learn to labor and to wait

My Favorite Music of 2011: Albums

2012-01-26T18:38:00.001-06:00

ONE: Cults - Cults (Buy It.)
In the obligatory obsessing over doing this list honestly and naturally (this ain't no Pritchard Scale) I was just SURE that "nah, Cults isn't really my absolute favorite album of the year...right?" It was ultimately, however, impossible to think of an album that had both moved me and made me wanna move nearly as much in 2011. Cults is an album by a band at its exuberant and naive arrival. Their innocent and playful seriousness is the kind of thing that record labels fall all over themselves for, but they avoid (for now at least) sounding too slick and/or over-produced and simply sound naturally effervescent as eff. Will they ever make anything this effortlessly infectious again? (see: "Oh My God", "Abducted, "Most Wanted", "Walk at Night", etc.) Who cares... this album is, inescapably, my favorite of the year. See my earlier review for more ruminations.

TWO: Ducktails - III: Arcade Dynamics (Buy It.)
On the universe's back porch, sound and the living strings of material mattering are the same. Ducktails is a consummate commenter on the slow complexity of the thickness of existence. With small yet tremendous songs like "The Razor's Edge", "Killin' the Vibe", "Arcade Shift" and "Don't Make Plans" this album improves upon and perfects the boundary and stress eliminating potential of previous (also wonderful) efforts. These songs are perfect for staring into the white core of a summer day's freedom... but they are just as suited for cuddling up and hiding from the snow, for nights spent dreaming about one's trajectory among the stars or for soundtracking an intimate gathering. The gentle and patient toil of Matt Mondanile's singularly loose guitar work and wandering vocal washes is hypnotic and inspiring of endless spiraling thoughts and talks.

THREE: Toro y Moi - Underneath the Pine (Buy It.)
Even being a bit of a chillwaver by default, I didn't cozy up much to Causers of This (2009). With Underneath the Pine, however, I believe Toro y Moi (Chaz Bundick) found something personal to express within the superfluity of a genre invented by a satirist. To be fair, the genre really has expanded and become more sophisticated and 'legitimate' over the past few years and, with the relative shitiness of Neon Indian's Era Extranea, Toro y Moi has emerged (also to a lesser extent Washed Out, Small Black and Twin Sister) as the (re)calibrator of chillwave's destiny and an important exemplar of its' possible breadth and depth. Underneath the Pine soars on the wings of qualities uncommon to the makeshift genre; like a focus on live instrumentation, an impressive sense of self-assurance and a mood that is as genuinely emotive as it is dance-able. Dig "Elise" and "Light Black" for perfect instances of what I mean. Also exquisitely ill: "Still Sound", "New Beat" and "Good Hold".

FOUR: Atlas Sound - Parallax (Buy It.)
Bradford Cox is one of my absolute favorite music makers in the world right now. Be it Deerhunter or Atlas Sound, he seems to have found a plateau that so many have searched for; perfect dreamy music that mirrors and simultaneously unwinds the infinite blurry seeming. Emotional music with a cerebral core, Parallax is an intricate album of self-discovery in love, of a self-doubting kind of other-seeking, of struggling with oblivion, of indulgently paralyzed nostalgia and of longing for the unknown. There is a delicately expressed sorrow in the contours of these songs, but there is also an identification through alienation motif achieved through longing and cryptic lyrics, ethereal noises, and ghostly shifty melodies. "Te Amo", "Flagstaff" and "Lightworks" are three of the year's most perfect songs. (See my review of Parallax for the San Antonio Current for more.)

FIVE: Jay-Z/Kanye West - Watch the Throne (Buy It.)
First things first... Jay-Z and Kanye West are taking advantage of us because they know we (rap lovers) need them (now more than ever in this Wiz and Drake climate). That said, it's hard to imagine anything much more 'fuck yeah' than the pairing of the two biggest persona's in jetset hip-hop. Jigga and Yeezy? An album together? Holy. Shit. Ye rides the confidence and clout of his magnum opus (my #2 album of 2010) while Jay shows up smarter, more vicious and more 'with-it' than he's been in a while. "Why I Love You", "That's My Bitch", "No Church in the Wild", "Niggas in Paris", "Murder to Excellence", "Otis"... Don't resist this album; it's way more than it even needed to be to be great.

SIX: Monster Rally - Coral (Name your price.)
I wrote about this album in April 2011 and it hasn't left heavy rotation since. The peaceful chaos of these sampled and manipulated sounds and song pieces is remarkably warm and nostalgic. "Champagne/Holiday", "Cuban Velvet" and "Swamp Campfire" are personal favorites; but I have a feeling that Coral is an album on which everyone can find something different to like. There is space within this album for vastly (endlessly?) varying listening experiences to be had. These songs are too patient to rush you to any one particular place. Monster Rally is really not chillwave... Let's call it, more precisely, "Dillawave"... intimate and up-close collage tracks with an open and thumping heart. I've sometimes thought, along these lines, that it might be great to hear some rapper with a laid back style lend these tracks beef... But they are probably better left untouched; the half-finished feeling being part of their endearing and enduring charm.

SEVEN: Quilt - Quilt (Buy It.)
This Boston band snuck up on me late in the year, releasing one of 2011's most refreshingly honest and glowing albums. To be sure, there is nothing earth-shakingly new or bold here- but what Quilt does in their (almost frustratingly) seamless patching together of so many (particularly) American musical styles and moods is both a beautiful testament to the life left in our most time-honored modes and a promise of authentic craftsmanship in music to come. These songs, above all else, are ALIVE... they do things and seem to consider you as you consider them: "Lost and Lewd" bounces as if entranced, "Young Gold" strides in measured movements, "Children of Night" rolls through the grass then stomps off the dirt and "Milo" dances and swirls long long long into the smoky night. Click HERE for more on Quilt.

EIGHT: Secret Cities - Strange Heart (Buy It.)
Like woodland mystics, Secret Cities wave the actual inertia of life before your mind's eye in green tones and make softly intricate suggestions of The Great Mother's voice filling spaces beneath the trees. Instant favorite "Pebbles" is a cricket-chirp infused example of Secret Cities' unique way of blending lush harmonies with seemingly simple (but actually layered, deep and complex) melodies built around a bare bass line. Strange Heart is full of surprises and delightful nuances that open themselves up more and more with each listen ("Ice Cream Scene" is my current obsession). This is an earthy record in word and in ambiance. A joy to listen to time after time, I am grateful to have encountered this album in early December; just in time for it to effect me strongly enough be included on this list. You will love this album if you let the love in it lift you up. See also: "Always Friends", "Strange Heart", "Brief Encounter" and "Portland".

