In light of all the crazy happenings that have gone down over the past few weeks, I find myself constantly thinking my life, or at least parts of it, have become very Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-esque; my dreams have become vivid, colorful, and often overflow into what appears to be the "real" world. Characters and happenings mingle in both my conscious and unconscious world, though the latter is decidedly more colorful, however -- it seems both are equally erratic. While all that's very much romanticized, really, I just want someone to whisper "meet me at montauk" into my ear, and make the two culminate in one. Then maybe, my stress would stop, if only briefly.
It's odd, how a series of dramatic events will effect someone, and it's even odder which events -- many obscure and unrelated -- will ignite certain thoughts and reflections. A very special girl once told me that when she first meets someone, the first question she wants to ask them is what age they think they will be when they die. It's an odd query, one many shy away from, naturally, including myself. I'd hate to stamp my own expiration date, and often, I hope I live forever; immortality -- a blessing and a curse. But as people die, as we all will someday, I can't help but wonder how long the Green Mile really is.
Also, I just want to wake up to this every morning:
I'm a sucker for these smooth rolling tunes; "House of Cards" is like a slower cadenced, grooving, and more intimately feeling "Knives Out"; the cold hallows are filled with warmth. And if envisioned in a different text, this song could have been written in 1971, a product of Stax Records.
Hi. I really like this music video, it's amazing. Cheers to people that still spend time creating these vids; it's to them I am indebted a million moments of '90s nostalgia, back when music videos, thankfully, were the medium -- creatively vast and totally fucking cool to watch.
Bonus: This tune, "Oh Mandy," by the Spinto Band is also a wonderful listen despite the obvious CYHSY vocal inflections. Fuck it, the hooky verse and catchy chorus of '50s guitar-pop meets R.E.M. instrumentals compliment each other and kick ass. Thanks to a conversation with my roommate Drew over brunch, I can now enjoy this little snippet and catch the sunset out my window over Union Square; it's cold outside. Be well.
Contrary to popular belief, I discovered that driving in New York City isn't that amazingly overwhelming, complicated, or scary. Today was my first time behind the wheel; okay, okay, I didn't enter Manhattan, but a coworker and I, plus a Hyundai Sonata, rocked the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, the Triborough Bridge, and other highways and biways up to Yonkers for a days work -- and I didn't touch the horn once during the whole trip.
I officially feel like a real resident of the Big Apple, however I'm still a little fearful of bringing my beast out here -- the Suburban! Whew, that is a whole new challenge.
As I sat uncomfortably on my black leather couch moments ago, surrounded by dudes hollering at each movement of the football game on TV, and suffering from carburetor-like hearts rattles and fuming stomach exhaust thanks to the uncharacteristic decision to drink coffee, I yearned for the comfort of just one thing -- and it wasn't a girl: I already fucked that one up. It was the glossy, hallow, hook laden tunes of the Turn-Ons, a band from Seattle introduced to me by my sister's husband Damon -- a guru of little-know acts, steeped in cherished nuggets of musical info.
Though their first album is a lo-fi, acoustic-driven nod to T. Rex, it's the Turn-Ons' next set -- the highly melodious, lushly written and produced 'East' -- which defined a joyous era of my life: the summer between junior and senior year in college when I had my first apartment in Seattle, a gorgeous, motivated, and intelligent girlfriend, and an internship at 'Tablet,' an inner-city, liberal arts and culture magazine.
With a reverb drenched, shoegazery sonic rooted in simplistic yet refined indie rock songwriting, the Turn-Ons allow comfort in pain, and ease any situation with a viscous coating of majors, minors, and sevenths. Their tunes came to define the squalor of my small basement apartment (a popular lyrical topic -- Read "Skyscrappers" and "Sideways"), the inner workings of my relationships, and predominantly narrated -- in both melody and lyric -- my ever move that summer; In retrospect, I can hear the fluid, hazy riffs and murky piano melodies as I dove into Lake Washington at night and paddled into the glimmering, animated panes of water; walked across Seattle Center beneath the Space Needle at night, inhaling the summery air between my teeth; when my eyes burst all over my then girlfriend's colorful, kaleidescope-like skirts; and sank my toes in the sand at the beach, watching the sun sink, strumming my guitar as wooden morsels cackled and shot from smoky bonfires.
Ever since, the Turn-Ons have released a few more records, 'Parallels,' and soon, 'Death to God.' Both have a similar sonic -- again, one layered in near-arena filling chorus hooks, and endearing, gorgeous verses and Travis Devries tinny, drawn out and emoting vocals. But sadly -- despite numerous national tours, including spots opening for successful acts, and some national press -- this band have never garnered the praise and credit they deserve.
Now, though I sit on a raggedy, brash steel chair roughly twenty feet from the clamor in my living room, where dudes continue to high-five and clang beers and fucking scream at the top of their lungs (the Jets and the Patriots are tied I guess), I'm comfortable, and feel a million miles away -- well, actually about 3,000. When I close my eyes I'm transported back to the plastic blow up mattress of my basement apartment, where I lay on my college-bought blue duvet cover, peering down the space's narrow hallway, over my record collection and long-sold Fender Rhodes electric piano, and out the window at the black berry patches of urban Seattle, wondering what will happen next.
Here's one of the more rockin' tracks from 'East': "Neighborhood Killer"
Here's a tune more characteristic of the band's overall sound -- "Stop Waiting" off 'Parallels'
I arrived back to Brooklyn from my Christmas vacation in Seattle just a few hours ago. It's nice to be back, sure, but being back home was splendid, and I will miss it and all the trimmings -- family, friends, food, conversation, sitting in the hot tub, and the rural environment of my parent's house way up near the San Juan islands.
During my trip home I traveled down to Portland for the Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks concert -- it was excellent. The material from his forthcoming record, 'Real Emotional Trash,' is pretty awesome, and a total departure. Most songs push the 9-10 minute mark but oddly still retain pop qualities -- still humable, still catchy, still groovy, and naturally, still hilarious in lyrical content. The show was at the Doug Fir Lounge, which is attached to the Jupiter Hotel. My friends and I stayed at the hotel, and the next morning walked around the city, hit a lot of record and clothing shops for a little Christmas shopping.
Today as been an exhausting day in terms of travel. At 3:45 AM PST, I boarded a shuttle bus way up in the Puget Sound, on Whidbey Island, where my parents live. It was snowing and the little shuttle rolled down the highway with a sleeping crew of passengers. With a blinking red light inside, it felt like a submarine. We then boarded the ferry boat and crossed the ocean. Every time I ride one of these huge boats I'm reminded of how much I love the ocean. I have many fond memories of riding the ferry boat, sometimes boarding on foot, others while driving my car. This morning, the Puget Sound was engulfed in a thick misty haze, and a sleet/snow fell all the way to the airport, where I boarded a plane bound for Newark at 8 AM. Now I'm in Brooklyn, sitting in my freshly cleaned apartment, once again part of the bustling city. I miss the leisure of Washington, the highways, and traveling large distances even to accomplish the most mundane of tasks -- the closest grocery store to my parent's place is at least fifteen miles. Needless to say, but between Portland, Whidbey Island, and all the bouncing around in Seattle, I traveled many miles. It felt great in contrast of the intricate, yet short-in-distance movements in NYC. From my bed to work, is not much more than two miles -- the most traveling I do in an average day.
But I arrive back fresh, and ready to dip right back into city life, with new mindset, and looking forward to the New Year. Plus I had my teeth cleaned, they're all ready too!
