Showing posts with label 2006. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2006. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Awoo - The Hidden Cameras - Awoo - 2006
So, I'm experimenting with adding Amazon links to my blog, should anyone wish to actually buy the songs I'm (occasionally) writing about. One of my co-workers was bored today and told me I should do this, so I figured "why not?".
Anyway, Awoo (the album) is one of those things that I downloaded after reading a good review listened to once or twice and liked well enough and then promptly never ever listened to again. It pops up on random from time to time and I find myself enjoying it just enough to not delete it...plus I seem to recall that there were a couple songs on this album that I was into...just not this one.
Not much of a recommendation, but hey...if you want to check them out, click the Amazon link.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Await Lightening - Amusement Parks on Fire - Out of the Angeles - 2006
I generally have a problematic and troubled relationship with Pitchfork Media, but I did think that this article was well written and brought up a lot of valid points...it's a bit of a slog, but take a look if you have the time.
http://pitchfork.com/features/articles/7704-the-decade-in-indie
Despite being a review of the decade in Indie Rock, it largely details the problems of being a fan of a genre that was a niche when you found it but has become less and less of a niche by the year.
And Amusement Parks on Fire is as good enough a place to start with this conversation as any. The Nottingham band might have sound unique and like a niche band circa 1994 when Swervedriver came out of Oxford and had the brilliant idea to couple Shoegaze's sound textures with the drive of more traditional rock. But now, in 2009...or even in 2006 when this record came out...little sounds more safe than this band. This song could be in a car commercial, it could be played at an Applebees. Don't get me wrong, I listen to this band and generally enjoy them...but...the idea that this band, by virtue of being "indie rock" is breaking any new ground, or that it's underground existence is a product of the discerning tastes of their fans and the "ignorance" of the plebes holds little sway.
And so the bigger question remains, what are you when the very category that you defined yourself by...no longer makes sense as a definition. If that's not the question for our age...I don't know what is.
http://pitchfork.com/features/articles/7704-the-decade-in-indie
Despite being a review of the decade in Indie Rock, it largely details the problems of being a fan of a genre that was a niche when you found it but has become less and less of a niche by the year.
And Amusement Parks on Fire is as good enough a place to start with this conversation as any. The Nottingham band might have sound unique and like a niche band circa 1994 when Swervedriver came out of Oxford and had the brilliant idea to couple Shoegaze's sound textures with the drive of more traditional rock. But now, in 2009...or even in 2006 when this record came out...little sounds more safe than this band. This song could be in a car commercial, it could be played at an Applebees. Don't get me wrong, I listen to this band and generally enjoy them...but...the idea that this band, by virtue of being "indie rock" is breaking any new ground, or that it's underground existence is a product of the discerning tastes of their fans and the "ignorance" of the plebes holds little sway.
And so the bigger question remains, what are you when the very category that you defined yourself by...no longer makes sense as a definition. If that's not the question for our age...I don't know what is.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Auto Rock - Mogwai - Mr. Beast - 2006
As expected, we spent a big part of the morning sleeping in. The soccer game we had come to attend didn't start until 5, so even with the lie in we had a bit of tourist time. We figured, we'd hike down to the Museum of Fine Arts and grab brunch somewhere along the way...and yet again, Boston seemed determined to thwart us.
As we walked each block between our hotel and the museum we were continually amazed by the lack of brunch options. There was not one neighborhood cafe or at least a pub with a big Irish fry-up...but no, nothing but chain restaurants and houses.
We finally arrived at the museum and resigned ourselves to eating at the restaurant onsite. The good news was that there were three of them, the bad news was that they were all crappy in one way or another. The downstairs was simply a cafeteria, the upstairs was a place that was going for the illusion of being upscale and offered a $35 pre-fix brunch (I wouldn't even pay that in NYC, let alone at a museum in brunch-less Boston). The place in the middle was where we settled, but none of us were overly enthused with the option. I got a bowl of seafood chowder and ate a bunch of the free bread. It would turn out to be my only meal of the day.
Ahhh Mogwai, is there anything you can't make sound ominous? Since their songs are generally wordless, the titles are usually the only place you can look for meaning and in this one it's fairly easy to see. From the plunking, Knight Rider keyboards, to the slow build of the synths and guitars swelling to an almost overwhelming level of intensity this is the sound of driving alone on a rainy night with a gnawing anger in your stomach. Having personally driven through the black Scottish night, and seeing just exactly how dark, dark can get...I feel like I know exactly what this song is about.
As we walked each block between our hotel and the museum we were continually amazed by the lack of brunch options. There was not one neighborhood cafe or at least a pub with a big Irish fry-up...but no, nothing but chain restaurants and houses.
We finally arrived at the museum and resigned ourselves to eating at the restaurant onsite. The good news was that there were three of them, the bad news was that they were all crappy in one way or another. The downstairs was simply a cafeteria, the upstairs was a place that was going for the illusion of being upscale and offered a $35 pre-fix brunch (I wouldn't even pay that in NYC, let alone at a museum in brunch-less Boston). The place in the middle was where we settled, but none of us were overly enthused with the option. I got a bowl of seafood chowder and ate a bunch of the free bread. It would turn out to be my only meal of the day.
Ahhh Mogwai, is there anything you can't make sound ominous? Since their songs are generally wordless, the titles are usually the only place you can look for meaning and in this one it's fairly easy to see. From the plunking, Knight Rider keyboards, to the slow build of the synths and guitars swelling to an almost overwhelming level of intensity this is the sound of driving alone on a rainy night with a gnawing anger in your stomach. Having personally driven through the black Scottish night, and seeing just exactly how dark, dark can get...I feel like I know exactly what this song is about.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Auditor - Britt Daniel/Brian Reitzell - Stranger Than Fiction(OST) - 2006
We ate lobster rolls on the water at a place called The Chart House, which I gather was at one time John Hancock's counting house. The history nerd in me couldn't help but be amused by this fact. We sat outside, next to a family gathering of sorts. There were two older parents, with their adult son and his girlfriend/wife/fiancee and an additional man who I think was the other son, but who said very little. In fact most of them said very little, save for the daugher in law (or whatever) who did not shut up through the entire meal. Her father in law, clearly detested her and would occassionally attempt to talk to the men about the Red Sox, only for her to dominate the conversation the whole time.