NINE: Tyler, the Creator - Goblin (Buy It.)
I know, I know. But I couldn't metaphorically look you in the metaphorical face and say I didn't make this my only physical album purchase of 2011. I can't act like I didn't bump "Yonkers", "She", "Sandwitches", "Nightmare", "Tron Cat" and "Burger" for a solid three months without a shred of irony or self-reproach. Thus, I'm not apologizing. Fucking great production, charisma, an appetite for oblivion and endless exploding energy are things that captivate and hold my attention and approval. About the controversy- the people most offended should probably feel more aghast at the meta-systems that Tyler and his OFWGKTA associates threaten most than they are at the vulgarities Tyler spews in his immature (but earnest) attempts to tell us he hates his inheritance.

TEN: Family Portrait - Family Portrait (Buy It.)

I like country and folk and, in general, pastoral music by which I can contemplate some notion of a robust and bygone (possibly illusory) American innocence. I like to imagine being alone on the plains with just my legs to move me or holed up on a Texas Hill Country ranch with a dog, a notebook and several barrels of whiskey. Of all the great (and somewhat similarly bent) artists on probably my favorite label, none capture the same rambling, 'dusty boots and river water' sound that Family Portrait achieves on this easy-going yet powerful debut. For my money, this album is way more revelatory, sincere and flat out prettier than that (far more discussed) 'big breakthrough' record the homies Real Estate put out in 2011. Check out the swell new video for album track "Never Should Have Been There".

Like Living Monuments to Ourselves

2012-01-24T10:08:00.000-06:00

The damage a name does is infinite,

like a tower forever bruising the golden sky,

because only that which is finished can truly be named.

So we end up split up into various vapid creations,

focused on owning a giant circle of artifacts and imagined actual facts,

competing with each other and competing with our own soft and wayward heads.

We sit down in the scum of the status quo like helpless children

holding individual vigils for a purity

which we gladly gave away.

Blooming: tygerstrype

2012-01-11T10:28:00.000-06:00

This is sun and sugar thump, these laptop animals- dinosaurs in candyland. Game-genie and we're on the last level. But victory is always sweet. Hyper and synthetic island R&B hemmed in by haze and an almost borrowed voice. Wavy spicy vegan gravy with long veggie-dawg chunks...

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://tygerstrype.bandcamp.com/album/lackadaisical-daisy"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Lackadaisical Daisy by tygerstrype&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;
Out of this world grooves seeking home in the minutia of matter. Flashing neons and the heaviest boots when we jump and jump and... drift off into the bustling and burgeoning sleep of another promised spring. You know what? Animal Collective might have made this record... but they fucking didn't and they never will. tygerstrype: Keep swallowing the brightest world and vomiting this collage... The whole is new and true even if the parts are only the latter.

Kick it with the dudes at their Facebook and trick out your spring with their free album.
Shout out, once again, to Weedtemple for finding and shedding light on this and so much other sweetness.

Review: Quilt "Quilt"

2012-01-09T10:07:00.002-06:00

Released November 8, 2011 on Mexican Summer

This introductory (and self-titled) set of songs from Boston quartet Quilt is a serene, cautiously celebratory and lush brightness of an album. Quilt is a slow Americana holy dance that spreads through the mind like a season's colors spread across the countryside. The tones, at times seemingly musical representations of the band's name, are autumnal and spacious, warm and comfortable, patient and dreamy. Rockin' reverie jams that could transport you to the Himalayas as easily as to a shag-carpeted living room, the songs beg comparison to hippie folk-rock (is there any other kind?) institutions like Credence Clearwater Revival, CSNY or The Mamas and the Papas. The mood of the album, however, isn't totally indebted to the 1960's and can also feel at times like the score from Lord of the Rings re-recorded in an opium den with ancient hardwood floors by people with a fondness for late 90's radio-rock. And then... there's something wholly unique and hauntingly impossible to place about Quilt. Lyrically, the album is a bit less warm than it sounds, with harmony glazed references to postmodern complacency, the chilly loneliness of the "cowboy night" and our wide spectrum of alienation(s). Beginning with gorgeously soaring lighter-waving opener "Young Gold", the album deals extensively with notions of day vs. night, composure vs. agitation and glowing vs. freezing in the light. On the heavenly "Children of Light" when singers Shane Butler and Anna Fox Rochinski sing, in perfect twangy unison, "children of the light sleep in darkness too"... they are perhaps pleading for a long overdue reconsideration of the absolutes in our moral thinking. My personal favorite album track "Lost and Lewd" positively jumps with a restless banjo lead that perfectly matches the aimlessness cheerfully lamented in the lyrics. Other standout tracks include "Cowboys in the Void", "Milo" and "The Silver Stairs of Ketchikan"; but these songs are best when heard in the warm and plush context of the entire album.

Check out their Bandcamp and get some goodness there.

Also their Mexican Summer page is pretty great...

and click HERE for a pretty sweet review from the all poking fork.

Some Lives

2012-01-03T10:36:00.001-06:00

“There's some lives you live and some you leave behind.” -Neutral Milk Hotel, Gardenhead

Between the bass and the watery wooden faces of the wind

I've forgive men for loving and for hating sin.

There's no forgetting fear's birth or joy's sacrifices,

I just can't swear to any Christs that limit my devices.

who holds open the sun will rise

over he who hoards it for personal eyes.

I don't mention history or a soldier's eye-wide wings

or sublimate giant purple emotional forces into human beings;

what is left to waste will define

while the victim chased will speak spiritual decline.

open sounds of dust bleed forth truths of rock

sold as innovation for stocks and toxic tops of thoughts

too basic.

whatever you believe grows bigger than you can contain,

you retain blame and the flavored urine of Father Cain.

and that's what you get for faith in consequence.

I tell jokes about permanence and being destroyed by mattering

and, if need be, walk into total amnesia proudly staggering.

Blooming: Ocelote Rojo

2012-01-02T22:19:00.001-06:00

{{Santiago, Chile}}

Like the song you sometimes fall asleep imagining your back porch wind chimes playing, punctuated by your neighbor's distant voice tangled in water...

