I sit underneath my desk and inhale the dust in a deep breath and unfocus my eyes and count my toes. One toe for each of my favourite books, movies, albums, songs, years, cities, concerts, types of cheese, song lyrics, girls. The distraction doesn't work as well anymore, it seems like everything has lost its shine but you. I can see the tears clinging to your long black eye lashes as you look up through them at me and I had to run. My mind whirls; I'm completely ruined for anyone but you.
A friend of mine came over to sample the new Junior Boy's album Begone Dull Care the other night and told me something about this Canadian group that I didn't know before. Junior Boys were created to fill the exact music tastes of one particular friend of theirs, a band to reconcile all the influences and musical loves of just one person, their friend. This is the best idea for a band I've ever heard, to be all things to one person instead of some things to many people seems a more likely way to grow and fully master a feeling or personality in sound.
The intimacy of Junior Boys has always been what's drawn me to them. The breathy vocals and warm, spaced out electronics reflecting the space between two people more accurately than music or the same genre that I'd heard before. 'The Animator' is a warm but important conversation, the kind that can only happen between to people who know each other so well, they almost know exactly what the other is going to say, so gets caught in the sounds instead, how the sounds mean more than the words.
Begone Dull Care is due 11/5/09 in the UK on Domino.
Hello, sorry I'm getting ridiculously lazy with posting on here. I'm in a bit of backwash at the moment, waiting to start uni with no money cause I smoke too much and go and see Twilight too many times, spending most of my time in bed or on midnight funrides around Ipswich with my friends playing MGMT, Empire of the Sun, Metrostation and shit early 00s pop way past the point of being sick of them.
Laneway festival last weekend was fun, the thrill of being underage and getting away with everything was shit funny. No Age were very special as expected (met Dean, real nice, humble guy, signed my shirt), Jay Reatard's a freak, Architecture in Helsinki were fun, fun, fun, Born Ruffians were way too sweet, El Guincho had me bouncing and Girl Talk were off the hook. Have made an executive decision never to go to a festival sober again.
I'm assuming you've heard this but how awesome is it? It's fucking rad. Franz Ferdinand doing what they do best, I'm totally swept up in the la la la la and the presumption and the well guided arrogance and I believe it and I love it. Let's just forget the context and the hesitation and the self doubt and think about right now. Don't stop cause the entire room is spinning, click the heels of your shiny shoes and spin harder.
Just when I thought I was immune to abbreviated cutesy songs with chants and life-affirming lyrics, this comes along to shatter all my illusions. This just drips sugar straight into my ears, its pop hooks dive deep into me pulling out my glee with a gasp and wide eyes. HOLY SHIT THIS IS FUN. I just got back from the coast, where I spun this quite a bit, with my friends, you know, skipping down the beach holding hands, singing outloud, wearing rose-tinted sunglasses and stuff. I don't know if anyone's ever told you this before, but your skin looks like it's made of gold.
Fire of emotions shiver and dance at the corners of my vision like stained glass windows with a sunset behind them. This record is perfect. This song is perfect. The heat is perfect - oppressive, I can hardly breathe. We walk down a hill, feet slapping on the bitumen, skin glowing. A friend comes over, we sit on the cool tiles drinking cold beer, tapping our feet, you know, there's no where I'd rather be. The sun peeps through and I swear everything's melting. There's a storm coming and you're all sweat and smiles. Put your hand on my chest, my heart beats in time with the music.
I can get really proud of my favourite bands, like in the way a parent is proud of their children, if I feel I have some common roots or they're somwhat of an underdog. Like Cut Copy, for instance, being an Australian band, I pumped my fist in the air when they made the top ten for Pitchfork's Albums of the Year for 2008, or Electrelane or Vivian Girls, being such a success and all girls bands that I actually listen to, makes me grin and want to pat them on head and send them off further into the world.
