SHAMELESS READER 2 POST 2

Hi! I posted this on Parapluies Doux yesterday but I think it's just as (probably more) appropriate here.

On Thursday I alerted the Internet that The Octopus Project has recordings with Daytrotter by way of Winsome Icarus. I was full of joy for several hours. Seriously. Try "I Saw the Bright Shinies" or "Wet Gold." Maybe I should learn to play the theremin. What would I do after I learned? Probably nothing, nevermind. (See also: Years of piano lessons.) That was my only post on Winsome Icarus this week. I am, however, working on updating the site. I need warnings like, "If you are my past, future, and especially present employer, co-worker, or esteemed colleague, please abandon this site and its products now." Also some kind of warning like, "I don't check my grammar. Ever."

I openly thanked a man for letting me "cut" in line in The Perils of Public Transportation. I also shared the visual experience of riding the Loop in Chicago, shared my fears of biking in public, and posted alot of news. I've changed the RSS feed so that the full post can be read in a reader. Only getting a link is a pain, even if it takes up more space in the LiveJournal feed. I think this will make everyone happy.

Posts of note on Parapluies Doux include this and this weekend's Obligatory Weekend Update (f-locked). It attempts to chronicle the Verbatim Pool Party. I'm really burned out today and I think it's Pool Party whose to blame. I'm looking at you, pool I never ended up swimming in, and you, really amusing beer run. You can download the album here: verbatimband.com/poolparty Apparently there were no public posts this week. I posted a few mp3s before going out Friday.

It took me awhile but I posted something on Fast Food this weekend. I'm kind of happy with that photograph. I think it fits in with my portfolio work better than my other photographs I've posted. (I also posted it in my OWU.)

I uploaded a handful of photos and videos from Pool Party on my Flickr. I also posted photos of The Ottobar and videos of driving on 83. You can see them now or wait until I spam you later this week! Or you can be like Erin and Nicole and IM me as you look at them.

DCist used one of my photos in their Morning Roundup Friday. I was unbearably pleasant the rest of the morning.

Though I don't consider Sweet Umbrellas to have launched, I made a post anyway. It's about what kind of food I've eaten.

THINGS THAT ARE NOT BY ME

I talked about this article but just looked like an asshole: The New Yorker's history of hangover cures (Annals of Drinking: A Few Too Many). It covers what scientifically/biologically happens to you and covers what people swear will work plus what kind of products are supposed to work. My cure? Sleeping more than five hours during the night in question and a big glass of water and a vitamin C before bed. (Which may should prevent the hangover. So should my prescribed glass of water for every drink. Unless it's Pool Party, because suddenly Kitty needs four or five cups of water.) I've printed it for my records (it's going in my binder of recipers) but here is an excerpt:

As for hangover remedies, they are legion. There are certain unifying themes, however. When you ask people, worldwide, how to deal with a hangover, their first answer is usually the hair of the dog. The old faithful in this category is the Bloody Mary, but books on curing hangovers—I have read three, and that does not exhaust the list—describe more elaborate potions, often said to have been invented in places like Cap d’Antibes by bartenders with names like Jean-Marc. An English manual, Andrew Irving’s “How to Cure a Hangover” (2004), devotes almost a hundred pages to hair-of-the-dog recipes, including the Suffering Bastard (gin, brandy, lime juice, bitters, and ginger ale); the Corpse Reviver (Pernod, champagne, and lemon juice); and the Thomas Abercrombie (two Alka-Seltzers dropped into a double shot of tequila). Kingsley Amis suggests taking Underberg bitters, a highly alcoholic digestive: “The resulting mild convulsions and cries of shock are well worth witnessing. But thereafter a comforting glow supervenes.” Many people, however, simply drink some more of what they had the night before. My Ukrainian informant described his morning-after protocol for a vodka hangover as follows: “two shots of vodka, then a cigarette, then anothervshot of vodka.” A Japanese source suggested
wearing a sake-soaked surgical mask.

Daytrotter has an essay about Control. I think Shane Brown liked the movie better than I did. It was really pretty and it wasn't bad, but it felt...empty. It was lacking...depth. I think when I corner Erin again I'm going to make her talk to me about it because my sister hasn't yet, and Erin told me she saw it on a plane. Sorry, Erin. I like this rambling yet tidy description of Joy Division's impact:

Joy Division are the sort of band that, if you’re a card-carrying member of
Hipsters Anonymous, you’re simply required to like. They were goth before goth,
emo before emo, techno before techno — all wrapped up in a charming bow of
tragedy that would, were they not now 30 years in the past, be the sort of thing
that Hot Topic managers would salivate over. Band comes along, band
revolutionizes world sonically, tortured frontman offs himself so as not to
witness remainder of band sing “Love’s got the world in motion” a decade later.
It’s the sort of story that makes people write books, wear t-shirts, listen to
music, and craft exceptionally bad poetry after every break-up.