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://oceloterojo.bandcamp.com/album/pacarina-ep"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Pacarina (EP) by Ocelote Rojo&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;The final drops of sun are free and you can arrange them into your own orange creatures, dressed in smoky memory and slaving just to lift their hands to prayer. Staircases of sublime light lead to apexes in the ether. By the time you get to "Kaykay Filu", myriad doors are opening into a simmering storm gliding over the sharp will of the monuments.

Empty space is anything but empty space and stillness is simply a beautiful illusion.

Dig the Facebook. Get the EP for free.
Thanks to Weedtemple for being amazing and for the intro.

Image Worship: Warming the Unbody

2011-12-03T10:17:00.001-06:00

Picasso in Constant Creation - Originally from LIFE mag (found here)

Balance from this neato flickr

Simon Joyner

Monet Impression Sunrise, 1872 (found here)

Marissa Nadler covers "Sara" (Bob Dylan)

2011-11-30T16:04:00.002-06:00

Sara Dylan with quote from Bob

Don't look back in anger or in haste. Judgments are cement in your brain and regrets are like wet smoke that would chase down the stars. Never as dark as noon, never as far, never cold- your breath sticks to the skin of morning; drumming like the last war before falling into the fertile quiet of a helpless smirk. To have loved the pounding wind, to have dreamed those boxcars and baubles, to abnegate the vast distances- a toothy supernova; you dimly walk away forever into the thirsty fog of memory emptying.

Marissa Nadler ft. Red Heroine - 09. Sara featuring (Bob Dylan cover)

PLEASE purchase Marissa Nadler's absolutely lovely Covers Vol. 2 at her Etsy Page.

Thoughts on the Original Relationship

2011-11-02T15:46:00.001-05:00

the distant motor lumbering labor

keeps us comfy in the sun and tree.

thinking questions old and solemn

avoiding truth and heaviness

in the light November holiness.

a squirrel chases a jogger

chasing her dreams of control and accuracy.

the bench is cold and proclaims occurred deaths and their depths

while the warmth of the dirt

reminds that history starts over every morning.

but these are human musings-

like so many before me

I came here to change myself back to nature

and wound up replacing just a little bit of nature

with myself.

LIVE REVIEW: The Whirlybirds

2011-09-07T20:07:00.005-05:00

pic by Feli

The Whirlybirds @ Limelight, September 3, 2011

In the hit or miss San Antonio indie-rock scene, with its well established personalities and sounds and limits, it's always a welcomed surprise when a promising newcomer emerges. The Whirlybirds, headed by lead singer/songwriter Justin Davenport, are certainly promising and new in a number of ways. On a bill with Limelight favorites The Hawks of Holy Rosary, We Leave at Midnight and Chris Maddin; The Whirlybirds turned in the standout performance of the evening. Their fusion of blues, raw garage-soul and an updated brand of psychedelic brit-pop left a crowd of long-weekend revelers refreshed and mesmerized. The Whirlybirds Facebook page claims that they will "mess you up, son"... which turns out to be true, if by "mess you up" we understand: destroy the expectations of amateurishness and self-congratulatory immaturity that you normally bring to San Antonio indie rock shows (even the good ones). Or perhaps by "mess you up" they mean... hand you the moon tied with a metallic-blue bow...

Their sound, anchored by some astounding Claptonesque (I shit you not) guitar work by Ryan Curran and the crisp vocal harmonies of Davenport and guitarist Raul Alvarez, is full to bursting with a nostalgic richness and a keen attention to textural detail. What those in attendance heard, in The Whirlybirds first ever live performance, was a band in absolute command of their facilities, playing with a rarely seen togetherness and achieving something new and interesting using familiar elements. Their set was a mere ten songs, eight originals and two perfectly executed Beatles covers, but was enough to endear them greatly to a crowd that might not have expected to be so enthralled by a ponderously bluesy round of songs played without pretension, for the sheer joy of good music. For me the highlight of the night was a simultaneously soulful and spiteful number, “Nice Ties Hide Lies”, which allowed Davenport to showcase his oaken, woozily-pretty and powerful voice. The song deals indirectly with the exploits of a faceless, snazzily-dressed and corrupt bureaucrat, handing out favors to friends and, like Bob Dylan's 'Mr. Jones', seemingly incapable of understanding or of being understood. Another instant standout was "Running Around" (see below), a gorgeous vocal-chasing-vocal affair that would be enough to make The Raconteurs jealous. The Whirlybirds will, no doubt, soon be performing around town with some frequency; once people are wise to this group of four dudes making honest music without hipster pomp or unnecessarily distracting adornments. This is the real stuff folks, born from the great songbooks; but new in the way Lennon made Elvis new or Dylan made Guthrie new.

get at 'em: ePRESSkit Facebook

African Head Charge "Over The Sky"

2011-09-01T17:13:00.001-05:00

How many men have pissed in the Nile?

Which weighs more; a pound of nails or a pound of silk?

How does God tell the difference between then and now?

If the endless machine should grind to a sudden and violent halt,

the grains of a knife separating into the imagined power of a man, who rules over the sky?

African Head Charge - Over The Sky

Buy this shit on Amazon and wig out.

More info and swellness from the incomparable Holy Warbles.

Review: Beirut "The Rip Tide"

2011-08-31T10:23:00.001-05:00

Released August 30, 2011 on Revolver

To say that I have taken to falling asleep on the VIA bus while listening to Zach Condon's latest effort as Beirut is not necessarily the biggest compliment- on face. There is, however, something distinguishing about this Beirut album which is revealed by my tendency to doze to it. Namely; the fertile chaos, that gave past Beirut releases such an irresistible free-wheeling spirit, is neatly managed here. All the edges of Condon's genius, which has been called Beirut since before he was old enough to drink, are smoothed out into a kind of patient old world perfection. Songs like "A Candle's Fire", "East Harlem" and "Vagabond" are beautiful and subtle and refined, but are missing what Bob Dylan once called (in his own music) "that wild mercury sound". This is where it gets tricky. The Rip Tide shows growth and maturity- these songs are technically smarter, tighter and more precise than most of Beirut's previous tracks. And yet, they are somehow less gratifying; more comfortable and less gigantic. The songs flow and slink gracefully along through the caverns of your listening mind, rather than gyrating and bashing about with the particularly exhilarating wantonness of youth on fire with the power of creation. All critical observations aside; The Rip Tide is wonderful and intricate and deserving of your attention. Whether you are a devoted fan or an intrigued newcomer, this offering is a rewarding listen; dark and spacious, feeling wooden and musty, impossible to place in space and time- thoughtful in the meticulous way one might consider Marcel Proust or Charles Dickens thoughtful. The Rip Tide is, at its core, the work of an extremely gifted and original artist learning to do consciously what was once done in unconscious bursts.