Beaches make me proud as pie, an all girls band and they're from Melbourne, and obviously, they're awesome (or I wouldn't be posting them here). Despite having the most un-Googleable name ever, these girls play with such intensity, timelessness and glee - huge, rousing guitars, 60s beach punk vibes, loud bass and drums - all driving towards some great end. While they, and their music, is beautiful and mysterious you can still tell they're having fun, they're enjoying this just as much as you are, smiling into their shouts [how much do you love "san - DY!"?!], posing all serious while playing that killer riff, pulling out that ripper beat just as you toss your head back - the way you laugh and show off when you know you're winning a race - cause, you know, you're all winning, no one else comes close.
Brisbane, watch out, these babes are cruising through on 6th March for Summer Tones with High Places (!!!), Dan Deacon, Lawrence Arabia and the Ruby Suns.
It's complicated, you know. We don't know what we want. Well I know what I want, happiness. Like, I want to smile more and I think she could give me that. My toes tingle when I see her sometimes and life's short. So the complications... I just want to set them alight. But we can't, she can't. It's New Year, for fuck's sake, I just want to see her, it's too much not to see her.
Balearic rhythms and guitars, melancholy and clarity, watch out for this in '09. [via Rose Quartz]
By the time Christmas rolls around each year, the need to curl up with family and wrap myself in light, warmth and beauty, is pressing. Like the deep breath between one year and the next. Laziness, easiness and love surround me. Not many Christmas songs capture the season as as well as this.
A wonderfully clear rendition of one of my favourite Chrismas carols. Her angelic voice echoes through your head speaking of Christmas' timeless story. I lie on the rug with my head under the Christmas tree, scratching the cat with one hand and squinting through the branches to see the light of the angel at the top.
What starts off as underwater journey is quickly pulled back to the surface by a beautiful voice and warm guitars, sort of how a beautiful voice and warm hand are the only things that are acceptable to pull you from your own journeys in your sleep. The surfacing/song is insistent with spaced-out, occasionally arching, guitar and siren-like vocals. Do you like your pop dreamy? Yes, please, thank you very much.
This session was recorded by Bradford Cox [Deerhunter/Atlas Sound] in September of this year on Platts Eyott, an island reserve in the middle of the Thames river, London. It's a continuous stream on consciousness containing songs from this year's Microcastle and 'Spring Hall Convert' from Cryptograms and is supposed to be listened to all at once - a tribute to John Peel. It's fantastically melancholy and confessional, a great headphone listen that somehow feels heavy on your ears. This song in particular, from Microcastle, makes any room you listen in seem a dimly lit, smoke-filled haven.
Listen to the entirety of the session here, and my favourite song from Microcastlehere.
***
Also:
Along with every other teenage girl in Australia, I will be going to see this today:
A group of young things sat at a cafe on the beach front, two among their number, of about ten, thought of nothing but each other. They laughed along with the others and watched each other's reactions and still refused to look the other in the eye. It had been three weeks since they had broken it off and she was still the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep. Later, the group walked along the sea front, kicking water at each other and telling stories. The two of them ended up walking next to each other, dragged behind until they couldn't hear their friends. They talked about anything and everything but themselves and the sun was in her eyes and the wind blew her hair everywhere till she couldn't see, her eyes were blurry and wet. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She made her excuses and ran to catch up with her friends. He went and stood in the water, watched her walk away and tried to recapture some of her warmth in the sun.
They raced very fast on their bikes until the road ran out and then they stopped, gasping for breath at a barbed wire fence at the foot of, what looked like a hill 10 minutes ago, but which now more resembled a mountain. Ignoring the 'Do not trespass' sign, they gingerly pulled the fence apart for each other and slipped through. The sun was so hot the backs of their necks were burning as they put one boot in front of the other pulling themselves further to the summit. She tripped over some rocks, he picked her up, tucked her hair behind her ear and they continued. They talked and listened to a bird that was singing in a tree at what seemed like the very top. About half way up they stopped under a tree to shed jumpers and catch their breath. They sat on a log very close, their legs were full flush against each other and her perfume, their mingled sweat and the dry grass were all they could smell.
P.S. My extended absense was the result of end of year stuff and gettin' loose at Schoolies, sorry about that. I hope to jack up my output this summer before I start university. Lovin' the holidays, aren't you?
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