The thing that always baffles me about people who talk loudly and constantly in public, is that they seem completely unaware that they are broadcasting information about themselves to everyone around them. They are giving everyone ample opportunity to judge them...and generally with this type of person, there is plenty to judge. This woman was clearly shallow and materialistic, petty and amused by awful things. She told a story about how as a child they'd take vacations where her family would drive an RV to a destination only to sleep in the hotel. It never seemed to occur to her that this might make her appear pampered and awful. She never thought of these things, all she could think of was how wonderful it was to have people listening to her, to be the center of attention...regardless of whether that attention was meritted. The arrival of her food did not stop her verbal diaherria.
Following our meal, we went to the Aquarium, standing in line for nearly 1/2 an hour to get tickets. Nearly a decade in NYC has made me forget a truth about museums of any type in American places that are not NYC, a lesson I should have remembered from my trip to DC. NYC, due to it's booming tourism industry and self appointed need to be seen as a cultural epicenter, regards its museums with a sort of European air. Museums are places where adults go to be edified about culture or educated about science. Museums in any other American city are places you take your kids so you can pretend you are doing something "educational"
The Aquarium itself was impressive, with it's central cone of water with a descending ramp wrapped around it and individual exhibits on the oppossing wall. The problem is, you couldn't get anywhere near these exhibits due to the sheer mass of children between you and what you'd want to see. Being polite, I'd stand aside and wait for a group of kids to clear...as soon as they did I'd step up and look at what I wanted to see...only for another group of kids to decide that the space between me and the glass was a place they could stand to get a better view...never mind that someone else was there first and viewing the fish. After about 45 minutes we gave up...there was just no way the kids were going to be polite, and no way that we were going to get to see what we want. With a few exceptions, it was $21 down the drain. If I had wanted to be annoyed by children, I could have just gone to Park Slope for the day.
Listening to these songs in alphabetical order means that I have heard this brief instrumental, performed by Britt Daniel of Spoon on the Stranger Than Fiction soundtrack, several times immediately following "Audience with the Pope"...the problem is that for the first few listens, I assumed that this was just an outro to the previous song. It actually works really well, in fact I think they are even in the same key and the same basic tempo. What is ultimately a coincidence of the alphabet and my particular tastes makes sure that "Audience..." well always sound a bit too brief without it's "Outro".
The thing that always baffles me about people who talk loudly and constantly in public, is that they seem completely unaware that they are broadcasting information about themselves to everyone around them. They are giving everyone ample opportunity to judge them...and generally with this type of person, there is plenty to judge. This woman was clearly shallow and materialistic, petty and amused by awful things. She told a story about how as a child they'd take vacations where her family would drive an RV to a destination only to sleep in the hotel. It never seemed to occur to her that this might make her appear pampered and awful. She never thought of these things, all she could think of was how wonderful it was to have people listening to her, to be the center of attention...regardless of whether that attention was meritted. The arrival of her food did not stop her verbal diaherria.
Following our meal, we went to the Aquarium, standing in line for nearly 1/2 an hour to get tickets. Nearly a decade in NYC has made me forget a truth about museums of any type in American places that are not NYC, a lesson I should have remembered from my trip to DC. NYC, due to it's booming tourism industry and self appointed need to be seen as a cultural epicenter, regards its museums with a sort of European air. Museums are places where adults go to be edified about culture or educated about science. Museums in any other American city are places you take your kids so you can pretend you are doing something "educational"
The Aquarium itself was impressive, with it's central cone of water with a descending ramp wrapped around it and individual exhibits on the oppossing wall. The problem is, you couldn't get anywhere near these exhibits due to the sheer mass of children between you and what you'd want to see. Being polite, I'd stand aside and wait for a group of kids to clear...as soon as they did I'd step up and look at what I wanted to see...only for another group of kids to decide that the space between me and the glass was a place they could stand to get a better view...never mind that someone else was there first and viewing the fish. After about 45 minutes we gave up...there was just no way the kids were going to be polite, and no way that we were going to get to see what we want. With a few exceptions, it was $21 down the drain. If I had wanted to be annoyed by children, I could have just gone to Park Slope for the day.
Listening to these songs in alphabetical order means that I have heard this brief instrumental, performed by Britt Daniel of Spoon on the Stranger Than Fiction soundtrack, several times immediately following "Audience with the Pope"...the problem is that for the first few listens, I assumed that this was just an outro to the previous song. It actually works really well, in fact I think they are even in the same key and the same basic tempo. What is ultimately a coincidence of the alphabet and my particular tastes makes sure that "Audience..." well always sound a bit too brief without it's "Outro".
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Auburn and Ivory - Beach House - Beach House - 2006
AC Milan and Inter Milan (2 of the best teams in Italian football, and as such, 2 of probably the 10 best teams in the world) were playing a "Friendly" pre-season exhibition match in Boston this weekend. As such, me and the Singh brothers decided to head out to Beantown for a long weekend and see what the city had in store for 3 strapping adventuresome men.
Friday morning, I took the PATH out to Hoboken. The car rental was cheaper to pick up in Jersey and there was no sense back tracking into Brooklyn if we didn't need to. The Singh's picked me up, and we were on the road before 11...a good start.
The ride up North was relatively cut and dry, we hit some traffic in some of the larger cities (Stamford, Bridgeport, New Haven, Hartford) but these were rarely more than 10 minute stops. We marvelled at how, despite it's image as the "Who's the Boss" wealthy suburb state, Connecticut is largely blue collar, grungy, and depressing. It does however possess beautifully landscaped rest areas.