Bryan Lee O'Malley (Scott Pilgrim) and wife Hope Larson (Salamander Dream) have a comic titled Bear Creek Apartments. Before knowing that it was written and drawn in Asheville, North Carolina I thought it looked like something the former friend formerly known as The Boy would have drawn. I think it's...sweet.

Sweet Tunes

The Octopus Project has been added to Daytrotter! Of the four songs for download one is unreleased (it's new!) The other three are from the group's most recent album, Hello, Avalanche. Finding this (I've finally added Daytrotter to my Reader) makes my Thursday so much better. There's an article about the band, too.

The Octopus Project is a sometimes instrumental indie pop band from Texas. Their music is wild, crazy, occasionally quiet, and always exciting. That the band uses a theremin has promised a long-term place in my heart.

The Octopus Project is on tour, and if you live in the middle of Washington, DC and Baltimore like I do, you've been bequeathed the beautiful option of seeing the group two night in a row! They'll be at Sonar on October 21 (the show has been moved from the Ottobar) and the Black Cat on October 22 (which is the same day as Minus the Bear at the 9:30 Club).

I think the Octopus Project is one of the only bands I listened to last summer. I'm super giggly today.

Bright Lights

The Graduate was in town on Sunday performing at Recher Theatre in Towson. I'm reasonably certain that they're one of my favorite lives acts right now. (To be fair, it's a different experience than Russian Circles or These Arms Are Snakes. And, I promise I can list bands that don't have Brian Cook as a member.)

I always feel a little better inside after I watch The Graduate. They have a tight performance, perform as a cohesive whole, and present a great set.

Unfortunately, I felt incredibly old in the crowd, but that's not symptamatic of the band.

What's that? You wanted more shaky videos? Sure thing!






I interviewed Corey at Warped Tour last year. You can read it online.


(Oh! My wallet was returned to me! I'm lucky.)

I like glazed or rainbow sprinkled.

I lost my wallet (in the back of the cab, in the dangerous streets of Lincoln Park, or in the heart of the city) in Chicago this week and am readily recognizing that the silver lining is picking out a new wallet.
While unpacking I’ve been quietly scouring for a new one online, and I’ve been trying to keep to my old mantra (must hold a checkbook! must include an array of slots! must feature outside accessibility to change!) I’ve been hoping for something daringly different; I’ve been visiting online boutiques instead of my standbys. Enter the wayward Bears & Donut tote from All-Mighty Clothing, a sister-run schoolish Boston Terrier-centric clothing line/online store based in California. (In the interest of full disclosure I have two shirts, lust for the stuffed Mighty, and wept when I passed an abundance of Boston Terriers in Old Town Thursday.) And, if the donuts and bears didn’t already induce a sugary coma, the affordability and abundance of pockets will. Don’t say I never wanted to stimulate the economy!

Unfortunately, this isn’t a wallet. It would also probably be in my best interest if the replacement is bright red, comes with a detonator, flashing lights, and a remote that helps me find it when it’s lost in the house.

(Of course, the short recount of the visit is posted in Parapluies Doux)

Videos

Here are three videos from Warped Tour. I'm still editing my digital film and it might be a few more days until I've finished with my analog film. Until then, enjoy! (All are/will be hosted on Flickr.)


Jack's Mannequin


Jack's Mannequin


Street Dogs Circle Pit

AWKWARD LOVE LETTER, CHECK YES OR NO

My friend Erin is playin' keys in some band with this dude that used to be in a decently well-known (from what she tells me) Frederick band. They'll be joined by her boyfriend, Peter, and his best friend Christian.

Erin and I have been friends since high school and she made that flyer. If you live in Frederick, or you're familiar with Peter Hassett (and if you live in Frederick, there's a good chance that you do) you've probably seen the flier. I think it appeals to all that is good for me: dot matrixes are a secret passion of mine and I hold a record for consecutive wins and highest rankings in The Oregon Trail from elementary school. Now that my diploma is in my own hands, I'm not too ashamed to admit that the reason I dropped my Philosophy of Logic class sophomore year was because the night before the test I stayed up until 2 a.m. playing the above illustrated version of The Oregon Trail instead of studying. I did so poorly that I had to drop the class. (This is fine with me; it wasn't as interesting as I had hoped it would be.) Also, it's just my kind of humor.

Erin's greatness extends beyond fliers. She also made posters and I am extremely fortunate to have a poster of my own. Behold!




Erin used soft, thick paper for her clean, modern design with two unlike but complementary colors. Magenta and chocolate with clean lines and direct text. It's a dream come true. It's also great that the poster--and flier--say more than just WE HAVE A SHOW ON THE FOURTH, but extol the virtues Verbatim are sharing right now: free music.

The band spent one weekend in the studio over the winter with the goal to record a record in 72 hours. From Peter's blog pre-Party:

Verbatim will enter the studio, Blue Noise West, on Friday without any recorded material. What results on Sunday evening will be immediately released to the internet. Anything goes. It's a 72-hour lock-in record.