For now, you can still stream the album over at NPR or (better still) buy it on AMAZON.

And, if you haven't, you really NEED to get to know The Flying Club Cup and Gulag Orkestar too.

For Feli

2011-08-26T20:08:00.000-05:00

I wanna see all the cities before everything goes back to mad meandering molecules. I'm the first to recommend that we resist apprehending anarchy as it plays among the monuments, but my heart won't stop racing when I think of missing everyone's faces furrowed at the endless days and days. I just wanna hug the wind and write my name in the sand one last time before we have our heads consumed by the timeless womb. I just wanna hold your hand while we dissolve. I just wanna watch my breath and yours while I still have infinity to consider. I don't believe in death but, nevertheless, I just wanna think I'll have something to say while I still believe I have a voice.

And if I am to echo ceaselessly or even for a single moment, I just want you to know that the sound I become is only for you.

2 Pomes about Humans

2011-08-18T08:18:00.000-05:00

-
feet and deadlines touch the surface of the river;
the mind making an actual weight out of confusion,
the body held lifted by the majesty and surprise ingenuity of dirt.
I send out a peasantly boom to measure the boundaries of thanks:
all the possibilities of forever exist in this moment and that.
what have
you made of those thoughts
that kept us laughing to ourselves
as children?
I cannot believe that we would dig the ditch so incredibly deep
just to barely struggle over drowning in the shallows
when it fills up.

-
how many times must humanity be forgiven its imitation of eternity?
never has ever been the same saving grace as always, in theory…
but the question we beg of our gods and galaxies is deeper than our senses, our theories
or our graces.

how sharp must the steel grow before it doesn’t have to bother piercing anymore?
workplace weeping stations and worship-faced followers
can sometimes fail to successfully lead self to self, through self and to never-self.

will you loan me the chisel with which I’ll chip you and the other vast universe away?
I’ve just got to get back to tidy zero before I can truly love the messy multitudes.

Summer City Park

2011-07-28T00:02:00.002-05:00

Image Worship: Becomings

2011-07-21T13:46:00.004-05:00

image from HERE

from Doodler's Anonymous by Tania Orozco

Master McKenna

Blooming: Rimar

2011-07-09T19:41:00.001-05:00

{{Brooklyn via Columbus, OH}}

It's not THAT weird, I tell myself, that this "Blooming" artist just happened to be from the same city as the last... but considering it's Columbus, Ohio; I think it's at very least to be thought of as... fuckin' awesome.

Why do I like this album of fragments and DJ meditations enough to post about it? Who knows... Perhaps because there are so many spaces for half remembered moments and so many imperfect images full of emotional candor. It could be because I can't recall disco and never got to listen to it on opium while showering in a Christmas light lit cold-water flat. Maybe it's because I can't dance but I almost always do. Whatever the reason, this album is making me feel great this summer. And for FREE it could do the same to you.

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://rimar.bandcamp.com/album/higher-ground"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Higher Ground by Rimar&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;On No Fear of Pop: http://bit.ly/jf7vDL
On Triangle Piece: http://bit.ly/r5Ph3h

http://rimarv.tumblr.com/

FLOW 7/8/11

2011-07-08T22:48:00.000-05:00

I wear mismatched skullcaps and a wristwatch of missed maps,
laugh at think tanks with weak dank back-dreaming
of pap-smearing mother earth
and forcing her to give birth
to the real girth of dead mirth twitching on the black surf.
I dont write hip hop or poetry cuz language is a toy to me
broken by real poverty and resurrected by pure corporate greed
I dine on the scrotums of ancient aztec totems streaming through new modems.
I cry out for death in a fever pitch thats dressed with gold and nasty itch-
life is such a nasty bitch, I'll get over it and live the glitch.
because rappers and pastors gave me my voice, I'm an actor:
a brain dripped out of bladders- a waste not wasted and -yep- a tasted not tasted
waiting for the bruising truth and amusing all the thoughtful youth.

Ceremonious Transfiguration: Some Belated Ruminations on Mexicans with Guns' "Ceremony"

2011-06-17T09:43:00.000-05:00

Released May 10, 2011 on Stones Throw

San Antonio native Ernest Gonzales (aka Mexicans With Guns) weaves together soundscapes using his electronics in an expert way to create computerish music that sounds warm and lush and living. Drawing on the vast sonic and cultural diversity of his hometown, Gonzales is on to something truly special. He has previously released a fair-sized body of work, but Ceremony is his first LP and his most unique, fully realized effort to date. The album itself, cohesive and unified in its subject matter and textures, can be looked at as an actual ceremony...

This Ceremony is that of the next becoming, the return of Quetzalcoatl in his star-craft of angry compassion and bomb-blast; returning to a darkened inner landscape of nervous want. Organic and vibrating with jungle romance, the album has colder more metallic moods as well... Moments where the human 'element' involved transcends nature without re-arriving to tell us if that's a good thing. Aptly named songs "Jaguar" and "Deities" are replete with hazy images of nervous animals, scratching and pacing, worshiping their own slowed and distorted breath, waiting to live. But there is a sense of holiness felt as well, the truth of the mosaic of atoms that comprises everything is liberating and represents deepest equality and purest freedom from worry.

"El Sol y La Luna" is a track that focuses on the split personality of reality, the dual natures dealt with extensively here: the abandon of some final party and the relief of a ravaged nature freed from its tormentors. It begins with what sounds like a curious animal calling and testing the rumbling hush and breaks into the back and forth of a hurried pulse. You can, and are most definitely supposed to, party like it's 12/21/2012 to this album, but you can also use it, more contemplatively, to see further into the archetype-guarded psyche of reality. Truly human voices show up at times to celebrate life's gifts ("Me Gusto"), lament damnation while twisting words at a shrugged-at salvation ("Highway to Hell" and "You Got Me Fucked Up") and to bring some sense of our temporal moment to the album. Everything else is abstraction- now dense, now airy -searching oblivion and loss for an already understood meaning that we keep on forgetting.