We arrived in Boston a little before 4, and tried to find street parking, but this was considerably trickier than we thought. Parking in NYC, is rather famously, a bitch, but if you are willing to take the effort, you can usually find street parking after a few swings through some residential blocks. Boston has residential blocks, but all of these require resident passes to park. Eventually we gave up and just begrudgingly sucked up the $30 a day parking fees available at the local garages. This town was already showing it's downside.
It's a good day here for Beach House...their name is deceptive. Rather than the sunkissed Beach Boys record you might expect from such a band, they play the kind of music that you'd associate with being stuck in the rain all week on vacation. Sad, morose and lethargic. It's pouring rain here to the point that my coworkers just stated that it was a hurricane, and it feels like Beach House weather.
Friday morning, I took the PATH out to Hoboken. The car rental was cheaper to pick up in Jersey and there was no sense back tracking into Brooklyn if we didn't need to. The Singh's picked me up, and we were on the road before 11...a good start.
The ride up North was relatively cut and dry, we hit some traffic in some of the larger cities (Stamford, Bridgeport, New Haven, Hartford) but these were rarely more than 10 minute stops. We marvelled at how, despite it's image as the "Who's the Boss" wealthy suburb state, Connecticut is largely blue collar, grungy, and depressing. It does however possess beautifully landscaped rest areas.
We arrived in Boston a little before 4, and tried to find street parking, but this was considerably trickier than we thought. Parking in NYC, is rather famously, a bitch, but if you are willing to take the effort, you can usually find street parking after a few swings through some residential blocks. Boston has residential blocks, but all of these require resident passes to park. Eventually we gave up and just begrudgingly sucked up the $30 a day parking fees available at the local garages. This town was already showing it's downside.
It's a good day here for Beach House...their name is deceptive. Rather than the sunkissed Beach Boys record you might expect from such a band, they play the kind of music that you'd associate with being stuck in the rain all week on vacation. Sad, morose and lethargic. It's pouring rain here to the point that my coworkers just stated that it was a hurricane, and it feels like Beach House weather.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Atoms for Peace - Thom Yorke - Eraser - 2006
Saturday evening I took a trip up to Cityfield for the annual visit of the Cincinnati Mets. I met up with my friends around the Penn Station area for some pre-gaming before the first pitch. The problem with this plan is that the Penn Station area ("The Fashion District") is not really a friendly place for my type of bar. The whole zone is covered with tourist traps, fratty sports bars, and faux-Irish pubs that are usually filled with the spill over of Tourists and fratty sports fans. So, it seemed like a totally great idea to go to Deno's Party House and Bikini Bar.
The logic was, ok we amuse ourselves by going into a shitty dive bar where the bar tenders are all FOB russian girls in bikinis...sounds like a win-win situation, right? The problem here is this...we aren't usually the kind of guys to go these bars. Now I don't mean that in a "We're too classy to go here" kind of way, but rather...single men go to bars to meet women, attached men go to bars to NOT HAVE TO TALK TO WOMEN. If we wanted to talk to women, we'd stay home, where we get plenty of that.
We sat at the mostly empty bar (it was only 5 in the evening on a Saturday) and ordered our beers only to have our every attempt at having a conversation interrupted by one of the two (or both) bartenders attempting to "flirt" with us. We tried to make it clear that we really just wanted to drink and talk amongst ourselves, but that didn't really work. At one point, the smarter of the two asked us our names and my buddy introduced himself as "Terd Fergeson" (classy as always, Anand)...this resulted in me laughing uncontrollably. Unfortunately our bikini clad bartender took this as me laughing at my friend's odd name and tried to console him and tell him that it was a very manly name...which resulted in me laughing further. Finally we just had to put down our beers and head for another bar.
Atoms for peace is one of the more underwhelming songs on Yorke's underwhelming solo album. Like much of the album, it's not bad...but, so what?
The logic was, ok we amuse ourselves by going into a shitty dive bar where the bar tenders are all FOB russian girls in bikinis...sounds like a win-win situation, right? The problem here is this...we aren't usually the kind of guys to go these bars. Now I don't mean that in a "We're too classy to go here" kind of way, but rather...single men go to bars to meet women, attached men go to bars to NOT HAVE TO TALK TO WOMEN. If we wanted to talk to women, we'd stay home, where we get plenty of that.
We sat at the mostly empty bar (it was only 5 in the evening on a Saturday) and ordered our beers only to have our every attempt at having a conversation interrupted by one of the two (or both) bartenders attempting to "flirt" with us. We tried to make it clear that we really just wanted to drink and talk amongst ourselves, but that didn't really work. At one point, the smarter of the two asked us our names and my buddy introduced himself as "Terd Fergeson" (classy as always, Anand)...this resulted in me laughing uncontrollably. Unfortunately our bikini clad bartender took this as me laughing at my friend's odd name and tried to console him and tell him that it was a very manly name...which resulted in me laughing further. Finally we just had to put down our beers and head for another bar.
Atoms for peace is one of the more underwhelming songs on Yorke's underwhelming solo album. Like much of the album, it's not bad...but, so what?
Friday, June 19, 2009
Atlantis to Interzone - Klaxons - Xan Valleys EP - 2006
So I guess I've strung you guys along long enough with the tale of the third guy who broke his hand punching me in the face...incidentally, this was also the last time I was punched in the face.
As I've probably mentioned on this blog before (I'm too lazy to check) I worked as a summer camp counselor for several summers in my late teens/early twenties. My second summer there, I was twenty and was generally having a pretty great time. For those that have never worked at a summer camp, you are basically locked into a 24 hour a day, 6 day a week microcosm with a lot of hormonally overdriven other teenagers and given the responsibility to care for children. You get nearly no sleep and even less pay, but on the plus side you spend a lot of time with hot and sweaty college girls.
