You’ve heard of this Jerry Lewis movie about the Holocaust that he won’t let anyone see? We were playing Seattle, and Eddie Vedder came and brought me the script. And it’s weird because two other people have already done that, so this is my third copy. How do people know that I’d want that?
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Robert Pollard, talking about The Day The Clown Died in the latest issue of Spin. (via perpetua)
well, that’s weird. and apparently serge gainsbourg is in this thing?
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well, that’s random. suddenly i am 19 and hanging at the bottleneck… or 22 and in the middle of my post-collegiate lost weekend. i know that stef was partial to their emo-y new wave incarnation, but i didn’t mind the rootsy stuff, esp. “anais.” not sure this is actually filling any sort of void in the music world, but it takes me back a minute. not so much to the music, but to being out in lawrence and seeing those kids everywhere. i had no idea they had a sub pop single; i guess for a minute there, everyone did.
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perpetua:
Appropriately enough for a story titled BOY EATEN BY FAMILY, there are many, many horrifying things in this article. That said, one of the more unexpectedly unsettling things about it is that a key figure in this horrible sequence of events — a 34 year old woman who was posing as the victims’ 13 year old adopted sister — happens to bear a strong resemblence to one of my favorite comedians, David Mitchell. Behold…
jesus. i really, really hope that this is somehow a hoax, but it sounds like it may not be…
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i am grown-up enough to temporarily forget that they were playing tonight, and to temporarily consider the fact that one of my deals is closing tomorrow. i am immature enough to probably go anyway.
i finally had a chance to live with the new record for a minute and it’s pretty solid. although i’m forever perplexed by patrick pentland’s continued 180 from the guy who wrote the pared-down pop classics (“i can feel it,” “everything you’ve done wrong,” etc.) to the guy who writes the gussied-up 70s-style chooglers. no complaints, though, and that’s barely scratching the surfance of my reaction to the album.
wish you could go, po - it’d be all too appropriate in light of our impending return to london!
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oh, natalie, why, WHY?
it’s not the penises per se (although i can’t say i care for them), it’s more the complete and total narcissism.
et tu, aziz ansari?
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Oh, we still have a piss bucket and a puke bucket too,” Pollard says. “I’ve got a new band to use them.
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Bob Pollard talks about his new band, Boston Spaceships. They’re playing New York in October, and I’ll be there, drinking till the songs pour out of my nose. (via catpita)
hm…take that as you will, but the catbirdseat is right, the new song is quite promising. (wow, the album’s not out until september? these “preview mp3s” really throw me off more and more these days…) i recognize this goes against the statements in my recent hatery post…but so does the song. hope springs eternal!
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Her stunning 2006 Matador release, “Over the Mountain, Across the Valley and Back to the Stars,” was a rarity — a confessional singer-songwriter record for people who cannot abide confessional singer-songwriters. (Should you normally love them, God, are you a shoo-in.) The trick was a sort of blunt understatement, with lyrics candidly tracing the outlines of loves lost to accident, illness, distance and indifference. Her breathy but deceptively strong alto filled in the emotional contours.
— yes! thank you,
glenn dixon of the washington post express! that encapsulates exactly how jennifer o’connor made one of my absolute favorite records, better than i have ever been able to describe. it’s familiar but not pedestrian, confessional but not overwrought. and still totally stunning. (via
largehearted boy)
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wow. this guy was until today considered a potential (if outside) candidate for the supreme court. i would post a quote, but i don’t want this site to show up in google searches for the wrong reasons.
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coffeeflavored:
Bartender: How old are you?
Me: Twenty-seven.
Bartender: Woah. You look twenty-two. I guess that’s why I was attracted to you.
Me: …
Bartender: (unironically) Twenty-seven is just kind of old.
Me: How old are you?
Bartender: Thirty.
gaah. sadly, i don’t think pt. 1 will be the end of this series, at least not to the extent that “bartender” is proxy for “perpetually adolescent hipster douche.”
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