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| Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. |
Like getting a less goofy tattoo next time, perhaps?
Let's see, what else? Bunch of other shit for you to read today, if you're into reading things about other things. Today in the Globe I wrote about the proliferation of "Free Whitey" t-shirts cropping up around Massachusetts lately, which, if you don't know, are ironic expressions of support made by young people for a notorious criminal psychopath who your grandfather wouldn't have thought about sideways without shitting his pants never mind worn a t-shirt that turned him into a goof.
Couple pieces on two bands I really dig, Ringo Deathstarr and The December Sound as well, in the Phoenix. More below...Quigley, 25, remembers Bulger being a fixture of news stories throughout his childhood in Lowell.“When I heard he got caught, my first thought wasn’t that they should let him go, but that I was disappointed that the legend, in a sense, came to an end. That is what prompted me to make these shirts.’’
A grandiosity-minded outfit like the December Sound cut through to the core of that metaphor by digging down past a few layers of artifice and erecting walls of noise that could be the soundtrack to some creation myth. Consider the track "Massed Senses," from their still-in-production second album Beneath the Ruins of Me — with its giant vistas of celestial feedback and colliding asteroids — or the planet-sized buzzsaw of "Never" from their 2005 homonymous debut. Or, if that comparison doesn't work for you, let's leave deep space behind and try deep ocean. To wit, what does the ominous drone of an expanse of underwater mountains eroding over a millennia sound like? That's the idea they're going for...
No offense to sex, but I've always been more preoccupied with the drugs and rock-and-roll part of that equation. Historically speaking, there has never been a shortage of songs about drugs (or songs written while on drugs, or of musicians taking drugs to make songs to take drugs to), but actually capturing the feeling of space angels tickling your brain stem while swimming through gently swaying fields of purple grass isn't so easy to accomplish. That's why the songs from Austin noise-pop trio Ringo Deathstarr — in particular, the devastating dopamine rush of "So High," which features a string of effects pedals marked "MBV" and "J+MC" and twitchy, whorling waves of feedback and call-and-response male/female vocals — have me pressing the play button on my computer repeatedly, like a lab monkey waiting for the cocaine pellet to pop out...
I dunno. I saw Earthquake Party play last night and they were pretty good. I like how much fun this girl in the front is having. Let's all live like that from now on, ok? Just kidding, fun sucks. So does this post. I'm out of here, losers.
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3 comments:
Whoa, online literary rags are advertising on your skin? You have made it, brutha.
Lit Mag money is where the real action is. Basic economics.
It's a Beckett quote ah fuck it never mind
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