PIZZA PARTY will be available for free download at www.verbatimband.com under the Creative Commons license. Physical pressings of the record will eventually surface and will be sold.

PIZZA PARTY is a jamboree record. Verbatim will not be alone in the studio. Assorted guests and friends are invited to join in on the fun and music-making. Video games will be played; cold ones will be drunk; pizza will be 'et; songs will definitely be sung. After all, PIZZA PARTY and Verbatim are about communication and coming together.

Since its internet-release Pizza Party has garnered critical support. But this has been the Verbatim way as long as I've known Peter--or I would have never heard the band at all. The group, having already enraptured my high school friends, was on constant repeat July 4, 2003; I went home that night and downloaded Verbatim's music online and we saw Verbatim open for Downtown Singapore the next day. I have been embarrassingly listening since, and I take a sick, creepy sense of delight in knowing that most of my Independence Day celebrations have in some form, involved Verbatim. Two years after meeting Peter at his show, he rigged his house to record sound through the full day: the interior of his house turned into a recording studio as friends jammed. Two cowboys approached the porch for a rousing round of country ballads, and an hour later as they left, Peter told Erin and I that he didn't know them.

Peter and Christian's openness to do that--sing country ballads, record an album under a short duration, play beer pong--lend to the band's sound. Verbatim is, Peter says, "post-post-deconstructed beer-pop college rock" but blends other genres--sometimes seemingly dichotic into a distinct, mature sound. The juxtaposition of post-college humor and grown up fit those fliers so well, represented perfectly by Oregon Trail jokes and smart design. (SERIOUSLY, LOOK AT THAT POSTER. IT'S BRILLIANT.)

You can find me in front of the stage tomorrow with a camera. I'll be the one trying to decide if it's embarrassing or not to sing along.

YOU'RE SORRY YOU DIDN'T GO NOW, AREN'T YA?

(Of course the evening got interesting after my batteries died. Daughters, above, performs a new song.)

When I was a teenager every show rocked. Every show was the best show I'd ever seen (see also: Issue #4, 2001). Then I grew old, curmudgeonly, wised up, and started to get bored. (I also started to go to shows where head nodding and reveling in ennui was the norm.)

But lately everyone else has been bored, too. Including the performers on stage. To the best of my knowledge, Isaac Brock has been behaving. This is a shame, because I'd usually rely on him to do something outlandish on stage and cause a stir in the community. Thankfully, Daughters is poised to take the heavy burden and cross into genitalia-based shock performances. If there was an orifice, vocalist Alexis S.F. Marshall found a way to fill it with his microphone. Simulated oral and anal sex--even involved band members--isn't new or innovative, but Marshall suffered the effects of live performances, and suddenly he was taking off his clothes, down to his skivvies, an olive pair of tighty whities which read BOOT CAMP across his cheeks.

But it was what followed that constituted a scandal, a scandal to myself alone (and the mother next to me). He pretended to urinate. He fondled his junk, and then, turning his back to the crowd, snapped his underwear in a manner that allowed a full view of his genitalia, and when the song ended, he proceeded to perform a series of push ups, gyrating against the wet stage. Still, despite my abject horror, the performance wasn't spectacular. It was okay, it was mildly entertaining, and for Daughters, it was the same behavior of the night before, and would repeat the following performance. It was an obscene form of showmanship, but it didn't fulfill me in anyway, and it was realizing this that I was glad Daughters opened for Russian Circles, because then the headliner took the stage, it was clear that Russian Circles should never open for another band again.

The Chicago threesome wasted no time in tuning their instruments. Together, drummer Dave Turncrantz, guitarists Mike Sullivan, and bassist Brian Cook took the stage, and for the next thirty/forty minutes, silently performed new (Station was released in May on Suicide Squeeze) and old material. There were no noticeable pauses from one song to the next, there were no rousing conversations with the rowdy audiences. They did not postulate, they did not waste time, and most importantly, they did not pander.

Russian Circles writes flowing, complicated, sometimes jarring, aggressive music. It simultaneously comforts ("Verses") and confronts ("Death Rides a Horse") the listener. Yet live Russian Circles never let up and never dominated or suffocated the audience. Instead the band relentlessly presented its complex music with a sense of simplicity. Their composure spoke of the group's writing prowess, and in the face of the previous display proved wise, genius.

Sprawling, wordless (the band has used vocals as an instrument--think Sigur Ros' appeal stateside--but not Monday, and still, remain without lyrics) narratives are difficult to sell and even more difficult to accept, but the audience remain inraptured and moved, almost involuntarily, to the music. The music, intense and profound on the stage, invigorated the crowd in a way that's never been done before, and I doubt, will be seen again: Russian Circles are an overwhelmingly smart band. Their proficiently can't be copied and redistributed through imitators, but a band would be wise to learn from the complexity of Russian Circles. It's a vitality that needs to be seen again.