Category: tunes

Music. Bands. Songs. Concerts.

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crumbelievable

Crumbelievable.
Sharaun asked me if I was going to shave my beard before Lil’ Chino comes. I said that I had thought about it, but hadn’t decided. “But,” she said, “You don’t want to have a beard in our first pictures with the baby, do you? It’s the first time you’ve ever had a beard in your whole life, and you probably won’t have it forever; do you really want that in your first pictures with her? It’s not you.” Don’t think I hadn’t considered this very thing. My real goal with this beard was to grow it bushy and wild. So, maybe I can just grow it until Sharaun goes into labor – and then shave… or something. Who knows. I think she’s kind of right, though, I’m not sure I want this thing in those very special pictures. Then again, I actually like it, and think I might even like it more the bushier it gets. We’ll see.

I saw a commercial for a new kind of Kraft cheese the other day that used EMF’s 90s anthem “Unbelievable” to hawk curds. You know what they changed the song to? “They’re crumbelievable.” Oh. My. Crap. That’s possibly the worst, worst-worst-worst commercial sellout I’ve ever heard. “Crumbelievable?!” EMF… for shame. I hope they don’t own the rights to that song, because that would mean they came together as a band and listened to a pitch that may have gone something like this:

Kraft goes:
“EMF, we here at Kraft would like to use a reinterpretation of your classic song, ‘Unbelievable’ to market our exciting new line of cheese. We think we can give your work the respect it deserves as iconic 90s dancepop, while simultaneously utilizing its near-universal genY appeal to give our new Kraft Crumbles an edgy edge with the extremely cynical late-20s demo.”

EMF goes:
“Uh, OK… how were you planning on ‘reinterpreting’ it?”

Kraft goes:
“I’m glad you asked! We are actually planning to change the hook from “it’s unbelievable” to “they’re crumbbelievable.” “They” being in reference to the actual cheese crumbles, which are, indeed, unbelievable. Here, we’ve brought some for you, EMF, to sample.

EMF goes:
“Oh. Wow. That’s… Wow. And we get how much now?

Kraft pushes a piece of paper across the table, past the untouched glass bowl of Crumbles, towards EMF. Band members pass the paper around, one to the next. They put their heads together in a brief whispering conference. EMF turns to Kraft.

EMF goes:
We, EMF, accept your offer of money in exchange for our artistic integrity. We will use said money to clutch, if only fleetingly, at memories of our one-hit-wonder, drug and women-filled heyday of 1990s psuedo-stardom. Thanks in advance for the humiliation.

As a postscript, turns out that iPod I mentioned Sharaun winning on the radio yesterday is only 30GB. Oh, and it’s laser-etched with the Discovery Channel logo on the back. Odd, but hey – don’t mistake it for complaints, it’s 30GB and one laser-etched Discovery Channel logo better than the iPod I had before it. Anyway, I filled it to the brim last night and couldn’t be more in love with it.

Goodnight peoples, I be lovin’ you all.

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it all happened at the wolf parade show

Burning bird.
Who says you cant lateblog on Fridays? No one I know! Anyway, here it is, late, since we didn’t make it home from the Wolf Parade show until 3am last night. About the show… I was underwhelmed. Unbeknownst to me, we caught the very last show on the tour, right before the band was heading back north for two months rest. That meant a very drunken band, and a pretty burned out vocal performance from the lead-guitar singer guy (not to be confused with the keyboard singer guy, neither of whom’s name I know). Can you say “whom’s?” Anyway, the show wasn’t very enjoyable for 8-months-pregnant Sharaun, and worrying over her hampered my experience a little too. Basically, I saw my hipster life die a slow death last night, while my family life phoenix began to flutter under the pile of ashes – and it all happened over an hour and half at a Wolf Parade show. Now some crap I wrote yesterday.

I wanted to thank stereogum for bringing my attention to Bill O’Reilly’s appearance on the Letterman show this week, as I found Dave’s conviction in the interview pretty out-of-character – yet a welcomed taking-on of Mr. O’Reilly. Hopefully the WMV link sticks around long enough for you to check it out as well. I’m still surprised that it’s taken criticism of this war this long to become this public, but I suppose that you could argue that criticism will inevitably grow in proportion to the length of the engagement and, more importantly, number of lives lost. Regardless of time and lives, I think it’s past-due. Knowing we can’t just pull out and nut on Iraq’s stomach at this point, one can make a fair projection of the pro-war curve – and so can the GOP. I’d imagine it’ll go something like this:

hawkism.jpg

Of course, there will be outliers – those who will support the decision to go to war until the very end. You’ll find some of these people to be very intelligent, sensible, well-versed, and extremely convicted; you’ll also find some of these people to be ignorant, blindly accepting of authority, and willing to swallow a live grenade were it marketed to them correctly (likely wrapped in an American flag, affixed with J. Christ’s seal of approval, or heavily advertised during NASCAR). Likewise, you’ll find those who wouldn’t vote for war were an Iraqi-sanctioned team of terrorists in their living room slitting the throats of their family with dull wooden knives made from felled-for-sport 300 year old American redwoods. I am none of these, and I hope that I am among the growing majority; a growing majority that wants to know. If not for WMD… then what for? If not for 9/11… then what for? If not for proof of state-sponsored terrorism… then what for? What the heck for? To make the world a better place, of course! Yay! We’re all rainbows and kittens.

That’s it, weekend time. See ya.

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slicing stratosphere

Somewhere up there...
Slicing stratosphere on the way home, another tight connection so fingers crossed that the luggage meets us there. Today would be the day my travel-size baby powder runs out, sticky unpowdered balls for an eight hour cross-country trek, what could be better? Laptop’s got enough battery to last the entire flight, but I’ll get tired of it before then. Debating even opening it, don’t really have anything to write, but I wanted to listen to the Andrew Bird album that I’ve been singing all morning. Had a good time in Florida, always do. Will be glad to get back home though, if for nothing more than to try and get tied into the work thing for a short seven weeks before Lil’ Chino arrives.

Speaking of babies, which, when am I not, lately… that little girl is on her way, is coming. I see it occupy more of Sharaun’s thoughts day by day – bringing it also to the front of mine. We start our parenting classes the week after we get back, once a week for six weeks – Tuesday nights for a couple hours. There, I’m supposing we’ll learn to be parents. Picking up skills like shooshing and swaddling and tummy-timing. I’m excited, actually, to go to the classes… even though they’re not free, or anything. I’m sure we’ll learn a thing or two about a thing or two, and that can’t be bad. But, deep down, I’ve talked previously about how I think this thing is just “meant” to work… being that we’ve made it from caveman to here, y’know.

Man these kind of entries are boring: “This is what we did, this is what we’re doing, blah, blah, baby, blah.” It’s easy to complain about the junior-high journal style of writing, but harder to actually do something original; so you don’t, you shoot for just writing instead, and leave lofty goals of creativity for rare moments of inspiration rather than the norm. Plodding on then, faults well known.

Sharaun got me a great little book for Christmas, 101 Things A Good Dad Should Know. It’s got lots of neat little tidbits of knowledge that all dads should have stowed away. Of course, how to throw a curveball and swing a bat are in there… sigh. Not that our daughter will be pitching curveballs that much, but her mom did play softball. What’s the fear, you ask? People, I have no skills; can’t swing a bat, can’t throw a ball. OK, so I can do both, so can a monkey, but I don’t do either correctly. Never did learn, was always laughed at when I tried, so never put much into it. In the book, there’s and illustration of the good dad, we’ll call him Dad Gallant, hanging a tennis ball from a garage rafter for swinging practice. Me, we’ll call me Dad Goofus, I hang a tennis ball from the garage rafter to know precisely how far to pull in the car. I don’t want to be Dad Goofus. Sure, I can teach you how to find the North Star, complete the square, and balance a checkbook – but I’m a wreck on the field. You’ll still love me, right?

I’ve finally decided I’m getting an iPod. I’ve wanted one now for nigh on two years, but so far had been holding off for a larger capacity future model. Yesterday, I just up and decided I’m getting one – perhaps my last vanity purchase before Lil’ Chino gets here. I want the 60GB model, could care less for the video on that tiny screen, but I won’t mind having it, y’know, just in case. While my collection is twice over 60GB and always growing, I think I can pare it down to a good “purist” base that will be nice to have in a pocket. I always rationalize large purchases with some kind of “plus and minus” model where I comb through the last couple months finances for expenses that could’ve been. When I “find” money that could’ve been spent but wasn’t, I then feel better about unexpected cash outflux. In this case, our skymile-funded trip home for Christmas is the plus to my iPod minus. Sane, right?

Before I go, a couple recent disappointments, one expected, one not. Got dragged to a movie with Sharaun and an old friend of ours the other night, The Family Stone. Please, for the love of Jesus y’all, don’t go see this steaming pile. It was, honestly, one of the worst things I’ve seen in a loooong while. At least the old friend sprung for tickets, so I wasn’t lighter in the wallet for the slop. I hadn’t expected much, but I was shocked and awed and how little I got. Second, finally got the Test Icicles album I’ve been wanting since their 1st single did so well. It blows. Don’t waste your money, you’re better off buying this brilliant Andrew Bird record and falling asleep in the sun.