One of the girls at the camp was a crazy Irish girl who drove most of the boys mad. She was a mess of curly hair and long freakled legs and evil manipulations, she knew all the boys wanted her and that she could get whatever she wanted without giving much in return...and mostly what she wanted was attention.
So one day, her non-camp employed boyfriend came tearing into camp on a motorcycle, convinced (not unreasonably) that his girl was not being entirely faithful to him. Much drama ensued and at the end of the fight, the guy swore that if she didn't follow him out, he was going to kill himself. When she refused to acqueise, he tore off on his motorcycle, making a rather sad show of ditching it in the gravel to give some authenticity to his "suicide" attempt.
Now this is where it gets complicated...for insurance reasons, because he had made a suicide attempt on city property, the camp was not allowed to let him leave the premises until the paramedics arrived to examine him, but because he had tried to commit suicide on 2 prior occassions (Probably each time with the same level of seriousness) one more reported attempt meant that he would have to stay at an inpatient pysch facility for 2 weeks for evaluation. For this reason, he certainly did not want to be detained for long enough for the authorities to arrive.
To prevent his leaving, the camp director gathered the 4 biggest guys in the camp...of which I was one (ok, I was the smallest of the 4, but I still made the list) and had us surround him to keep him from getting back on his bike. Now keep in mind that 3 of the 4 of us had some kind of history with the crazy girl...so we weren't exactly viewing this douchebag as a guy to be respected. Seeing that he was surrounded, he decided to try to fight his way out...and the way to go was through the smallest of the 4 guys. Unfortunately for him, his punch landed right on the point of my chin breaking three fingers in the process. The pretty much put an end to the fight.
Incidentally, I ended up running into the crazy Irish girl years later in NYC. Not much had changed. We had a 6 month spell of quasi-dating/sexually charged friendship that ended in a bar fight...but that's a story for another time.
I enjoy the energy of Klaxons...you definitely don't want to listen to them before you've had your first cup of coffee...but they'll get you going.
As I've probably mentioned on this blog before (I'm too lazy to check) I worked as a summer camp counselor for several summers in my late teens/early twenties. My second summer there, I was twenty and was generally having a pretty great time. For those that have never worked at a summer camp, you are basically locked into a 24 hour a day, 6 day a week microcosm with a lot of hormonally overdriven other teenagers and given the responsibility to care for children. You get nearly no sleep and even less pay, but on the plus side you spend a lot of time with hot and sweaty college girls.
One of the girls at the camp was a crazy Irish girl who drove most of the boys mad. She was a mess of curly hair and long freakled legs and evil manipulations, she knew all the boys wanted her and that she could get whatever she wanted without giving much in return...and mostly what she wanted was attention.
So one day, her non-camp employed boyfriend came tearing into camp on a motorcycle, convinced (not unreasonably) that his girl was not being entirely faithful to him. Much drama ensued and at the end of the fight, the guy swore that if she didn't follow him out, he was going to kill himself. When she refused to acqueise, he tore off on his motorcycle, making a rather sad show of ditching it in the gravel to give some authenticity to his "suicide" attempt.
Now this is where it gets complicated...for insurance reasons, because he had made a suicide attempt on city property, the camp was not allowed to let him leave the premises until the paramedics arrived to examine him, but because he had tried to commit suicide on 2 prior occassions (Probably each time with the same level of seriousness) one more reported attempt meant that he would have to stay at an inpatient pysch facility for 2 weeks for evaluation. For this reason, he certainly did not want to be detained for long enough for the authorities to arrive.
To prevent his leaving, the camp director gathered the 4 biggest guys in the camp...of which I was one (ok, I was the smallest of the 4, but I still made the list) and had us surround him to keep him from getting back on his bike. Now keep in mind that 3 of the 4 of us had some kind of history with the crazy girl...so we weren't exactly viewing this douchebag as a guy to be respected. Seeing that he was surrounded, he decided to try to fight his way out...and the way to go was through the smallest of the 4 guys. Unfortunately for him, his punch landed right on the point of my chin breaking three fingers in the process. The pretty much put an end to the fight.
Incidentally, I ended up running into the crazy Irish girl years later in NYC. Not much had changed. We had a 6 month spell of quasi-dating/sexually charged friendship that ended in a bar fight...but that's a story for another time.
I enjoy the energy of Klaxons...you definitely don't want to listen to them before you've had your first cup of coffee...but they'll get you going.
Monday, June 8, 2009
At What Point Did You Stop Believing In Me - Bound Stems - Appreciation Night - 2006
As I was hanging out with my friends the other night, I off-handedly mentioned that I have had 3 different people break their hand while punching me in the face. Like most of the details of ones own life it didn't occur to me that this was odd until after I thought about it (For instance I have a friend who has been shot 5 times and probably doesn't think about it much). In telling what I thought were just the routine stories from my youth (all 3 incidents happened to me in my teens...the last one occurring when i was 20) I realized that it probably was a bit unusual.
The first time was easily the least interesting...when I was 13 I reached a point where I began walking the 2.5 miles home from school rather than taking the bus. This actually started a trend that would carry over through most of my life...I'd far rather just walk than wait on inefficient public transportation to ferry me home. Anyway, I was walking along when several slightly older kids from a neighboring rougher school jumped me for my pocket money. I was in my catholic school uniform, so I'm sure I was clearly an easy mark. A kid on my left started yelling stuff at me to distract me...when I turned back around, my right cheek was met with a fist punching me three times in quick succession.
At the time I was wearing braces, so the punches tore up the inside of my cheek and caused me to have a mouth full of blood which I spit at my assailant...but amusingly enough he was in a lot more trouble than me. He lay on the ground clutching his hand and crying. Despite my opponents prone state, I quickly ran away and got myself home. My mother of course freaked the fuck out and called the police, but other than a sore jaw, I was relatively fine...and I had learned a valueable lesson. Never hit anyone with a closed fist...you'll break your hand.