"Death and Rebirth", as the title suggests, begins by transporting the listener to a wasted plain licked barren by some nameless calamity. The aura of holiness which somehow attends this entire album, becomes shattered and chaotic here. There are hopeful textures, but these feel like superstition and delusional nostalgia; the longing for an Aztlan that never existed any more than some transcendental Jerusalem.

In "El Moreno", the track that closes Ceremony (and probably its most ceremonial sounding), we seem to hear broken church organs droning beneath a new kind of mass; both overtaken by some foreshadowed melodies and an ever blossoming static.

In today's music world there are a shitload of folks making electro-house-fusion-chillwave-witchy-whatever mush... but there are a few, like Gonzales, who loudly make the argument that electronic music can be as genuine and rewarding as any other type of music. Bottom line: Ceremony is a gem that deserves your attention. Download the standout track "Death and Rebirth" below, BUY THE ALBUM because it is an experience that these few clumsy words cannot capture and go see Mexicans with Guns live as soon as you get the chance... you will be glad you did.

Mexicans With Guns - Death And Rebirth
--
http://mexicanswithguns.com/
http://mexicanswithguns.tumblr.com/
stream the whole album via FACT MAG

Review: Cults "Cults"

2011-06-15T12:43:00.000-05:00

Realeased June 7, 2011 on Columbia Records

Blogosphere conquering indie-popsters Cults have managed to concoct a debut album that lives up to expectations as much as it sets them. Sounding like a Phil Spector girl group with post-modern skittishness and updated to account for grunge and the avant-indie movement, this duo makes music to make you nostalgic for tomorrow. Crisper versions of the tracks that started it all, "Go Outside" and "Most Wanted", are dark and sweet standouts- but this is really a tight and beautiful album with little to no fluff jobs. Also excellent are the creepy bumper “Walk at Night”, the joyously restless “Oh My God” and the haunting love song “Abducted”. The album is thematically and musically focused on light and dark spaces, on the conflict between fullness and emptiness, on tension and release, on freedom and that which seeks to restrain freedom. These dichotomies make some weird type of sense for a band from San Diego transplanted to New York. Eerie dimness and refreshing shine, sloth-inducing heat and frisky cold, moments of flighty glee and opportunities for more serious contemplation- it is, impressively, all here on this album of pop songs. Cults is a whimsically satisfying listen that promises to keep you swaying all through the summer and, due to its darker romantic and more frantic elements, to remain a favorite as times get chillier...

whenever that is.

Stream the album, purchase the album and check them out HERE

Sea Monster

2011-06-07T11:25:00.000-05:00

By Feli

(twitter / tumblr)

Repurposing the Gray

2011-06-06T15:58:00.000-05:00

Los Destellos "Constelación"

2011-06-03T09:28:00.000-05:00

Los Destellos - Constelacion

A song that moves the way a river moves at the midpoint of a moonless night in the jungle. No words to confuse the holy message of the current, no egoic gang-banging of rhythm into polished form... deep, slow, natural- like droplets of sap that take a week to run down a tree's trunk. Oh yeah... and when you- half brave, half spirit drunk -climb that tree to cuddle the sky, you're alone with the stars and can make from them anything you can imagine.

Awesome History of Los Destellos from Super Sonido

Willie Nelson "Uncloudy Day"

2011-06-02T13:42:00.000-05:00

There’s a Willie Nelson song called “Uncloudy Day” (it's actually a gospel cover, but for me- it belongs to Willie). I don’t know which album it originally came off of, but I learned it through my parents heroically worn cassette tape of Willie Nelson’s Greatest Hits (And Some That Will Be). That cassette had a nondescript off-whiteness to its opaque shell, hiding away those simple yet mesmerizing innards other tapes would flaunt to the high hills. I kinda imagine it was the same color as the walls of some shithole trailer where Kris Kristofferson and Willie would down Lonestars and cocaine bumps late into the thickly humid and ambling night- beneath the threat of another grisly sunrise. It was colored mighty like the tape I learned to love “City of New Orleans” with- that rambling song of near-religious love and fascination, the eyes of ‘the dream’ and the warmly weathered hand of reality, the preoccupation and forgetting about it because 'fuck it'.

“Uncloudy Day” (being itself an underhanded reference to life-long ailing) doesn’t need to become muddled or attempt esoteric complexity for our purposes. It is a song about the other side of the mountain. It is a song about the good kind of passing through- no more drifting- it’s a song about a temporal home. In the bleary no-bullshit-early-morning it is a song about Heaven. To really believe the song, I guess you gotta fancy yourself back to boyhood- past your hang ups and past trying to write it out or ride it out. It takes a level of idealism and jackassed intensity, a level of beer bubbles leftover in the brain, a certain mystical number of old memories wafting towards awareness. It’s sorta akin to the mental technique one might use to truly appreciate the petting of a dog. I’m not talking about being stuck in the past, but bringing the green and free expanse of childhood’s unspoiled earnestness in to the present moment.

Questioning and Answering the Void

2011-05-27T19:03:00.000-05:00

Artwork by John Kenn via Escape Into Life

1.
green lights lead me to the day, flailing peacefully.
a soft copper sibilation sits at my center
   interrupting personalities asking coded questions;
trying to remember or discern
              the moment before the naming of things.

my body is a trillion tribes of lonely physicalities
tired of testing and bearing out biology,
   straining the holy message of the father ever taut.
messy the image and when the five senses can't approach;
endless the pure untouched foreknowledge of knowledge unformed.

by the time it comes to true and false
all is already lost.

2.
pliable or wise too much for steel manhood,
I'm taken away obliterated
                                from the wild nude oxygen pool in neon green
                                  vast expanses openly withholding consequence-
I have grown up knowing my soul couldn't matter
because I can't point directly at it or use it to start a business.
I have seen the unabashedly unmasked numbers
hastily closing down the darkness, whistling like old burning tire fires,
accusing certainties, demanding accounting and quantifications-

but I forgot the exact depth of the dirt under my feet.

