Hey everybody, go get a free live performance from Matthew Ryan. If you don’t know who Matthew Ryan is, that’s all the more reason to try him out for free, right? I mean, if you download something of his illegally instead, the RIAA could bust through your door and demand to know who the Hell Matthew Ryan is, and why he’s still allowed to make records. Then they’ll force you to buy some 20 dollar Lady Gaga cds that sound EXACTLY LIKE MADONNA FROM 1989. Seriously, who is she even kidding? Her audience must be made up of people too young to remember Blonde Ambition, and possibly a few people old enough to remember, but have suffered strokes.
So let’s avoid that whole mess, shall we? Just download the free and legal track and enjoy.
Hey, it’s my second installment of bizarre Gin & Juice covers! This one is indeed bizarre, and probably more than a little horrific. There are all kinds of editing mysteries here— some cuss words left in, some taken out, one or two added. And there are strange omissions and merging of verses.
This is so campy that I almost enjoy it. But Sissy Bar is kind of a typical 90s cult band in a lot of ways; they seem to have as much attitude and ambition as today’s crop of short-lived concept bands, but their antics just aren’t all that clever. I can’t say why it happened (I partly blame the internet and its easy general public access to The Onion), but today’s obscure cult bands and indie personae have really raised the bar when it comes to cleverness.
It’s been a week (or a month) where most of my time is spent between places and people, saying a lot of hellos, goodbyes, and the occasional hello-n-goodbye. I wish I could say it’s led me to some sort of better understanding of where I’m going from here, but I’m still left with the same old questions. This naturally leads me to think I’m asking the wrong questions. Anyway, here’s a song for that feeling of constant motion (and emotion), when you wind up wondering where all of this distance has landed you.
I still can remember the day in 1977, going down W. River Road with my mom in our Chevy Nova, and hearing the news that Elvis Presley had died. I remember some flashes of images, but mostly I remember how the moment felt.
I like to think that when I die, someone will drag up one of my stupider songs, or one of my worst papers and read it aloud in my memory. I can’t say why, exactly, but I’ve always found it pretty funny when I get caught doing something ridiculous; human life is defined by those humbling moments, I think. In loving tribute, here’s one of the King’s more humbling and godawful moments. Enjoy.
“…”Suffering is the origin of consciousness.” Dostoevski wrote. But suffering is anywhere in the presence of thought and sensitivity. Sartre for his part has written, and with equal simplicity: ” Life begins on the other side of despair.”—Introduction by Hayden Carruth in Jean-Paul Sartre’s novel Nausea (via kittiro)
I’ve been a little neglectful of this space in the last month or so, aside from the occasional reblog. Um… sorry?
Here’s a song I’ve had running through my head all day, because I was in a record store and saw the vinyl release of John Legend and the Roots covering it. I have to love the original more now, because Donny’s voice is just made for this song and this moment. Of course, I love it when Dr. Dre samples it on The Chronic too.
Donny Hathaway is one of those guys that gets name-dropped a lot, but probably never truly loved nearly so much. There’s a love-fest for him in High Fidelity (the book, that is), and there’s a famous name-drop in Amy Winehouse’s Rehab. But Donny is always this outside figure, the classically trained virtuoso who brought dignity to soul and jazz to funk. He’s spanning the gaps between James Brown and Herbie Hancock, between Stevie Wonder and Funkadelic.