Us and themAnd after all we’re only ordinary menMe and youGod only knows it’s not what we would choose to do Roger Waters I legitimately forgot what I was going to write about this week. I had some sort of plan. An idea. Something about something. But then something else happened and I haven’t been […]
Casual rambles, short stories and poetry done casually
I have a theory about decades: they don’t really start on the number zero.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but writing a review takes a large sum of time. And I am not a fast writer.
I always hate writing up my end-of-year lists. So forget the recap: I ramble about why a definitive end-of-year list is a racket.
Melina Duterte’s latest project Anak Ko, is a good goddamn LP.
Yet, I’d been pretty dead-set on the merits of King Gizzard’s Fishing with Fishies as a prime example of Zeppelin’s and T.Rex’s influence in rock, since my late-April train ride from Pau back to Lannemezan. Fuck that noise; Stu Mackenzie, Ambrose Kenny-Smith, Joey Walker, Cook Craig, Lucas Skinner, Michael Cavanagh and Eric Moore have one more artist up their sleeve, not exactly a sonic influence, but a kindred influence.
A megapiece on five records that managed to stir something more than just 200 words of written soundbyte reviews. Other records did this too, but these five did it best. And I’m just here to struggle and starve and write to them.
Self-love is my greatest struggle, by virtue of an extreme aversion to any patterned pitfalls of narcissistic behavior that, inevitably, a person will fall into, but an imbalance on the bell curve of the spectrum meets at the point of insidiousness: believe too strongly in yourself and risk perspective, criticize yourself too thoroughly and risk pleasure.
Lemme tell ya: nobody does revolution like the French.
A Song is a City asks only one question: how hard do you want to belong?