Bound Stems is something of a hybrid between Pavement and Modest Mouse, combining the latters vocal style with the more lackadasical musical approach of the former. The album never really grabs me, but I generally enjoy it while it's on. The waving synths and the lady background singer both make this song a little more interesting than it would be otherwise.
The first time was easily the least interesting...when I was 13 I reached a point where I began walking the 2.5 miles home from school rather than taking the bus. This actually started a trend that would carry over through most of my life...I'd far rather just walk than wait on inefficient public transportation to ferry me home. Anyway, I was walking along when several slightly older kids from a neighboring rougher school jumped me for my pocket money. I was in my catholic school uniform, so I'm sure I was clearly an easy mark. A kid on my left started yelling stuff at me to distract me...when I turned back around, my right cheek was met with a fist punching me three times in quick succession.
At the time I was wearing braces, so the punches tore up the inside of my cheek and caused me to have a mouth full of blood which I spit at my assailant...but amusingly enough he was in a lot more trouble than me. He lay on the ground clutching his hand and crying. Despite my opponents prone state, I quickly ran away and got myself home. My mother of course freaked the fuck out and called the police, but other than a sore jaw, I was relatively fine...and I had learned a valueable lesson. Never hit anyone with a closed fist...you'll break your hand.
Bound Stems is something of a hybrid between Pavement and Modest Mouse, combining the latters vocal style with the more lackadasical musical approach of the former. The album never really grabs me, but I generally enjoy it while it's on. The waving synths and the lady background singer both make this song a little more interesting than it would be otherwise.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
At Last The Night - Amusement Parks on Fire - Out of the Angeles - 2006
So there is a restaurant/bar not too far from my office called Edward's. Edward's is apparently owned by a former Cincinnati sports figure and as such has a monthly event called so creatively "Cincinnati Night" wherein they fly in food from 4 different Cincy eateries that do not have NYC locations. They fly in Montgommery Inn ribs (which are good, but I don't crave them), Greater's Ice Cream (Which is good, but it's just ice cream) and La Rossa's Pizza (Which I've never understood the fuss over) I go for one reason and one reason only, it's the only place in this town to get Cincinnati style chili.
For those of you that don't know what that is:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cincinnati_chili
If you have ever met anyone who is from Cincinnati or spent time there, in all likelihood, they are obsessed with this food. It's more addictive than crack and only slightly less bad for you.
For years I have been considering going and always had other things going on, or it simply slipped me mind...I was going to go in February, but the date was when I was in Europe. Then I tried to go in March, only to discover a line out the door and that only customers with reservations were being seated (Reservations! For Cincy Chili!!! Amazing).
So this month I did it right, I made reservations and showed up on time, and the chili was definitely worth it. Oh sure there were little things off, the spaghetti was too thick, as was the grated cheddar. The hot dog on my cheese coney was a little too thin and red...but the chili itself was a wonderful bit of happiness and I fully intend to go back next month.
At Last The Night is an instrumental...and is really only noteworthy in that it is one of the few Amusement Parks On Fire songs to not sound exactly like every other Amusement Parks on Fire songs.
For those of you that don't know what that is:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cincinnati_chili
If you have ever met anyone who is from Cincinnati or spent time there, in all likelihood, they are obsessed with this food. It's more addictive than crack and only slightly less bad for you.
For years I have been considering going and always had other things going on, or it simply slipped me mind...I was going to go in February, but the date was when I was in Europe. Then I tried to go in March, only to discover a line out the door and that only customers with reservations were being seated (Reservations! For Cincy Chili!!! Amazing).
So this month I did it right, I made reservations and showed up on time, and the chili was definitely worth it. Oh sure there were little things off, the spaghetti was too thick, as was the grated cheddar. The hot dog on my cheese coney was a little too thin and red...but the chili itself was a wonderful bit of happiness and I fully intend to go back next month.
At Last The Night is an instrumental...and is really only noteworthy in that it is one of the few Amusement Parks On Fire songs to not sound exactly like every other Amusement Parks on Fire songs.
Monday, April 27, 2009
At Last Is All - I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness - Fear is on Our Side - 2006
Well, I've already told this story to basically everyone I know, so that's pretty much the readership of this blog but...I want to write it down, just so I'll have it for posterity.
On Wednesday April 15th, a few events took place. One of them was that Arsenal Football Club played the second leg of their Champions League Quarter Final against Villarreal, the second was that it was Tax Day, the third was that a bunch of short sited morons decided to have a protest of paying taxes to a liberal administration and dubbed their protest with the unfortunate name of "Teabagging" allegedly in honor of the Boston Tea Party.
So, as the game was live at 245 and I had to be at work, I had set my Tivo and divorced myself from the Internet at approximately 244 (I had been screwed by the Internet too many times in attempting to watch non-live games...including one rather unfortunate event with a friend's facebook status post). But before I signed off I remember seeing the coverage of the Teabagging parties on CNN and thinking "My God, CNN has been hacked"...but no, this shit was for real.
Anand and I had planned to meet at a local watering hole called The Patriot. The Patriot is one of those faux country dive bars that exist in NYC, clearly created by people who have never been to a country dive bar but have seen a lot of movies that had them in it. A lot of Toby Keith is played in this bar, the beer is all flat, the place reeks of vomit and the waitresses are uniformly skanky.
So I walk in to meet Anand, and on a Wednesday night the place is absolutely packed. Like I can't even make it to the bar or the bathroom. It's then that I notice that all of the other attendees are wearing the same T-shirt (Except one guy who, I shit you not, was wearing a revolutionary war town crier outfit). The T-shirt says on the front "Obama-Reid-Pelosi" above the presidential seal and "Wrong for America" below it. On the back it says "Liberals are Freaking Faggots".
