Old 97’s/Valentine/Of all the many ways a man can break his heart, well there ain’t nothing meaner than he tears his own apart. Valentine, the destroyer, valentine you belong.
Replacements/Valentine/If you were a pill, I’d take a handful at my will and wash you down with something sweet and strong.
Groovy Little Numbers/Shoot Me Down/I can lose, but never again to you. I can only take so much but want much more.
Joy Division/Love Will Tear Us Apart/Again.
Wrens/Ex-girl Collection/Anne slams in, she pour herself a don’t-ask gin. No ice and light on the bitters, I’m done with quitters. It’s just how men mark time.
Cars Can Be Blue/I Can Think of Things to Do/Love is love is love is love, but this just isn’t that. Take a shower when we’re done, but this won’t wash away.
Pulp/Pencil Skirt/I’ll be around when he’s not in town. I’ll show you how he’s doing it wrong.
Mountain Goats/No Children/I hope the fences we mended fall down beneath our own weight. I hope we hang on past the last exit, I hope it’s already too late.
Bright Eyes/If Winter Ends/I dreamt of a fever, one that would free me from this cold winter-set heart.
Pants Yell/My Boyfriend Writes Plays/Here’s some sense of purpose for you: Fuck your stories, I’m leaving, it’s true.
Cansei De Ser Sexy/Music is my Hot Hot Sex/Music is where I’d like you to touch.
Rilo Kiley/Portions for Foxes/The talking leads to touching, and the touching leads to sex and then there is no mystery left. And it’s bad news, I don’t blame you. I do the same thing, I get lonely too.
Johnny Cash/It Ain’t Me Babe/Go melt back into the night, babe. Everything inside is made of stone. There’s nothing in here moving, and anyway I’m not alone.
Arab Strap/Glue/Sex without love is a good ride worth trying, but love without sex is second only to dying.
Hefner/Where Angels Play Their Drum Machines/Let me let you let me down again. One more time.
Why?/Gemini (Birthday Song)/I want a verb and you give me a noun. What’d you dream up while I tongue you down?
Heavenly/Sperm Meets Egg, So What?/Just don’t tell me what to think, if it turns pink..
Crabs/Bricks of Gold/The thrill becomes familiar, and it loses its shine. Will you still call me sweetheart? Will you say you are mine?
Ryan Adams/Dear Chicago/I’ve been thinking what you said is true—I’m gonna die alone and sad.
Magnetic Fields/ Yeah! Oh Yeah!/ Are you reaching for a knife? Would you really kill your wife? Yeah! Oh, yeah!
Mirah/Nobody Has To Stay/It is the evening of these days, where we have chosen to remain. Nobody has to stay, but we wish they would anyway.
Destroyer/Virgin with a Memory/Formative years—wasted.
Liz Phair/Divorce Song/It’s harder to be friends than lovers and you shouldn’t try to mix the two, cause if you do it and you’re still unhappy, then you know that the problem is you.
Okkervil River/Lady Liberty/You say you’ve been used, you’ve been betrayed. That old bed’s been newly made.
Misfits/ Die, Die, My Darling/A dead end girl for a dead end guy.
Pipettes/Your Kisses Are Wasted on Me/And you might cry for some time…
Elvis Costello/Mystery Dance/I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’m still mystified. I can’t do it anymore and I’m not satisfied.
Jesus and Mary Chain/Upside Down/It doesn’t matter to me.
Tullycraft/I Kept the Beach Boys/The chances that we took, the oddsmakers gave us. Without much to save us, seemed nothing could save us.
Uncle Tupelo/Gun/My heart it was a gun. It’s unloaded now. So don’t bother.
Tugboat/Love goes home to Paris in the Spring/I’ve had enough. You never give me anything. Don’t you know love goes home to Paris in the spring?
Camera Obscura/Lloyd, I’m ready to be Heartbroken/I can’t see further than my own nose at the moment.