3.
ever notice what a head of steamy blusters we work up
building disaster around our disasters?
and then I think, perhaps death deserves this embellishment-
      maybe death deserves no truth or patience.
damn. am I writing about death again? I don't even watch CNN.

do you think tornadoes were built by God;
devices righteous and omnipotent, sent to punish the hard-working innocent?
it's worth considering that we may not be that important-
      it's the invisible things we make that cannot be reduced.
can we talk of love without being self-referential?
we haven't even considered our potential.

how far inward can we calculate our feeble awareness
before we discover that we're all really saints and terrorists?
I am almost certain that, if we try, we can imagine a society without society-
      let our coalitions be loose and patterned after living organisms.
is our measurement fetish really such a sacred cow? NOW is always wild anyhow.

Image Worship: Holy Sweaty Confetti

2011-04-29T13:03:00.001-05:00

Album cover for The Gift "Explode"

"Universe" by Maya Hayuk

Li from Bomba Estereo, visually expressing their sound quite well.

Blooming: Monster Rally

2011-04-22T12:15:00.001-05:00

{{Columbus, OH}}

Monster Rally mixes oceanic steel sounds with galactic waterflow beats. Glassy and tin-canned reverbs; Sunday songs. Ted Feighan is the beach wizard behind these lazily lovely tracks and he has done wonderfully in crafting, out of samples and serious stoned-slowdown, songs that make the sky feel intertwined with the dirt and the ocean flow over your feet in the easy comfort of the grassy backyard in your head.

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://monsterrally.bandcamp.com/album/coral-lp"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Coral LP by Monster Rally&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;

On The Styrofoam Drone: http://bit.ly/anbeFm
On Gorilla vs. Bear: http://bit.ly/gEr9ed

http://goldrobot.tumblr.com/

We're Studying Tigers and Coin Space in the Ruins of Mountains

2011-04-21T15:11:00.000-05:00

you wanna explode into your head, into the great written jungles under the vines of sunny mysticism- you wanna purple, you wanna meander through and be serious about clasping at the brilliant jelly bean kernels of spirit hype. yet there's never really enough time around.... and then you're thinking "why can't i just control myself, just even a little bit more." and then you wonder what that would look like; how much anybody really controls their Self... what makes us so sure that Self exists or needs any kind of control? is there something that's been sitting on my shoulder hanging out in the moonlight all these years?
and i forget. forget and move towards the center, the never noticing happening-
there is only as suchness while the cats are battling.

AMAZING COLLAGES by Courtney Lord

http://twitter.com/trampystamps

Mellowhype//Bass Drum of Death: "64"

2011-04-14T11:52:00.000-05:00

It's hard, initially, to think of what else there is to be said about the insanely young and gifted members of Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All (affectionately OFWGKTA)... it's all been said, and said, and said, and said and... well you get the idea. The blog hype cycle is a magnifying glass in the hot sun, spotlighting the luckiest ants until the focus and the heat destroys them or makes them truer by fire... and it really remains to be seen if, how, and in what incarnation the enigmatic OFWGKTA crew will come out the other side... when the internets are tired of them because the internets' attention span craves new, NOW!- not necessarily better... just new. But these young oddball backpack kids with twisted lyrics, from the depths of the mental decay of a nation, in the depths of one its richest and foulest places, braced by a blacklight sun burning a zombie confidence... these kids seem poised to go the route of the Wu-Tang Clan; making music their own way, with their own equipment and producers and (largely) without much regard to what you think or feel of say about it. I like that.

Whatever you feel about their remarkably diverse and extensive catalog of free music to examine the bloody night by; they have talent and they have a point and, importantly, they don't give a fuck what you think. So, however much I may be compelled to call bullshit (or the campus police) when I see OF ring-leader Tyler, The Creator tweet about burning down schools and killing people... I bear in mind that this rejection of sanctity and desire to pulverize the assumed moral uprightness of the status quo is what being a confident and intelligent teenager is all about these days. The art seems evil to some people because, bafflingly, some people still believe in evil... there is a discussion to be had here that is much bigger than the wiry and nonchalant duo performing (with badasses Bass Drum of Death) in the video below... but that discussion is best saved for another day; after time has told its tale of how Odd (or stale) the Future turns out to be. For now, feast your eyes and ears on OF members Mellowhype (pictured above; consisting of rapper Hodgy Beats and producer Left Brain)... they are coming for the marrow of night, for your kids' soft heads, for all of our lazy and meaningless comfort. Like youth-turned-monster pre-punk punk Jim Morrison before them... they want the world and they want it NOW. Or maybe they just want attention. Anyhow... with a game this filthy-tight; Hodgy Beats and Left Brain prove that they deserve it.

____

OFWGKTA

This Trance, Delivered on a Tuesday

2011-04-12T13:12:00.000-05:00

INNOCENT AUDIO OPIUM FROM WESTERN SAHARA.

Bleida by Nayim Alal

Blooming: Therapies Son

2011-04-01T18:12:00.001-05:00

{{Los Angeles}}

Please pay them money for having made these songs and admit loudly that you'd like for them to make more. Be red in eye and prospects, grow over seas, and call and call. Open up a grander staircase- and fall...

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://therapiesson.bandcamp.com/album/over-the-sea-2"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Over The Sea by Therapies Son&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;

"Golden Girl" is a joyful blur like a picture of best times taken way too drunk. "Touching Down" is a romp of a song, somewhere forgotten near the sneer of Mick Jagger and the sweetness of Paul McCartney... but then it almost sounds surfer... and a Swedish blonde and trotting love affair with the sugar structure of pure pop.

On THE FADER: http://bit.ly/f07WKO
On STEREOGUM: http://bit.ly/9iW9Oc

http://therapiesson.tumblr.com/

Smog Wolves, Rainbow Reactions and All the Joy

2011-04-01T11:40:00.000-05:00

image from THIS splendid artist's flickr

Heavy crocheted violin spank

Dream-seated requisitions drank

Down through foamy throats of mesh

Through forgotten salt-skinned death

And all the joy,

And all the joy.

Weepy minutes neon breaking so

Defying frowns and letting finally go.

None can huge the bronzing smalls

Or tease the silver horse into the stalls

And all the joy,

And all the joy.

A While Back, I Made These for Felicia

2011-03-29T18:51:00.000-05:00

City of Our Love

Little Hairy Animal

The Drums of Death

2011-03-05T17:48:00.000-06:00

Gulping hard enough,

this Big Red can feel like a brimming bowl of cold blood and bees,

The clicking of the throat like a hundred thousand

strategically synchronized wingflaps.

Death allows me to say these things.

Coldly magnanimous death, in which I do not believe.

