address. I never did get the first one he sent, though I imagine someone at the dead letter office is very happy indeed.
Omnium Records, Horace X's label.
Strategy page at Omnium Records, with the hyperkinetic first track up for download.
Reviews and ordering
Horace X
Horace X -- Strategy
So you're hanging out at the park when an Irish Setter comes up and sniffs your shins and your shoes. He licks your hand when you go to pet it, lets himself get scratched behind the ears, then runs off and comes back with a ball that he drops at your feet. He looks up at you, smiling, panting, eyebrows raised, then nuzzles the ball forward a bit. You pick it up and give it a good toss and he sprints after it: over a slight rise and across the park, and then he's back in a flash, scrambling to a stop just in front of you. He drops the ball at your feet and looks up, panting, smiling, eyebrows raised. He waits a beat and then nuzzles the ball forward.
A couple dozen tosses later you're wondering whether the dog will get tired before you do.
The Irish Setter is Horace X's music. The ball is the CD. You keep giving it a spin. You've been listening to it all day; you are, finally, beginning to tire of it; you think that maybe you should stop but the fun is just too contagious.
Horace X are a UK band mixing reggae, toasting, funky bumping slapping basslines, saxophones, fiddles (lovely, lovely fiddles), violas, some well-placed dub touches, and more kinetic energy than explodes out of a cannon. And, as I've said, they're a hell of a lot of fun.
"Strategy" is the title track from Horace X's recent EP; it's one of the slower songs on the disc. Other slap-happy bits of wonderfulness on it are "Puppet Show," "A Tune For Valerie," and "First Love" (which is available on the site for download).
Drew Miller at Omnium Records was kind enough to send me the CD twice--not because I wanted one for my best friend, though I do, but because I'd just returned from a longish trip and sent him the wrong address. I never did get the first one he sent, though I imagine someone at the dead letter office is very happy indeed.
Omnium Records, Horace X's label.
Strategy page at Omnium Records, with the hyperkinetic first track up for download.
Reviews and ordering
Labels: funk, indie, PR, reggae
posted by Tuwa @
21:27 | permalink |
0 comments
|
Monday, July 18, 2005:
Hangnail Phillips -- Thought Boxes
Hangnail Phillips -- Be Yourself
Hangnail Phillips is ... a bit hard to describe. Picture someone comfortable recording rock, country, folk, and dance/pop/electronica, with a quirky sense of humor and an endearingly off-kilter perspective.
"Post Cold War World" is a lot of fun, and "Angora Sweater" and "Wit's End" are both postworthy (as are the other bonus tracks hidden in "Wit's End," all quite different from each other), but I think I'm going to go with "Be Yourself" and "Thought Boxes."
"Thought Boxes" is a sort of droning downtempo track with Indian cadences, finger cymbals, backwards guitar, brooding menace, wind chimes (!), and the ghost of Jimi Hendrix showing up for a short solo. Very odd and interesting work.
"Be Yourself" sounds like a lost Who track. The song has a solid classic rock vibe to it and, frankly, I wish it were on the radio rather than much of the classic rock that's there. But de gustibus non disputandum est, or maybe I mean fabas indulcet fames (that might explain a lot. Recently I rented a car to take a trip across the Florida panhandle, discovered it had no CD player, rolled across the FM then the AM bands, and discovered that the best thing on was Peter Cetera. I give North Florida radio ... the finger).
Monika Bullette, who I wrote about previously, appears here with Phillips on vocals (actually, according to Phillips' Myspace page, Phillips did "most everything" and Bullette did "everything else"). Neither of these musicians are setting out plates of beans; they cook up dishes much more satisfying and unusual.
Said the Gramophone beat me posting from this album, but Hangnail Phillips' site has more mp3s for download: the entire album, in fact. Recommended? Yes.
Hangnail Phillips
Hangnail Phillips -- Thought Boxes
Hangnail Phillips -- Be Yourself
Hangnail Phillips is ... a bit hard to describe. Picture someone comfortable recording rock, country, folk, and dance/pop/electronica, with a quirky sense of humor and an endearingly off-kilter perspective.
"Post Cold War World" is a lot of fun, and "Angora Sweater" and "Wit's End" are both postworthy (as are the other bonus tracks hidden in "Wit's End," all quite different from each other), but I think I'm going to go with "Be Yourself" and "Thought Boxes."
"Thought Boxes" is a sort of droning downtempo track with Indian cadences, finger cymbals, backwards guitar, brooding menace, wind chimes (!), and the ghost of Jimi Hendrix showing up for a short solo. Very odd and interesting work.
"Be Yourself" sounds like a lost Who track. The song has a solid classic rock vibe to it and, frankly, I wish it were on the radio rather than much of the classic rock that's there. But de gustibus non disputandum est, or maybe I mean fabas indulcet fames (that might explain a lot. Recently I rented a car to take a trip across the Florida panhandle, discovered it had no CD player, rolled across the FM then the AM bands, and discovered that the best thing on was Peter Cetera. I give North Florida radio ... the finger).
Monika Bullette, who I wrote about previously, appears here with Phillips on vocals (actually, according to Phillips' Myspace page, Phillips did "most everything" and Bullette did "everything else"). Neither of these musicians are setting out plates of beans; they cook up dishes much more satisfying and unusual.
Said the Gramophone beat me posting from this album, but Hangnail Phillips' site has more mp3s for download: the entire album, in fact. Recommended? Yes.
posted by Tuwa @
10:34 | permalink |
0 comments
|
Sunday, July 17, 2005:
Group Sounds -- Gingerbread Man
Group Sounds -- Things Fall Apart
Group Sounds is a punk/rock/dance group from New York City who put enough energy in each song to power a city block. It's infectious and fun and a real challenge to put it on and not jump up and dance; I had trouble deciding which songs to post.
"Things Fall Apart" has nothing to do with Chinua Achebe, colonialism, or, for that matter, The Roots. It's a quick story of a failed relationship, too busy rocking out to sit around moping.
"Gingerbread Man" is a live acoustic track with a sort of rockabilly-ish solo on it; it sounds like it was recorded in a small club. Group Sounds sold out the Bowery in NYC so I wonder how many small clubs they've been playing lately. Maybe they're catching on. In any case this is a good song.
Group Sounds have more mp3s for download at their site; you should go check out "People on the Left" and also poke around a bit. There's plenty to like. Starting August 17th the group will be playing at a NYC bar called Piano's on every Wednesday; I'm sure they put on a good show.
Group Sounds' homepage
Group Sounds
Group Sounds -- Gingerbread Man
Group Sounds -- Things Fall Apart
Group Sounds is a punk/rock/dance group from New York City who put enough energy in each song to power a city block. It's infectious and fun and a real challenge to put it on and not jump up and dance; I had trouble deciding which songs to post.
"Things Fall Apart" has nothing to do with Chinua Achebe, colonialism, or, for that matter, The Roots. It's a quick story of a failed relationship, too busy rocking out to sit around moping.
"Gingerbread Man" is a live acoustic track with a sort of rockabilly-ish solo on it; it sounds like it was recorded in a small club. Group Sounds sold out the Bowery in NYC so I wonder how many small clubs they've been playing lately. Maybe they're catching on. In any case this is a good song.
Group Sounds have more mp3s for download at their site; you should go check out "People on the Left" and also poke around a bit. There's plenty to like. Starting August 17th the group will be playing at a NYC bar called Piano's on every Wednesday; I'm sure they put on a good show.
Group Sounds' homepage
posted by Tuwa @
12:10 | permalink |
1 comments
|
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