2.08.2007
Tell me where it all went wrong. 2.8.07
Ryan Adams/ World War 24/ Time stops.
Gogogo Airheart/ Nice up the dance/ Listen to the guitars
Go-betweens/ Old Mexico/ Go somewhere nice.
Lucksmiths/ Self-preservation/ Try a little harder.
Camera Obscura/ If looks could kill/ Sing a chorus. Try it again.
Coupleskate/ Trophy/ Being away isn’t so bad.
Loveninjas/ Keep your love/ Another autumn rain.
Juana Molina/ Elena/ Oh, children. I want a different difference here.
Destroyer/ The bad arts/ Sarcasm, sundry or something.
Grizzly Bear/ Knife/ A lovely spill.
Of Montreal/ Suffer for fashion/ We just want to emote til we’re dead.
Voxtrot/ Wrecking force/Bring it on.
Magnetic Fields/ Papa was a rodeo/I could play guitar and rope a steer before I learned to stand.
Sing-sing/ When I was made/ Being from Denmark ain’t so bad.
Tom Waits/ Book of Moses/ Recording helps a song out.
Andrew Bird/ Fake Palindromes/ See below.
Prototypes/ Exister/ Try it again.
H.P. Zinker/ Neon Angel/ Bring it back.
Hello Saferide/ Valentine’s Day/ Tune in next weeek.
Okkervil River/ Maine Island Lovers/ The songs, better.
Rivertube/ Every Little Thing/ Lovely lovely
Tullycraft/ Polaroids from Mars/ Let’s kill the mod revival to some applause.
Essex Green/ Don’t Know Why (You Stay)/ Never will.
Apples in Stereo/ Energy/ Songs about physics are better than physics themselves.
The Blow/ My heart/ Stretch towards…
Madeline/ Nobody/ And time begins again, again, again.
Gogogo Airheart/ Nice up the dance/ Listen to the guitars
Go-betweens/ Old Mexico/ Go somewhere nice.
Lucksmiths/ Self-preservation/ Try a little harder.
Camera Obscura/ If looks could kill/ Sing a chorus. Try it again.
Coupleskate/ Trophy/ Being away isn’t so bad.
Loveninjas/ Keep your love/ Another autumn rain.
Juana Molina/ Elena/ Oh, children. I want a different difference here.
Destroyer/ The bad arts/ Sarcasm, sundry or something.
Grizzly Bear/ Knife/ A lovely spill.
Of Montreal/ Suffer for fashion/ We just want to emote til we’re dead.
Voxtrot/ Wrecking force/Bring it on.
Magnetic Fields/ Papa was a rodeo/I could play guitar and rope a steer before I learned to stand.
Sing-sing/ When I was made/ Being from Denmark ain’t so bad.
Tom Waits/ Book of Moses/ Recording helps a song out.
Andrew Bird/ Fake Palindromes/ See below.
Prototypes/ Exister/ Try it again.
H.P. Zinker/ Neon Angel/ Bring it back.
Hello Saferide/ Valentine’s Day/ Tune in next weeek.
Okkervil River/ Maine Island Lovers/ The songs, better.
Rivertube/ Every Little Thing/ Lovely lovely
Tullycraft/ Polaroids from Mars/ Let’s kill the mod revival to some applause.
Essex Green/ Don’t Know Why (You Stay)/ Never will.
Apples in Stereo/ Energy/ Songs about physics are better than physics themselves.
The Blow/ My heart/ Stretch towards…
Madeline/ Nobody/ And time begins again, again, again.
2.07.2007
She's got blood in her eyes, in her eyes for you.
At some obscene level, anxiety is what keeps us going. I live in an apartment a block away from freight train tracks, and every hour or so a rumbling comes and a heavy train carrying things north towards Chicago hums past. The trains are a combination of shapes and cargoes, and I don’t know what they carry. I assume it’s important, but what’s more important than the trivial?
There’s a beautiful winter here now, with snowflakes that look like snowflakes and wind chills in the negative teens. We wake up and go outside, we catch the bus and get to campus. There’s a certain level of commitment to get where we need to be.