I quickly realize that this is not a bar I wish to be in and beat a hasty retreat. Running into Anand on the way, we popped into a second bar only to see that that bar is showing a replay of the Arsneal match that is already 15 minutes into the game. I see us scoring our first goal, though I managed to get Anand out of there before he saw it...so at least one of us would be going into the game fresh.
The thing is...I won't go too much into covering the ludicrousness of the Teabaggers agenda (or their name)...it's been covered by funnier people than me. But seriously, it's amazing how quickly they lose their prudery when the shoe is on the other foot. They gladly trash a president they don't like when they accused us of being traitors for questioning the one that my side didn't like. They call us "Faggots" (yet still down grade the F-word to "freaking"???) all to protest what? Not the loss of human life, not the allowing of robber barons to run roughshod over our economy, nor a government that simply sat back and watched our country fall apart...they are pissed that the government is actually trying to DO SOMETHING. They want inaction at a time when our country is falling apart and it is simply staggering to me.
You lost, wing nuts. Suck it.
Anyway, it seems appropriate to end this with a song by I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness. Fear has always been on their side, and that hasn't changed much. Wouldn't it be nice if we ran our country on hope rather than fear?
On Wednesday April 15th, a few events took place. One of them was that Arsenal Football Club played the second leg of their Champions League Quarter Final against Villarreal, the second was that it was Tax Day, the third was that a bunch of short sited morons decided to have a protest of paying taxes to a liberal administration and dubbed their protest with the unfortunate name of "Teabagging" allegedly in honor of the Boston Tea Party.
So, as the game was live at 245 and I had to be at work, I had set my Tivo and divorced myself from the Internet at approximately 244 (I had been screwed by the Internet too many times in attempting to watch non-live games...including one rather unfortunate event with a friend's facebook status post). But before I signed off I remember seeing the coverage of the Teabagging parties on CNN and thinking "My God, CNN has been hacked"...but no, this shit was for real.
Anand and I had planned to meet at a local watering hole called The Patriot. The Patriot is one of those faux country dive bars that exist in NYC, clearly created by people who have never been to a country dive bar but have seen a lot of movies that had them in it. A lot of Toby Keith is played in this bar, the beer is all flat, the place reeks of vomit and the waitresses are uniformly skanky.
So I walk in to meet Anand, and on a Wednesday night the place is absolutely packed. Like I can't even make it to the bar or the bathroom. It's then that I notice that all of the other attendees are wearing the same T-shirt (Except one guy who, I shit you not, was wearing a revolutionary war town crier outfit). The T-shirt says on the front "Obama-Reid-Pelosi" above the presidential seal and "Wrong for America" below it. On the back it says "Liberals are Freaking Faggots".
I quickly realize that this is not a bar I wish to be in and beat a hasty retreat. Running into Anand on the way, we popped into a second bar only to see that that bar is showing a replay of the Arsneal match that is already 15 minutes into the game. I see us scoring our first goal, though I managed to get Anand out of there before he saw it...so at least one of us would be going into the game fresh.
The thing is...I won't go too much into covering the ludicrousness of the Teabaggers agenda (or their name)...it's been covered by funnier people than me. But seriously, it's amazing how quickly they lose their prudery when the shoe is on the other foot. They gladly trash a president they don't like when they accused us of being traitors for questioning the one that my side didn't like. They call us "Faggots" (yet still down grade the F-word to "freaking"???) all to protest what? Not the loss of human life, not the allowing of robber barons to run roughshod over our economy, nor a government that simply sat back and watched our country fall apart...they are pissed that the government is actually trying to DO SOMETHING. They want inaction at a time when our country is falling apart and it is simply staggering to me.
You lost, wing nuts. Suck it.
Anyway, it seems appropriate to end this with a song by I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness. Fear has always been on their side, and that hasn't changed much. Wouldn't it be nice if we ran our country on hope rather than fear?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
At Last - Neko Case - Fox Confessor Brings the Flood - 2006
Oh Neko...despite the general "Country Chanteause" label that usual gets thrown at Miss Case, there is little in her music that is familar. Sure, you can find your traces of the usual touchstones, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, even Stevie Nicks in her music. But the albums she actually produces sounds less like anything we call "Country" and more like the music being played at the country bar in Twin Peaks. In a little over a minute and a half here, miss Case manages to weave a spell using only guitars and her voice.
God bless her perpertually broken Virginian/Canadian/Ukranian heart.
God bless her perpertually broken Virginian/Canadian/Ukranian heart.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Ask About Me - Girl Talk - Night Ripper - 2006
Following our Twin Peaks, Scotland lunch experience we went to a pub around the corner to try to drink away the weirdness...this was only to be replaced by more weirdness.
It was 430 in the afternoon and the bar was full of old men (As I said, most of Scotland was either drinking with old men or teenagers). There was a large main room and a smaller back room. The back room was full of old men singing Kareoke. The volume on the PA was so loud that the sound filled the whole larger room of the bar and the cracking and popping of an overdriven speaker could be heard.
We quietly stood in a corner, sipping our beers and watching the soccer news. If nothing else it was a nice treat to be able to watch soccer news on TV with the rest of the evening news...the same way we'd see sports highlights here...which of course is fairly obvious, but when you are used to having to use methods somewhat more obscure to find your soccer news, it's a refreshing change of pace.
Anyway, after we finished up our drinks, we decided we wanted to go see the Stadium were Celtic (A Scottish soccer team) play, even though there were no games currently going on. We asked a man sitting at a bus stop where it was. The man was clearly hammered and had easily the worst teeth I saw on my entire trip. He pointed us in a direction (away from our hotel) and told us it would be about a twenty minute walk, so we decided to brave it.
After walking for about 10 minutes, with absolutely no indication that we were walking towards the stadium, we stopped and asked another guy who told us the first guy had been drastically underestimating and that it would be easily another 45 minutes walking. We decided to scrap this plan and head back to the hotel, the sun was setting rapidly and soon we'd be ready for the evening portion.
