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| via Luke's boner cam |
I saw Eisley last night, which is a band no one I know in the world cares about except for me, and I care about them prettttyyyy, prettyyyy hard. Kind of like a non-retarded version of The Kelly Family, only gorgeous and with emo scene cred and somehow more German seeming.
If you can't find something to fall in love with in this song here, well then, my friends, I don't know what to tell you. You're a soulless, dead-hearted prick would be one thing I might say.
After the jump I look at some other things in the world, and some other things in the world look at me.
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| MAKE IT FUCKING EMO |
Woops, more Eisley. Did I mention I like that band? From my Globe review of the show:
Headliners Eisley are touring behind their recently released, and stunningly disconsolate third full length “The Valley”, an album which finds the elder sisters enacting musical episodes of something out of Fitzgerald – all beautiful and damned and throwing themselves into fountains, as on the bewitching “Mr. Moon” a defiant blow by blow of a failed romance sung in aching harmony. Or it it Dickensian, rather? The pining songs here have a certain cobwebbed wedding cake in the attic aesthetic – Ms. Havisham was an original emo after all.
Oh, get me, I'm an artsy person pointing a camera at the world. For real though, something about power lines against a sunset makes me not hate things for a minute.
This old guy was playing a cover of "My Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder on his mouth piano thingy. Haha, let's go fuck with him, some guy in a Zack Morris sweater said, while his boys took pictures and I took pictures of him taking pictures. Who knows, maybe they weren't goofing on him and just having fun.
I saw this right after the sidewalk jam. I thought it was kind of thematically relevant, and also oddly beautiful. Aren't we all just packets of buffalo sauce spilling out on the window sill of the big pizza shop in the sky when you think about it?
Not sure if they have this sign up in the club I was at last night all the time, or just on twee, sundressy indie pop nights.
I forget if we already talked about this music thing I went to last week and wrote about in Billboard here and the Globe here. I talked to Amanda Palmer about her role in the thing, writing and recording 8 songs in 8 hours with Ben Folds, Neil Gaiman and the guy out of Ok Go. “Their fundamental mission is to talk about where to take music — we are the motherfuckers that are actually doing it," she told me. "There’s nothing more terrible than a future-of-music conference where people sit around tables talking about it.’’ She's right about that part. Anyway, here's what it was like looking out the window of the place it was at.
On Friday I went to see another band that no one I know cares about except like two people. Further Seems Forever, who are like, pioneers of second wave emo. I wrote about the reunion show here in the Phoenix. Kind of a total thing, since their original singer Chris Carrabba, aka Dashboard Confessional (come on, I know) was back with the band for the first time in ten years. That means I never got to see them perform any of these songs, and I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty beautiful, especially on this jam here. Totally something in my eye on that one.
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