‘Night.

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baby math

Piece by infinitely small piece.
I’ll give you an idea of how my “the baby’s coming soon” math has been going lately: When we get back to California, it’ll almost be January – and you know how quickly a month goes by. The baby will be full term before January’s even over, and then, it’ll be February. If the doctors are right, Lil’ Chino will arrive the third week of that second month – but she can “safely” arrive anytime after January 22nd. January 22nd is one month from tomorrow, and you know how quickly a month goes by. Right now, one month (even though it’s actually two) seems like next week to me. I keep thinking we’re late making the “hospital bag” we’re supposed to take when everything goes down, late furnishing and painting the nursery, late. To think, all this writing about our coming daughter and I’ve not once yet mentioned the name we’ve chosen – that’s a conscious thing I suppose… maybe too personal while she’s still “baking” or something.

Being a complete ass of a music snob myself, I got a big kick out of reading the fazed reader comments on Pitchfork’s Top 50 of 2005 list. I love the outrage over the obscurity and snobbery, the incredulous “Where was Staind?”and “Who the FUCK is Sufjan Stevens?!” type comments. Apparently, this is “gay ass yuppie” indie music that “has no balls.” Maybe they’re right. Kyle and I were talking the other day about the amount of pretentiousness involved in the indie scene, an issue which he’s more passionate about than I am. I’ve always not-so-secretly liked the elitism of listening to music that’s good but unknown, liked the crosseyed looks I got when mentioning who I saw in concert last night. In the last year though, it seems to me that the public, or the indie, or both, have been more accepting of each other. With Death Cab and the Decemberists signing to the majors, and more mainstream/indie crossover onto radio and indie-snob “best of” lists, it seems like something’s moving in the right direction. I maintain that I don’t like this music simply because it’s obscure, but it’s a hard line to maintain when nothing that isn’t obscure doesn’t make my list. I guess, as much as I criticize the Top 40 crowd for “missing” all the other good music out there, so could I be criticized for burying my head in the sand and missing potentially good payola-motivated mainstream stuff. But, we all know that’s BS; mainstream blows.

I still need to pick up a couple more things for Sharaun for Christmas, but other than that I plan to stay away from shopping altogether. Sharaun, on the other hand, has been shopping, I think, every day since we’ve been here. This is unfortunate for my reputation with her, since every time I decline to accompany her while she shops, she gets upset. Now, for me, I’d much rather sit and home and do absolutely nothing than go shopping. It still confounds me that she continues to ask me along anyway, I nearly always decline, and, on the rare occasion when I don’t – I only make her miserable with my impatience and disinterest. You’d think that, with the combination of the joint-shopping experience being miserable and my obvious distaste for it, she’d stop asking. But no, she still asks, and I still get called “lazy” because I’d rather stay home. I seriously hate just “shopping” as a leisure activity, with the exceptions of music, book, or electronics stores. I don’t know why that’s so hard to understand, seems simple to me. Anyway, I’ll run out once more and then be done with the pre-holiday rush… then I can revel in my laziness.

I guess this is good enough for an entry, if I write more I’ll bin it for tomorrow. Now to spellcheck and publish, goodnight.

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tiny little shoes

Wash up.
Florida, I always feel relaxed here. The air feels cleaner, I can tell almost immediately – as inhale that first lungfull walking down the jetway. Maybe it’s the humidity that just gives the air a different breathing quality, I don’t know. Florida just makes me feel “slowed down,” better paced – simply not so rushed. Related to this, I’ve decided that I’m not gonna put myself on any rigorous writing schedule, but rather will write as I have time. May make for a spotty week, but that’s the way it goes. At least the in-laws finally broke down and got broadband and wireless…

Well, as the top indie rags begin to eke out their 2005 best-of lists, I’ve been watching with a keen eye – plotting ans scheming to find myself some new tunes I may have formerly forsaken. My number one album discovered this way so far is the Andrew Bird LP I first mentioned Friday. It’s great, I’d recommend listening to this haunting track to get an idea of what to expect if you’re considering this one. Finding an album like this really isn’t the norm for me though, there are definitely albums that seem to be scored consistently high on most lists that I just can’t get into, even after several tries. The warbley Anthony and the Johnstons is one, and I’m still not convinced the Okkervil River or latest Spoon are really worth all the fuss. But seriously, this Andrew Bird effort is exceptional.