Irrational and formulaic intensity,

Paragon of universe and method; death, in which I do not believe.

Actual death, no bullshit death, cannibal mouth death,

time-managed death of purpose and presence; death

In which I do not believe.

Old pictures in worlds removed,

Old sometimes and anytimes, waking up and falling into figuring it out.

They call this peculiar awareness nature, the stoppage and the gulf of continuance,

the warm close self.

Death allows me to say these things.

Material, wise and important death,

In which I do not believe.

Master of products and prophets,

Grand vision of equality and opposing infinities; death,

in which I do not believe.

Death pointing us towards God, empty death, final death,

death of hope and suffering;

death in which I do not believe.

White Elefant releases "El Infante" EP

2011-01-27T15:52:00.000-06:00

White Elefant is one of those rarest of San Antonio bands that A) sounds from San Antonio without sounding bound to San Antonio and B) isn't readily connectible to some sort of 'scene' (i.e. balding DJs with an ear for little but Friday night booty, crap metal, tepid and self-aggrandizing indie-pop/rockers). Josh Mathis is the singer, songwriter and lead creative force behind White Elefant, a band that has been growing and evolving in a patient and natural manner since 2006. Mathis' vision of songcraft is one of the most refreshing that I have ever encountered; an innocent approach that lets the art realize itself in a stream of consciousness fashion that achieves a seemingly impossible precision. El Infante is White Elefant's first real recorded release and it's a perfect combination of an almost deadpan style, that makes their live shows feel so refreshingly entrancingly honest, and just the right amount of studio richness. Kudos are certainly to be given to mixer/master-er Dave Novak of Toastworks Productions for staying out of this band's way while helping them banish any but the most aesthetically endearing mediocrities.

Opener "We Don't Stare" was born from a wandering acoustic jam that Mathis used to play at gigs while his band members grabbed a beer or used the facilities (Mathis never seems to succumb fully to the fact that these shows happen at places of debauchery and consumption). The song has developed into a kind of anthem for the band itself, musically and lyrically expressing an alienation and restlessness that comes across alternately as a source of weakness and of confidence. The five song EP's monstrous and sneering second track, "Insult to Injury", is the release's sharpest and most perfect moment. Play this song incredibly loud with the bass up high and you will feel like you are hearing something startlingly new and simple, while somehow left with the unshakable notion that you've been here before... and things are more complicated than they seem. The song surges in and out like panicked breaths, towers like a hesitant giant painfully aware of its own crushing step and deals with loneliness and self-professed holiness as artifacts of a timid emotional state. "Warning Shot", one of the band's newest songs, is well placed at the middle of the EP as it provides a moment for reflecting in the uncluttered spaces between its bluesy vamping swagger. A song that shows versatility and attitude, "Warning Shot" is followed by the best example of pure pop-rock songwriting in White Elefant's canon: "Safety in Numbers". Seeming to be written from a distant vantage point of post-apocalyptic wisdom, "Safety in Numbers" is a remark on all we go through and all that we might be willing to put ourselves through... and for what? "After all the time we've wasted and after all the lights stop spinning and after all their hands stop reaching out because after all, nobody's winning"... these lines perfectly express the shrugging acceptance of this beautiful song, with just enough distortion and pounding to remind you that it was, in fact, raised in a sweltering hot garage.

Rounding out this set of songs, which represent several different eras in White Elefant's history, is the grunge-country toe-tapper "I'll Make It Up to You". This song is one that essentially belongs to bassist Fil Grady and drummer W.J. Robinson. The song bounces casually upon cymbals and rough low pulses before ending abruptly, confronting the listener with the reality of a sudden silence... always a welcome challenge at the end of a neat and profound statement of artistic purpose.

listen/download: White Elefant - We Don't Stare

You can (and really, really should) buy this EP on itunes. Additionally, you can stream "El Infante" in its entirety at the band's Myspace page (where you'll also find info on upcoming shows).

AND... here's a link to another piece about Mighty Whitey LeFant, written by Feli and I for Local Aesthetic SA.

Reaching for Uncertain Satori Behind the History Membrane

2011-01-26T19:24:00.000-06:00

Ligeti's Musica ricercata 2, played by Vicente Uñón

2011-01-26T16:20:00.000-06:00

Enemies and their dark hallways are the salts of selves denied as the general brightness is the true focus of our myriad loves unending. If you go out looking for a creator, why not first consider yourself? Your brothers and sisters? There will never be a human reality stronger, more absolute, larger or more essential than the human power to believe in it.

Better Late than Never: My Top 5 Albums of 2010

2011-01-25T14:41:00.000-06:00

ONE: Beach House - Teen Dream
PURCHASE at AMAZON

It’s breathtaking. If you haven’t been converted to Beach House yet, you owe it to yourself as a New Year’s resolution. Teen Dream, released at the very beginning of 2010, is the culminating manifestation of a slow and mad confidence developed over several years and two other LP efforts. Victoria Legrand’s voice has grown into a powerful and heavy orange force among the black and brown and grey thumps and crawlings that constitute Beach House’s sound. It’s more than music to get lost in; it may help you find yourself again. It’s nostalgic enough, unsteady enough, romantic enough, jaded enough… with wisdom and as humorless as a heart attack… but innocent. It’s the best album of 2010. It is one of the most profoundly important albums of our generation. Personally, not many albums I’ve ever heard have felt quite so genuinely and powerfully moving, so warmly magnetic and ruminant.

TWO: Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
PURCHASE at AMAZON

“If I ever wasn't the greatest, I must’ve missed it” boasts Kanye on My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’s opener “Dark Fantasy”. To be honest with you, I think that goes too far; that fool was never really the greatest rapper or producer… but maybe the greatest character. Anyway… the fact that this line goes too far is important. The whole album goes too far. In fact, if you’ve followed Kanye throughout this year then you know that he has, more than ever, made a living out of going too far- and he seems to be forgiving himself and becoming more authentic in the process. This album, and the G.O.O.D. Friday songs that led up to it, are impressive in their scope, their sheer imagination and their swagger. Kanye has successfully let his ability to see himself catch up with his ability to see what people want. He is now giving us what we really want from him, from many of our rappers: reality… no bullshit, “what the fuck do you want bro this is me”, never scared, mature and witty… reality. Of course, part of the entertainment and awe value comes from the fact that Kanye’s reality is so far removed from anyone else’s. But he still has weaknesses and he is not afraid to explore them in art, openly. He’s not afraid to be romantic, tongue-in-cheek, boastful or self-deprecating. He’s become a rare example in the mainstream rap community of how a dude can be everything; whatever the fuck he wants to be. All of that becomes a part of this album- this album which is musically diverse and complex and jarring, lyrically fresh and brilliant, socially timely and absolutely bursting at the seams with energy and the kind of really-really aware self-confidence that we all gasp to see at work.