This is Girl Talk doing their collage of nostalgia thing. It's fun and occasionally clever, but I still think wildly overpraised.
It was 430 in the afternoon and the bar was full of old men (As I said, most of Scotland was either drinking with old men or teenagers). There was a large main room and a smaller back room. The back room was full of old men singing Kareoke. The volume on the PA was so loud that the sound filled the whole larger room of the bar and the cracking and popping of an overdriven speaker could be heard.
We quietly stood in a corner, sipping our beers and watching the soccer news. If nothing else it was a nice treat to be able to watch soccer news on TV with the rest of the evening news...the same way we'd see sports highlights here...which of course is fairly obvious, but when you are used to having to use methods somewhat more obscure to find your soccer news, it's a refreshing change of pace.
Anyway, after we finished up our drinks, we decided we wanted to go see the Stadium were Celtic (A Scottish soccer team) play, even though there were no games currently going on. We asked a man sitting at a bus stop where it was. The man was clearly hammered and had easily the worst teeth I saw on my entire trip. He pointed us in a direction (away from our hotel) and told us it would be about a twenty minute walk, so we decided to brave it.
After walking for about 10 minutes, with absolutely no indication that we were walking towards the stadium, we stopped and asked another guy who told us the first guy had been drastically underestimating and that it would be easily another 45 minutes walking. We decided to scrap this plan and head back to the hotel, the sun was setting rapidly and soon we'd be ready for the evening portion.
This is Girl Talk doing their collage of nostalgia thing. It's fun and occasionally clever, but I still think wildly overpraised.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
As The Terror Dances Your Way - The Capitol Years - Dance Away The Terror - 2006
From there, things started to get ugly. After leaving the underground bar we went to a pub that was caticorner from where we parted ways with Matt. More drinks were had and that's when we told Rance about our adventures with SoCo in Berlin, and Rance had a bad, bad idea.
You see, Rance and I were both heading back to the states on Wed...but Anand was continuing on his trip until Saturday. He'd be heading to Belgium for a few days. Rance suggested that if he would personally pay for every single shot of SoCo that Anand did while abroad. Anand considered it, but ultimately decided that the benefit of drinking for the rest of the trip on Rance was outweighed by the thought of having to drink all of that SoCo.
It just got worse from there...it was 1230 by this time and most bars were closing. For a nation of boozers, the bars in London close absurdly early. I guess they just start at 5 and are passed out by midnight, but still...it's Saturday. We knew that there were a few after hours clubs that we could go to that would stay open till 2, so we went around trying to find these...but none of us really had a clue what we were doing. At one point we walked into a place called the White Horse Tavern. I realized that it was a strip club, but I don't think the other two did. We got about 2 feet into the door before the bouncer turned us back around as they were looking to close for the night. My quick glance towards the stage revealed sad, pale british flesh...I was not sad to see the back of this place.
We then tried to find our way back to the underground bar, but had no clue where it was anymore. We finally ended up in a TERRIBLE bar packed to the rafters with college aged kids drunkenly making out. We stayed there till last call, drunkenly talking about god knows what.
On the way back to the hotel, we all realized none of us had eaten since the terrible pies in The White Swan...we popped into a local convenience store and bought the sort of snacks that only drunk tourists would be at 2 in the morning in London...Oreos, Pringles (2 different kinds), Slim Jims...Rance made the odd decision of buying Gouda and crackers.
The rest of the evening was spent in the hotel eating junk food and taking ridiculous pictures. Rance was still adjusting to jet lag so he crashed first.
This is another one of those albums I downloaded and listened to once or twice and liked well enough before it disappeared into the ethos of my iPod. It's a decent song on a decent album, but I just have so much mid-tempo pleasant enough Indie-Rock. I want something with some energy, some fire dammit!
You see, Rance and I were both heading back to the states on Wed...but Anand was continuing on his trip until Saturday. He'd be heading to Belgium for a few days. Rance suggested that if he would personally pay for every single shot of SoCo that Anand did while abroad. Anand considered it, but ultimately decided that the benefit of drinking for the rest of the trip on Rance was outweighed by the thought of having to drink all of that SoCo.
It just got worse from there...it was 1230 by this time and most bars were closing. For a nation of boozers, the bars in London close absurdly early. I guess they just start at 5 and are passed out by midnight, but still...it's Saturday. We knew that there were a few after hours clubs that we could go to that would stay open till 2, so we went around trying to find these...but none of us really had a clue what we were doing. At one point we walked into a place called the White Horse Tavern. I realized that it was a strip club, but I don't think the other two did. We got about 2 feet into the door before the bouncer turned us back around as they were looking to close for the night. My quick glance towards the stage revealed sad, pale british flesh...I was not sad to see the back of this place.
We then tried to find our way back to the underground bar, but had no clue where it was anymore. We finally ended up in a TERRIBLE bar packed to the rafters with college aged kids drunkenly making out. We stayed there till last call, drunkenly talking about god knows what.
On the way back to the hotel, we all realized none of us had eaten since the terrible pies in The White Swan...we popped into a local convenience store and bought the sort of snacks that only drunk tourists would be at 2 in the morning in London...Oreos, Pringles (2 different kinds), Slim Jims...Rance made the odd decision of buying Gouda and crackers.
The rest of the evening was spent in the hotel eating junk food and taking ridiculous pictures. Rance was still adjusting to jet lag so he crashed first.
This is another one of those albums I downloaded and listened to once or twice and liked well enough before it disappeared into the ethos of my iPod. It's a decent song on a decent album, but I just have so much mid-tempo pleasant enough Indie-Rock. I want something with some energy, some fire dammit!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Art Bitch - CSS - Cansei de Ser Sexy - 2006
My friend Kamni had recommended a bar on the North East side of town called The Absinthe Depot, so once we got done getting our tourist on, we decided this was something we needed to go check out. We walked quite a bit taking in the sites of the city at night (still mostly empty due to the weather) until we came upon our destination.