Sharaun’s friends gave her a surprise baby shower, our first day in Florida. Seeing these little outfits, with their tiny little shoes and super-soft fabrics, it’s beginning to all sink in. People have said that it never really seems “real” until the moment you hold your new baby in your arms. I believe that, because it still seems all a bit unreal to me right now – even holding these miniature shoes in the palm of one hand, it’s still just a movement in my wife’s belly that we talk to and think about. It’s hard to “love” something you’ve never seen, what I do feel right now is more of this protectionist thing – overly concerned about my wife’s wellbeing and safety. Inside that vessel is something I can’t wait to see, so I suppose it makes sense to want to shelter it. Anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that baby showers are great. I enjoy sifting through the resulting loot probably as much as Sharaun does. Baby monitors, diaper bags, bottles with little rubber nipples, pink blankets and floaty bath toys. I tell you, a guy could really get into this.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what I want my daughter’s “first song” to be. I never had a “first song,” but my friend Kyle’s dad remembered what song was playing in the car when they brought him home from the hospital – and I always liked the idea of knowing that. In my case, I’d like to choose the song and have it ready to do. I’ve been thinking about what that should be. Sure, Beatles may be obvious, given my history… but I’m actually thinking I may go more obscure. Is it selfish to want to make it one of my favorite tracks of all time? It’s gotta be something quiet, softish I think, maybe something acoustic. I think to myself that I’d like it to be some selection from one of my favorite albums of all time, but then I remember that I’ve never really sat down and tried to rank all-time best albums – and I’m back to thumbing through my mental rolodex. We’ll see, I’m sure I’ll figure something out before the time comes.

Goodnight folks, until later on.

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déja vu politics

Rowr.
Evenin’ folks. I kicked butt at work today. If I could bottle and sell whatever chemical cocktail kicks in inside me when I’m up against a wall and makes me 300% more productive than normal… umm, how do you end a sentence that starts with “If I could bottle…?” Whatever. I guess it’s actually my max output, I just set my idle to slack rather than max, that’s all. I’m cool with it, it keeps me paid.

Revisiting yesterday’s post – some good points made by readers.

Cynthasizer is right: hindsight is 20:20, and regardless of past mistakes we now have an obligation to clean up the mess we’ve caused. I completely agree that to leave the country in its present state would be just as bad as invading that country without cause to begin with. However, in my mind there’s a balance scale – on one side is the honor due us for now “staying the course,” in which I feel there is indeed honor to be had, and on the other is the regret and apology for the whole mess to begin with. If the administration thinks a mid-term “we’re sorry, but now we’re dedicated to making it right” trick is gonna leave a pleasant taste in my mouth, they’re wrong. And, while the old what’s-done-is-done story of forgive and forget just doesn’t seem like it should work this time – what the hell else are we gonna do about it? Go back in time and change it? However, just because it’s all now immutable history doesn’t mean it’s any more fathomable, forgivable, or less suspicious (well, to me, at least).

Wes also makes a good point: at least the administration is owning up to it’s previous shortcomings, perhaps this will help us save some global face; I sure hope so. However, I have to wonder if this admission, and acceptance of guilt, is less of an administration taking stock and coming clean and not more to give the voting populous some “healing” and “forgetting” time before 2008. Republicans need their reputation to be one of those who admit guilt when wrong, and stay the course for the greater good – not one of those who misread faulty intelligence and launch mistaken invasions and occupations. No, perhaps what we’re seeing here is actually a sacrifice bunt; the Bush administration takes one for the good of the GOP. But, motivation aside, Wes is correct in that admitting wrongdoing is indeed the first step – and that, at least, is encouraging.

Finally, and, unintentionally, in reverse order – my mom’s first comment on my blog. The only thing I try to do, politically, in this blog, or in real-life, is not be rabid. While I view passion as commendable, I look at extremism as being laughable. I’m a die-hard optimist y’all, to the very fiber of me, and I refuse to believe that two people can’t get along on some level. I think all sorts of thinkers can ultimately get along if they just hold back the foaming-at-the-mouth deep-end thinking that just defies logic. The only time I’ll admit this doesn’t work is when one of said two people is insane. And yes, rabid liberalism, or conservatism, or freakin’ Rastafarianism for that matter, qualify you as insane in my mind – and I don’t have to believe that we’ll eventually get along, my conscience gives me permission to write you off. Be normal, be reasonable 80% of the time, and we’ll be fast friends. What does this have to do with my mom? Not much, other than I was trying to make some point about me being more middle-of-the-road than leaning one way or another. And… I think that… somehow… relates to her comment. I mean, c’mon, I didn’t picket for Tookie’s clemency – but it’s hard to turn a blind eye to a “mistake” of a war. That said, yesterday’s entry wasn’t the first time I’ve been caught with my zipper down, all my “liberal” hanging out.

