We say “We” a lot.
Monthly Archives: March 2015
Scribblers Music Review
Aero Flynn, “Dk/Pi.” Just in time for the most filling of Pi Days (March 14, ’15), “Dk/Pi” has the pretentious vocals of a U2 poseur joined with the fiddly synth keyboards of ‘80s New Wave. It’s a modern wash of sound that’s hard to swim against, or get too worked up against. Pleasant and amiably gloomy, then it’s gone. NPR has it on its Heavy Rotation, here.
http://www.npr.org/2015/02/26/386973174/heavy-rotation-10-songs-public-radio-cant-stop-playing
Monday the 2nd of March
Magic number: 12193
Magic word: marzipan
Chocolate Named After People or Types of People
Freddo
Drifter
Goobers
Mr. Big
Oh Henry!
Orion
Pal-o-mine
Prince
Texan
Baby Ruth
Rock Gods #355: Adventures in Our Little Music Scene
SocPath has the look. SocPath has the gear. SocPath has fans aplenty, who sing SocPath’s praises better than SocPath can sing themselves. For SocPath is not a good band. They are the illusion of a good band. This is why you seldom see them play in public. This is why SocPath’s sole recording is so derivative that it’s easy to assume the band members simply sat around the studio while others did the real work. It would be a presumption, a folly, for SocPath to sing in public. It’s folly for the band to spend money on promotion. Yet they have
SocPath is playing D’Ollaire’s, biggest room in town, on Thursday night. SocPath has plastered the phone polls with heavy-stock, multi-ink posters that must have cost several dollars apiece to print.
Why is SocPath doing this? Is the answer the one thing that’s more ridiculous than rock fame: politics? There is reason for the saps in SocPath to be seen as young leaders. It costs them little to appear to be good. If they’re not, folks will just forget them and SocPath can insist, by showing the posters and souvenirs, that of course they were great. They will have excuses. But their bluster will probably get them good jobs and good stories to tell at cocktail parties. Meantime, they waste our time with their money.
Vanity, thy name is SocPath. SocPath is not talking to us. We’re fine with that. We hope they do not sing either.
Tonight: Acorn Cans at the Bullfinch. No other bands on the bill because nobody will play with them… Old Salt Barber Shop at Hamilton’s, not ironic… An Evening With Rex Hame at D’ollaire’s. Seriously, a solo acoustic show with a guy who doesn’t play any instruments, just sings and claps…
Riverdale Book Review
Rhyming Titles from Betty & Veronica Comics Double Digest #231
Great Fate
Same Game
Peek Tweak
Dream Theme
This digest (the current issue) also has the sweet symmetry of a Veronica story titled “No Problem” running right next to a Betty story titled “The Problem.”
For Tomorrow We Shall Die: Diary of a College Chum #305:
We mixed up three board games and played LifeClueRisk for eight hours straight.
Scribblers Music Review
Boots, Motorcycle Jesus original soundtrack. The songs and tunes from Boots’ new short film. Careful, wistful, slowbuilding, abruptly shiftly in both tempo and volume. Not so much soundtracky as concepty, with sturdy yet unobtrusive melodies exhorting characters to do things like “stay right there” and “run away.”
Friday the 27th of February
Magic number: 95763
Magic word: blanket
Oh, How Fab
“If you’ll remember, you told me I had to something about out families,” David said. “It took a bit of doing, but my Mum has invited you to tea tomorrow.”
“Oh, how fab. But how much convincing did it take?”
“Not much. She was willing. It was Dad who objected. But I’m sure he’ll go along with it.”
“You couldn’t have done anything that would please me more. Do you think she’ll like me?”
“She’ll adore you. We’d better hop it, we’ve kept them waiting long enough.” David helped her up. She clung to his arm as they walked to the folk club to meet Belle and Tom.
When they got inside, David looked around quickly. The place had always been a Mod hangout and, he noted, it still was. Little checked tables, with benches, were lined up in straight rows, so close it seemed a wonder anyone could squeeze through. People were pushing through the door behind them.
“Look,” she said,. “Over there, see them?”
They picked their way between benches and people, and sat down. Conversation was impossible. The room was bedlam—noise, people laughing and talking, benches scraping, and on top of it, the singer.
—from The Mods, a Lancer Photo Novel, 1967. Novel by Sandra Lawrence, photos by Ken Williams “of Galaxy International.”