Will pointed out that the new Rufus Wainwright tune on the radio (“Out of the Game”) sounded like Billy Joel, and now we cannot stop listening to this record. It is so 70s, which means he is ahead of the game. (It’s coming, and it’s not just disco.) I never much liked Wainwright’s albums before, but I think it was because I could hear the Billy Joel but he wasn’t embracing it. Embrace your Billy Joel. It’s there and you know it.
(Source: Spotify)
I was watching this video and thinking about Jason Molina and going places on the internet I don’t need to be going and almost burned my house down because I forgot that last piece of perfect steak was in the broiler and it is no longer perfect.
Is there a better call to get off the internet than the smell of burning meat and smoke from the other side of the apartment?
Here I am, back on the internet, but the broiler’s off. Time to do the dishes.
Lindsay Zoladz's piece on Fiona Apple is pretty good.
I’ve written before about my personal experience with Fiona in the ol’ Spin mag girl issue (I read that 1000 times if I read it once), and I still think of all of that, all the time, whenever I read anything about Fiona.
But what this essay implies - and I really wish it went into what it really means instead of focusing on the personal details and lyrical content - is the huge impact that Fiona Apple had as a pop artist. Tidal is the one cd (probably to this day) that my brother, my sister and I all own. My brother is eight years older and liked King Crimson and Yes; my sister is four years older and liked Dave Matthews Band; I was still figuring things out and was listening to an equal mix of the Top 40 station and the Alternative station. I’ve never thought Fiona Apple was uncool because songs about depressing things are kinda always cool, and so is being alternately aloof and confrontational. Also, being a really good lyricist never hurt anyone. I’ve always thought she was a pop star, albeit a secret one, but a star nonetheless. The fact that everyone cool likes Fiona Apple (it’s true!) always gave me hope that everyone’s got a soft spot in their hearts for the talented, depressed girl.
Anyway, the essay is worth reading, and I think the point is that she’s everyone’s secret passion-made-public, but I’ve always thought her stardom had to do with the fact that she’s an excellent artist (I wish I could play piano like that!) and not so much the personal content of her lyrics, or the girl issue. It is kindof like writing about Liz Phair and only focusing on the Fuck and Run, y’know. It’s important to say but we’ll be saying more soon, right?
I would rather see something that was clearly internet engineered for me than a picture of food taken on any cellphone camera, especially if it was instagrammed, and especially if that food involves meat or noodles.
Every parody should be a Pet Shop Boys parody.
I have heard this song five different times on three different radio stations in the past week. I’ve been hearing a lot of Chemical Brothers, too. Next year, or next month, they will start in with the Moby again, because the 20th anniversary of Nevermind just happened a few months ago, and we need to careen through the past, sanctifying our nostalgia, because commerce is a constant remember when? game.
“Lazy Suicide” — Megafaun
I have one of those car stereos that tells you the name of the song and the artist, only the connection is bad so it almost never gets it right. For example, once it called Grizzly Bear “Grizeny” (which is a better band name anyway).
The other day I heard a Megafaun song and my radio called it “Megafat.” Again, probably a better band name, but for a “Weird” Al cover band or something.
And I swear to god once while “All You Need Is Love” was playing my radio read simply “Beatass.”
What Happens When You Learn about Real Places from Movies
They don’t tell you that in Las Vegas, there is pop music playing everywhere, all the time, in all of the casinos. There are speakers on the streets so that when you are outside there is pop music. There is pop music playing all the goddamn time in Las Vegas, and when you leave it doesn’t leave you for at least a couple of days. It’s not ever the same song that repeats, even though you have been there for a week, even though it’s often songs you recognize. “The Way,” “Street Fighting Man,” “Your Song,” “Feel Like Making Love.” You hear every Rihanna song, every Rihanna song, not enough Madonna songs, not enough Nicki Minaj. Frank Sinatra on every radio station. One of your favorite pop songs of all time comes on in a bar and you realize you’ve never heard in a bar before, ever, except for when you used to be the dj. You expect to hear more LMFAO but you do not hear “Party Rock Anthem” until your last night, after the dance remix of “Somebody That You Used to Know.” The last song you hear in Las Vegas is “Genius of Love.”
I’m beginning to realize that, if I want it to have any cultural relevance to any contemporary audience at all, I should probably get started writing my Velvet Goldmine-style movie about Britpop (to be directed by Sofia Coppola).
skin stretched tight over high cheekbones and thousands of tiny dryness lines beating a path into the corners of your eyes
Do you think that the Occupy crowd really likes A Different Class?
Pretty soon (has it happened yet?), all the contemporary pop artists will be covering 90s modern rock radio hits, and I hope this one gets treated well. Or I hope that it doesn’t. I hope that it gets treated.
Chemical Brothers and Beth Orton - “Where Do I Begin”
This song has been stuck in my head for 15 years.