I’m behind the times on Andrew Bird—it’s one of those albums I’ve always kept around, but rarely listened to for various reasons (mostly that I never felt like it). He’s been recording for years, and people have loved him as long. I thought he was okay. Before last night, my iTunes counter tells me, I played his most popular album The Mysterious Production of Eggs about four times. But there’s one song, “Fake Palindromes”, which has, for lack of a better word, started to glow.
And this is where anxiety enters. Because, what do we get for listening to a song over and over again, other than the reassurance that it’ll be in our minds forever? Other than the idea that we’ll remember the song, or the song will remember us? Which one of these is the most false?
“Fake Palindromes” opens with a rush of strings that I’m sure was used in the past year for some montage in an indie film. I can’t remember what film. I can’t remember if I liked or hated it, though I’m fairly sure that I saw it (and here, again, some anxiety). The lyrics, which start immediately, “My dewy-eyed Disney bride, what has tried swapping your blood with formaldehyde? Monsters? Whiskey-plied voices cry fratricide”. The lyrics are strange, and brutal, but have a lovely Dylan-esque quality that I can’t help but appreciate. “She’s got red lipstick and a bright pair of shoes and she’s got knee-high socks, what to cover a bruise. She’s got an old death kit she’s been meaning to use, she’s got blood in her eyes for you.”
So, we are anxious. There are all sorts of theories about death and knowledge, God and nothingness. But there’s another thing, and it’s pretty monstrous. At some point, we wonder what has happened to us and it’s not really clear. Nothing is really clear. But the words are exceptional. The ending (and I think it says enough), “Some lonely night we can get together and I’ll tie your wrists with leather and drill a tiny hole into your head”. I could say all sorts of things about the breakdown of language and the utterance of violence and self-blame, I could parse this several ways. But I don’t really want to say anything. I just want to listen to the song again.
There’s a beautiful winter here now, with snowflakes that look like snowflakes and wind chills in the negative teens. We wake up and go outside, we catch the bus and get to campus. There’s a certain level of commitment to get where we need to be.
I’m behind the times on Andrew Bird—it’s one of those albums I’ve always kept around, but rarely listened to for various reasons (mostly that I never felt like it). He’s been recording for years, and people have loved him as long. I thought he was okay. Before last night, my iTunes counter tells me, I played his most popular album The Mysterious Production of Eggs about four times. But there’s one song, “Fake Palindromes”, which has, for lack of a better word, started to glow.
And this is where anxiety enters. Because, what do we get for listening to a song over and over again, other than the reassurance that it’ll be in our minds forever? Other than the idea that we’ll remember the song, or the song will remember us? Which one of these is the most false?
“Fake Palindromes” opens with a rush of strings that I’m sure was used in the past year for some montage in an indie film. I can’t remember what film. I can’t remember if I liked or hated it, though I’m fairly sure that I saw it (and here, again, some anxiety). The lyrics, which start immediately, “My dewy-eyed Disney bride, what has tried swapping your blood with formaldehyde? Monsters? Whiskey-plied voices cry fratricide”. The lyrics are strange, and brutal, but have a lovely Dylan-esque quality that I can’t help but appreciate. “She’s got red lipstick and a bright pair of shoes and she’s got knee-high socks, what to cover a bruise. She’s got an old death kit she’s been meaning to use, she’s got blood in her eyes for you.”
So, we are anxious. There are all sorts of theories about death and knowledge, God and nothingness. But there’s another thing, and it’s pretty monstrous. At some point, we wonder what has happened to us and it’s not really clear. Nothing is really clear. But the words are exceptional. The ending (and I think it says enough), “Some lonely night we can get together and I’ll tie your wrists with leather and drill a tiny hole into your head”. I could say all sorts of things about the breakdown of language and the utterance of violence and self-blame, I could parse this several ways. But I don’t really want to say anything. I just want to listen to the song again.
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