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I asked a man playing a didgeridoo if he could tell me about children's songs in Australia.
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Elegiac Folk-Punk Anthems
I lived in Omaha when a friend loaned me his Rufus.
I mean Rufus Wainwright.
I listened more than a few times. I was fascinated. Now, I think: It's like Pauly Shore singing opera. But good! Or what, Steven Wright howling Cole Porter. It's impossible, a delight, a treat, anchovy gelato, bitter caramel, it's just right. It's life, the anger and the venom cased inside the spun-sugar Easter egg.
The 1000 Recordings pick is grand. It's got wit and rich thick toxic syrup stippling every groove. But available To Me because I come later is Wainwright stomping through Judy Garland at Carnegie Hall, an ironic mash note to that great songstress and her own spectacular comeback. Wainwright's at his peak in front of an adoring, even slavish audience that saw him as a success before he even walked out onstage; Judy faced an audience who desperately wanted her not to trip, not to fall, not to stumble, and she didn't.
Oh, what a paradise it all seems. Wainwright is determinedly arch (a short story is told about his wearing an apron while he "pranced" as a child; he "melts" in his mother's shoes -- and we all know who his mother is, or at least you do -- I only knew his father -- and of course she has her own cameo), and Garland is exquisitely aped, pitch-perfect, in Wainwright's alternately delicate and pyrotechnic bray.
We are all so lucky to live in the era of recorded music -- and especially, in this era, when music can be recorded and published without Massive Global Appeal.
Foto via James Wainwright on flickr.
Every picture tells a story, don't it?
Spring is nigh.
3 more than an M80
After a couple days of working with my friends' suggestions for a playlist for an upcoming trip, I returned to 1000 Recordings tonight with M83. One endearing thing about a Moby concert I saw about four years ago was that he referred, wryly, to his songs in succession as "yet another anthemic techno song" and "yet another" and "yet another" and so forth. It's true -- techno slides toward the anthemic. I listened to M83 with a sense that I was traveling parallel slopes, one down, one up, frequently in the music.
With thanks to jm3 via flickr for the embeddable image.
There was a Portishead sort of gloomy shadow but it was balanced by an Oldfield kind of crescendic (look that up in your Funk & Wagnall's) swirl at the same time. I liked the way it worked. It felt good. I WORKED HARDER AND HARDER. And I was glad, too, because I had just skipped across a new Flo Rida single with vocoder -- can someone please tweet @KanyeWest and tell him he has a lot to answer for this year? -- and it was good to get back to that Laurie Anderson/Mike Oldield proper vocodage. I miss Radiohead. I want more Radiohead.
Photo Albums
And Shout-Outs to
- Alex
- Brian Dilsheimer
We lived next door to each other in college. - Clare Byrne's Weekly Rites
On Dancer. - Earl Cootie
- Heather B. Armstrong
Very, very, very funny. - Jack Carneal
He grew up on Grove Avenue. I grew up on Stuart. - James Lileks
Columnist and author. Don't know the man; like the blog. - Jimmy Johnson
A superior cartoonist who now does a daily entry. - Kent
- Peterme
- Scott McCloud
Probably the best-known thinker about comic strips/books/graphic novels/sequential art working right now. Controversial among comic fans but unequivocally an influential and original thinker. - The Gertzens
Old Omaha handz.
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