‘Human’ by Human Remains
This picture is burned at the edge, and you’re looking away, looking for what’s next. Tell me what’s next.
‘Human’ by Human Remains
Old Wounds, live in Pittsburgh Thursday night. They’re coming to Norfolk on the 16th, but they aren’t playing in Richmond on this tour. Boo.
I asked this past year and got some good responses: what’s the album on your EOY list that you doubt will be on anyone else’s?
The most likely candidate is From Where We Came Is Where We’ll Rest by Old Wounds.
As many times as I have played Once I Was An Eagle by Laura Marling this year, I do not understand how in the world that it’s only tonight I’m noticing that all the songs run together. Seriously, I’m five tracks in, and this album hasn’t stopped at all yet. When she gets to the end of one song, she just starts the next one and the band follow her in. It’s amazing.
I really want to believe that’s how this was recorded—that she and the other three members of her band just set up in the studio and played the whole thing live in one big crazy 16-song shot, but I know that’s almost certainly not true. I understand how these things are faked in the studio. Still, there’s just something so cool about this whole record. Before today, I hadn’t played it in a few months, and now that I’m getting into year-end mode, I put it on with the thought to figure out if this is still one of my top albums of 2013, the way it clearly seemed to be six months ago.
The answer is yes. Definitely.
‘I Was An Eagle’ by Laura Marling
This song makes me think of the way my fear and bitterness interfere with my ability to trust others in relationships (romantic or otherwise).
The Wonder Years - An American Religion (FSF)
Sorry for what’s in the magazines. I know it wasn’t fair of me but I’m spitting ink onto the pages like blood through broken teeth. I can see the gallows all lit up in neon just waiting for me. The limelight started burning. They’re all paying for bullets to shoot at my feet. Does that make you happy?
Truman will always be remembered for dropping the bomb. I’ll always be remembered for my fuck ups but I’m still living in Richie’s basement. I’m still sitting at the coffee shop with Ken. We still talk about nothing. I still feel like the same person I’ve been. I knew a lot of talented kids who got lost in painkillers and turned into nothing. Sometimes I can still feel it pulling but I just can’t let that happen. They’re all paying for bullets to shoot at my feet. Does that make you happy?
Well, this certainly remains relevant.
Jesus Christ, too much fucking pressure. Let’s get back to what this is all about, right? Here’s Kvelertak’s video for “Bruane Brenn,” one of my favorite songs of the year. This Swedish metal band found a way to turn black metal into triumphant singalong party metal—this isn’t one of the songs with a major chord riff backed by a blast beat, which is my favorite thing these guys do, but it’s still pretty amazing. And the 10 year olds portraying the band in this video are adorable. So yeah, fuck arguments, let’s rock!
Let this be my final word on the whole fucking debacle—I don’t have to morally justify making a living by being a writer. You say people don’t “deserve” to be able to earn a living doing what I do? Like Clint says above: "Deserve’s got nothing to do with it." I managed to get someone to pay me to do it, and until I stop being able to pull that off, I’m going to KEEP doing it. That’s all part and parcel of this great (hah, again, as if) capitalist system we live in. Fuck anyone who has a problem with it.
More bracing than a coffee cup full of fire ants: Ott v Evans
I’ve mostly stayed out of all this. (Hand waving “all this” like me waving my hands around nodding toward “this” — what is this? It’s just a big circlejerk — whatever.) But there’s a lot of damn truth here.
None of it has to do with anyone in particular. It has to do with the outrageous notion that we need a class exponentially larger than the already quite large class of musicians who all should make a career out of writing about music. It’s an inverted American Idol funhouse mirror mask to keep the truth from you, make you work for free, or make you demean yourself knowingly or not. (Cf “startup culture.”)
- Say what you want to say about what you like.
- Fuck a retweet.
- Fuck a writers’ rumpus room fun club.
- Get a job.
- Fvcked up gender-young person-excitement nexus.
- "This is not something to base your life on." Full stop probably the most important part.
I linked to this NYT story about older works in the fast food industry yesterday on Twitter. This is the day of one worker profiled:
But as a fast-food worker paid the minimum wage — $7.25 an hour in New York — he didn’t have the luxury. At 10 p.m., he was up again and back in his car, this time driving to his second job, as a forklift operator at Kennedy International Airport, where he makes $13 an hour. Having worked all day, he was about to work all night: from 11 p.m. until 7:30 a.m. At 3 that afternoon, he would return to his deliveries at the restaurant. Then, at 11, he would once again drive to the airport.
The average fastfood worker makes like $15,000/year in Manhattan. Fastfood workers are actually striking tomorrow to change that. Musicwriters do not need to make more money than fastfood workers. Sorry it’s true. I’d rather eat a McDouble than read any album review ever.
Neither your self-righteous condemnation of the way I choose to pay my rent nor that of Chris Ott makes me take seriously the idea that I should quit my fucking job and go back to working at McDonalds. If the shoe were on the other foot and someone were telling you that such an action was YOUR moral obligation (in order to preserve the holy sanctified spirit of music, no less—as if!), I doubt you’d do it either. Motherfuckers with cushy desk jobs* need to shut the fuck up about what other people do for a living. You don’t like that I can make as much (though not any more, that’s for sure) writing about music as I did working in fast food? You’re more than welcome to kiss my fucking ass.
*—Michael, I don’t know what you do for a living, but Ott DEFINITELY has a cushy desk job.