The cookies of others.

When someone sends you semi-anonymous cookies in the mail, it means you have done something right. Or you have just eaten a fatal dose of arsenic. For now, I'm going with the former, but if this is my last blog post, assume it was the latter all along.

One of the nice things about being, at this point, primarily a vinyl listener is that you can get completely bogged down in one side of an album. That's what's going on with me and Beach House's "Devotion" right now. Beside the fact it's hardly come off my turntable at all (until yesterday morning when I was jonesing for Mingus with my coffee and eggs), very often after the need scratches the label on the first side, I just lift it back to the outer edge of the disc rather than flipping the whole thing over and exploring further. I love it when this happens, it's like planning a long trip full of stops you know will be amazing, but lingering a couple extra days with friends who are just too lovely to leave.

I saw these two open for Grizzly Bear a whiles back during my finish-the-book/visit-the-parents retreat and it was fantastic. Perfect music for the beginnings of a spring thaw. Diffuse light, cold with surprises. I thought I was hooked on the first track, but now I'm caught up on the third. Here they are, in order (the second, not included, is pretty swell as well):

Wedding Bell
Gila

Because some of you might enjoy it, here are a couple live tracks from the Super Furry Animals show at the store a couple weeks back. The one that was going to put the store on the map and ensure that we did tons of business for the rest of the semester? Well, the doldrums continue, but the show was one of those things where you just shake your head and wonder if it's really happening.

Rings Around the Moon
Runaway
Golden Retriever
In other reportage of things other people have known about forever, I finally got around to seeing "The Lives of Others". I mistakenly netflixed (it's a verb now) "Little Children" instead and forgot about my original target film. The Lawyer put it best (he so often does) in mentioning how remarkable it is that while American twentysomething filmmakers are largely producing meticulous mits of omphaloskeptic self indulgence (which is to say, "I saw 'Darjeeling Limited' this week"), this German cat, all of twenty four years, puts together this sprawling, near perfect commentary on, let's see, interpersonal relations, the role of the artist within the state, the history of the East German regime and the nature of the human soul under such an oppressive government. I'd be more enamored if the film dropped the "see what I just did" denoument, but it looks like my favorite recent films list just got another German in the mix.

This weekend, I am learning James Dean. I've never seen anything of his other than "Rebel Without a Cause", so Sunday night is going to be a "Giant"/"East of Eden" double-header. Ideally, this is going to kick off a sort of American Icons series for me. I'm loading some John Wayne onto the Netflix cue, maybe some Gary Cooper. Given that I'm already well-versed in Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart, who else should make the list? Maybe some Bogart? I dunno, Gregory Peck?

Take 'em to Missouri.

Intellectual props (or "Talented Portly Dudes, Thievin' on the Beatles").

Has the copyright recently expired on the guitar riff from "Dear Prudence" by the Beatles? Along with the entire song's abhorrent deployment in "Across The Universe", that riff has shown up in LCD Soundsystem's original "steal all you can motherfucker" masterpiece of a self titled album (which also includes everything this side of David Byrne's wallet)(incidentally, David Byrne's wallet is on the second album), but now the ultimate grimy duo the Gutter Twins have wheeled out this rocker from the crypt. George Harrison's corpse must be exhausted, and that dude was pretty tired while he was alive.

Don't get me wrong, I'm hell of psyched to have an album that combines the Marvin Gaye on ketamine vocals of Greg Dulli and the "bodies are buried in the barn" baritone of Mark Lanegan. Ideally, I'd be carving pumpkins to it, but tisn't the season. So I've been carving scary faces onto grapefruits to it. Not quite the same effect (more pulp, less structural integrity) but tres emotionally satisfying.

I tried very hard to find a picture of Jane Seymour's sister, to whom "Dear Prudence" was originally dedicated. For the record, she was hanging with the Fabs while they were learning to be more socially disconnected under the tutelage of the Maharishi Mahesh Yoshi (I think I have that right). While this period only did mild damage to them plucky Liverpudlians (inducing George to steel mantras from the Chiffons, among other tribulations), it was mentally destructive for the little Seymour sister, who suffered a breakdown and got a Beatles tune in return. It ain't enlightenment, but baby, what is?

Compare, contrast, lather, rinse, repeat.
"Dear Prudence"-The Beatles
"Never As Tired as When I'm Waking Up"- LCD Soundsystem
"I Was in Love With You"- The Gutter Twins

Photoshop is comfort food.

So yeah, I got the thumbs down from U Mich. But on the bright side, I made this.

Man, I need coffee.

These are the Daves I Know

You know what the awesome, superfun thing about applying to grad school is?

Nothing. There is nothing awesome, super or fun about applying to grad school. As a process it seems designed to cause total neurosis in anyone who embarks upon it. I'm applying to grad school, is this not sufficient evidence of pre-existing neurosis? Anyway, in case you're scoring, I'm currently 0-1, with three more responses expected in the next two weeks. If you're looking for me between now and then, check behind a glass of whiskey.

But not all is doom and gloom! March has shone her sunny face down upon Ithaca, making my scarf temporarily obsolete. Even now, someone is cleaning the outside of the hard-to-reach record store windows to allow precious natural light into our little fluorescent lit cavern. Hopefully this sunshine will be accompanied by her sweet sister, Commerce, although the closing of Juna's, long threatened and finally carried out, does not bode well for the downtown area.

On the plus side, we've had some pretty darn remarkable shows out over here. Just a few days after traveling to Hamilton College to watch those practioners of post-quarterlife panic, the National with a small collection of nineteen year olds who (I'm guessing here) have never had a job, much less one of the "dead end" variety, the store ended up playing host to the Super Furry Animals, who are the nicest group of Welsh people I've ever met. Which is to say the only group of Welsh people I've ever met. When I get the pictures from Damascus, I'll put them up, but a good time was had by all, even if I did fall off the steps of the tour bus at fourish in the morning after what felt like a tour of all the world's whiskeys. All credit goes to the Lawyer on putting this one together, but thanks go most especially to Damascus, the Midget, a handful of FanClubbers and John from Sound on Sound for playing roadie with us. By the way, let me warn you off: being a roadie is a young man (or woman)'s game; it is not for the faint of heart or feeble of back. Lesson learned.

In other good news, and part of the reason for this post's title, my editor, Dr. David Barker was nice enough today to assure me that the book is still happening and has been announced for July. Which means at some point in the summer, I'm going to be looking to come to your town and read in your favorite book store. Any help on this front will be greatly appreciated and reciprocated with whiskey (which has now officially become the theme for this post). Other top-notch Dave, who heads up the sales department at Matador records, has been nice enough to provide the store with the new Stephen Malkmus CD which is pretty darn good, especially given how lukewarm I've felt about other post-Pavement stuff from the Malk. I think this one is catching me at just the right time; the weather's improving, my seasonal affective action is winding down and I needed a cheery guitar rock album. Plus there's something about knowing Sleater-Kinney's Janet Weiss is still working that assures me all is right with the world.

I'm going to do a March events posting tomorrow, cause we've got half an assload of stuff coming up.