Every year, I watch online music rags and mp3 blogs for year-end “best of” roundups. Invariably, I’m introduced to at least a couple albums I’d never heard of during the year which happened to be someone else’s favorite. Tonight I gabbed an album I’d seen on several lists, Andrew Bird’s Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs. Yes, it’s one of those albums that indie folks are embarrassed to call by name in the car when one of their poppier passengers asks, “What’s this you’re listening to?” “Oh, that’s just Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Production of Eggs.” Cue head-cocked stares and befuddled smirks. Anyway, it’s slow, so if you don’t like slow don’t do it. But, if you like slow and lyrical, do it. Good stuff. Also making a positive splash in early showings with me, another year-end-list find, Okkervil River’s Black Sheep Boy. Keep an eye out here for continued fawning or a quick fade into obscurity.

Then that’s it then; Friday and we leave tomorrow for Florida. I dunno how writing will go for those ten days, but I’d guess it won’t be as frequent as is has been. We’ll see, sometimes I surprise myself.

Goodnight.

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death is, for the heart, food

She's sprung a leak!
Weeks straight without and missed day and I have to go and ruin it on my birthday. Today on the blog: technology and music; which may be a bad idea seeing as my frivolous posts seem to be most popular – the “me agin the bees” entry a few days back garnered the most comments an entry’s seen in a while. Still, a whopping four comment’s ain’t exactly inspired discourse. Today in real life: more plane-time as Sharaun and I wing it back down south to California and I prepare for three days of work and unpacked suitcases before we take flight Saturday for a week and a half excursion to Florida for Christ’s birthday.

Since I made the transition from IE to Firefox several months ago, I’ve really come to love it. The browser is just better in my opinion, “sleeker” or something. What I really love though, are the extensions that let me do nearly anything I want on top of what FF already does. Lately, I also solved a long-time frustration of mine through the use of Firefox and some additional open-source software. Using the awesome SiteBar server-side application and Firefox’s SiteBar Client extension, I’ve moved my bookmarks from a file on whatever computer I use the most to a file saved on my server – accessible from any computer and always up-to-date. Ever since my early days on Mosaic, I’ve tried to maintain bookmarks on different computers. Now, however, my bookmarks stay on my server and I can get to them anywhere – from any browser (although FF with SiteBar Client is ideal). So, anyway, just another cool reason (aside from real tabs) to take a look at FireFox. I heard IE is moving to true tabbed browsing (not that MSN Toolbar window hack thing) and user customizable extensions also, but Firefox has it now, so I’m devoted for the time being.

Man, talk about a great couple weeks for new music! It’s like Santa Clause dropped down the binaries chimney first of them all. The new Strokes album finally leaks in full instead of dribbling out track by track, The Islands‘ (a post-Unicorns effort) debut album leaks, the new Mogwai album leaks, and an album I didn’t even know I was highly anticipating, the self-titled debut from She Wants Revenge, also leaks – not to mention Ptichfork’s newest fawn-overs, Love is All. Honestly, I don’t know which one to listen to first, second, third. It’s like on The Simpsons when Lisa’s grammar-correcting robot, Linguo, encounters the mobsters and his head a’splodes from the Mafioso-grammar overload. I want to listen to the all at once or something, because they all sound so good. In this sentence, I was going to say something like “… the Islands album sounds particularly good …,” but, after some more ear-time for all three, they all sound particularly good. Time to draft “the best of 2006” I suppose, never too early.

Without trying to sound like a TV addict (it’s gonna be hard, considering the subject), one thing I’ve enjoyed about international travel lately is the ability to download shows I follow for immediate consumption. It’s something I’d never considered before, I either just missed out or caught up on TiVo upon returning. But, with the internet of today – most popular shows are available for full download online within hours of their airing. While I was in India last week, I downloaded several of my faves and cached them away on my laptop’s harddrive for the long journey home. In addition to providing entertainment, I love the quizzical looks I get from fellow travelers on the plane when I fire up last night’s episode of Lost, complete with ABC logo in the lower right corner. With the fat pipes of today, you can grab a show in a time about equal to its running time (a lot faster if you’re privy to a speedier connection) – so it’s a no-brainer to just NZB everything you want the night before you leave for tomorrow’s enjoyment. Ahh… the digital age.

Finally, with a little behind-the-scenes action: The title of today’s blog came from a dream I woke up from one night in India – I liked it, so I used it (maybe it came from the malaria pills). Goodnight.