THREE: Pill Wonder - Jungle/Surf
PURCHASE at AMAZON

Underwater Peoples (the label that released Jungle/Surf) is one of the record labels that inspired and impressed me the most this year and this album is the kookiest, most leftfield, most ‘underwater’ example of why that’s the case. In a survey of mine and Felicia’s listening habits over the course of 2010, this album looms significant in content and in attitude. Jungle/Surf is one of the several compelling reasons that this year has wanted so badly to be a never ending summer:

a bro walking towards the ocean in lime green shorts, cabanas in the background fading into dusk and into the smoky insect circles of summer night. You stand while your tired legs, still dripping, dance of their own accord to the pull and bass of the ocean. The winds pick up sand and swirl it around the neons of the falling sun… we can ALL remember standing naked at the edge of eternity…it feels just like this.

FOUR: Arcade Fire - The Suburbs
PURCHASE at AMAZON

I do not feel that this album signals any new directions or great innovations for Indie rock’s most popular band. In fact, I was tempted not to like it at all when, in the depths of a gritty and hot summer of irreverence and lightness, I was confronted with its heavy and serious demeanor… like “great Bruce Springsteen decided to wear his jeans and khaki workshirt to our beach party”. Then, however, I really listened to and heard the album’s title track. Feli fell in love with it first and in its repetition I began to, I suppose, remember just how well its themes of sour heat and paranoia and disillusion and ennui do belong in any decent summary of summer’s soul. Slowly, in a way that we rarely are courted by songs these days, Felicia and I found ourselves connected to and enthralled with another (“Rococo”) and another (“Sprawl II”) and even more (“We Used to Wait”, “Deep Blue”, “Ready to Start”). The album may very well be the last thing that can come out of the band’s serious infatuation with the decay of the modern community and communication, but that doesn’t make it any less troubling… that doesn’t make it any less of a catharsis.

FIVE: The Roots – How I Got Over
PURCHASE at AMAZON

It is a shame, and surely indicative of some great societal/cultural flaw, that hip-hop foundationals The Roots ninth album How I Got Over has been so overlooked by critics (coverage) and laymen (sales) alike. The album features some incredible details that far overshadow the fact that The Roots body of work can sometimes seem excessive at the expense of its power, its vitality. Featuring members of the Dirty Projectors, Jim James and Joanna Newsom; this Roots album is smarter, more elegant and seems altogether necessary and even prescient in this historical moment. 2010 was a year where the negative in the newsfeed seemed to dominate the positive. How I Got Over is a thoughtful and wise sonic and lyrical argument that it doesn’t need to be that way… we CAN take greater control, through greater discipline and further noticing, and create better lives for ourselves and those that will come after.

2011-01-20T11:57:00.000-06:00

"Ya Se Muerto Mi Abuelo"

2011-01-19T13:56:00.001-06:00

Out in the brighter sun of jungles the jaguar sleeps a dance of nap. In the huge tropically haughty hug of Machu Piccu, the magicians are musicians who hear and see the sonic bits that correspond to every atom. When you are called to move, you move.When the chance to be at home, back under the greeny water, comes... you leap. Even death is full of life and the hypnotic whimsy of pulses of friends as yet unmade.

Juaneco y su Combo at Barbes Records

Narrowing and Expanding

2011-01-19T11:42:00.000-06:00

light/walls

i didn't wake up today.
i think i freaked out the flowers
but i just can't comprehend why life is such a bother,
   such a serious box.
if i can't give you the freedom of New Zealand
  at least a blog, the pasta, our cat framed in the dense sleepy devotion
   of my morning shower mist.
i can imagine your soul for adventure like a color-changing bead:
valuable in the true sense like caught molten sunlight, now golden
like a racing heart pulled, just in time, from the government hologram of worklife.
   if my imagination is smaller than Costa Rica
   then i've been waiting for the universe to be un-proven,
   and we can shake off the long stare of expecting life-
   we'll go grab a beer or two- in love.

Ideas/Propositions/Purposes:

2010-12-14T21:26:00.000-06:00

explore visual artistic spaces in textual spaces
highlight excellent San Antonio music and art (also bands and artists)
discuss songs, albums and bands (not specifically from San Antonio) in an imaginative manner
provide a space to publish my poetry and the poetry/writing of others
provide a space to publish my visual art and the visual art of others
link others to badass articles/media/art on other sites that I support/patronize
discuss, with the intent to create meaningful dialogue, select philosophical/theoretical/cultural topics and observations
discuss, with the intent to create meaningful dialogue, educational theory and practices
to, generally, be another creative and critical voice that (hopefully) makes is its own argument for its necessity

Considered broadly and un-stictly speaking... the above items explain the reason for this blog's existence. It should be made clear, however, that some of those things are gonna happen more than others and that at least a few of them depend on the participation/love/patience of you the reader (assuming you exist). I write this blog (damn... I hope it's only coincidence that I first typed 'bog' instead of blog) in the hopes that people, including myself, will eventually benefit from its existence and upkeep. To all the blogs/sites that I have listed as my 'Inspirations'... you truly are. It is ya'll who have shown me how (like the best types of mossy and breathingly atmospheric electronic music) the online universe can be authentic, organic, truly creative and human in its imperfect graces. I will contribute what I can to what I see as an occurring and enlarging dialogue towards a new kinda transcendentalist mindset in the American artistic and intellectual community. In other words... I’ll be doing my best to say whatever I want to say.

I should mention... I will be using graphics/images, culled from various places on the web, as starting points and/or visual symbols (banners?) for thoughts/creations/etc. If you see something that you created and do not want exhibited in this particular virtual room of the net-mansion... let me know and it will be immediately removed. On that note, if you feel called to contribute ANYTHING- insights and objections in the form of e-mails and comments, artwork in any post-able medium, original writing, questions, money, booze, music that really moves... anything at all...

get at me.

Winter Unions #1

2010-12-13T13:32:00.000-06:00