The "bar" itself was really more of a specialty liquor store with 3-4 tables in the front for service. The only options were coffee, water and absinthe (sold in both the 3 euro 50 regular and 4 euro 50 "special"). The man who ran the place had a certain gruff charm (again, Berliners are ridiculously friendly) and as we were the only customers we carried on a good amount of conversation about the city, his business, NYC and what have you.
During the time we were there (probably about an hour and a half) we only saw a few customers come in, and they were all to buy things to take with them...beers or bottles of the green stuff. But at around 1130 a group of 4 absolutely hammered Icelandic folk came stumbling in the door. And I gathered from their entrance that they had been to this place earlier in the evening and that the owner was not terribly happy to see them back.
There were 3 men and one woman, all seemed to be in their mid-40's. They apparently ran a local theater and had the bombastic personalities to suit that business. They joined us at our table without a proper invite, and proceeded to roll a hash joint (something that still managed to leave Anand amazed).
After several very drunken and loud conversations occured regarding our opinions of Berlin, what we knew about Iceland, and American politics it came up that I lived in Brooklyn. One of the Icelanders asked where and I said "Prospect Heights, I've lived there for nearly 4 years". He then jumped up and said "I used to live in Ft. Green (one neighborhood over, for the none Brooklyn people). At that point the owner of the bar said "oh? I lived in Ft. Green for many years". Apparently he'd lived there in the 80's and told a few stories about what the place had been like back then. It is indeed a small planet.
The Icelanders then asked what we planned on doing, at which point I dutifully pulled out my print out of places to check out. The woman in the group (Who was definitely trying to get her Cougar on) made fun of me quite a bit for having a "Drinking itenerary" but I personally think that she just lacked vision. As the place closed at midnight, the Icelanders tried to drag us along with them on wherever there adventure would take them next, but Anand and I were having none of it...we ducked out and on to our next adventure.
CSS is one of those bands that I feel slightly guilty for liking. They are "fun" and little else, though I must admit the lyrics to this are fairly wittily scathing. I guess the obnoxiousness of the art scene in Brazil isn't terribly different than the art scene in NYC...I would make a joke about it having more waxed vags, but that's probably not even true anymore.
The "bar" itself was really more of a specialty liquor store with 3-4 tables in the front for service. The only options were coffee, water and absinthe (sold in both the 3 euro 50 regular and 4 euro 50 "special"). The man who ran the place had a certain gruff charm (again, Berliners are ridiculously friendly) and as we were the only customers we carried on a good amount of conversation about the city, his business, NYC and what have you.
During the time we were there (probably about an hour and a half) we only saw a few customers come in, and they were all to buy things to take with them...beers or bottles of the green stuff. But at around 1130 a group of 4 absolutely hammered Icelandic folk came stumbling in the door. And I gathered from their entrance that they had been to this place earlier in the evening and that the owner was not terribly happy to see them back.
There were 3 men and one woman, all seemed to be in their mid-40's. They apparently ran a local theater and had the bombastic personalities to suit that business. They joined us at our table without a proper invite, and proceeded to roll a hash joint (something that still managed to leave Anand amazed).
After several very drunken and loud conversations occured regarding our opinions of Berlin, what we knew about Iceland, and American politics it came up that I lived in Brooklyn. One of the Icelanders asked where and I said "Prospect Heights, I've lived there for nearly 4 years". He then jumped up and said "I used to live in Ft. Green (one neighborhood over, for the none Brooklyn people). At that point the owner of the bar said "oh? I lived in Ft. Green for many years". Apparently he'd lived there in the 80's and told a few stories about what the place had been like back then. It is indeed a small planet.
The Icelanders then asked what we planned on doing, at which point I dutifully pulled out my print out of places to check out. The woman in the group (Who was definitely trying to get her Cougar on) made fun of me quite a bit for having a "Drinking itenerary" but I personally think that she just lacked vision. As the place closed at midnight, the Icelanders tried to drag us along with them on wherever there adventure would take them next, but Anand and I were having none of it...we ducked out and on to our next adventure.
CSS is one of those bands that I feel slightly guilty for liking. They are "fun" and little else, though I must admit the lyrics to this are fairly wittily scathing. I guess the obnoxiousness of the art scene in Brazil isn't terribly different than the art scene in NYC...I would make a joke about it having more waxed vags, but that's probably not even true anymore.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Arrest Yourself - Hot Chip - The Warning - 2006
After dinner we stumbled around Kruezberg for a bit until we found a bar we liked. We checked out and quickly rejected a couple of old man bars, as well as a few that seemed like meat markets for college kids, until we happened upon a place called Luzia.
Luzia at first glance seemed to be a coffee shop. The interior was all done in dark woods, and little tables with metal chairs. The clientele were mostly late 20's to 30's, either in couples or alone with a book. But the music was all speakeasy jazz and there were certainly drinks to be had.
The bartender was exceptionally friendly in recommending some fine German beers for us to try out. Actually, every Berliner we met was exceptionally friendly. It's as if the subtext of every conversation you have is "See, Ve are not Nazis! We are fun and friendly people who live in a beautiful multicultural city". If I had a Euro for every Berliner that emphatically described the city as "Multi-cultural" I'd have come back richer than I left.
Anyway, we were sitting there having our second or possibly third beverage when Anand started staring at whatever was going on over my shoulder in a mixture of amazement and curiosity...it seems that the gentlemen behind us were engaged in an activity that while we knew was legal in Amsterdam, we did not realize was something you could do publicly in Berlin. Turns out that Berlin's laws are a bit more liberal than one would expect, in this regard. We struck up a conversation with the two smokey individuals and asked for advice on what we should check out with only two days to see the city.
As stated above, Berliners seem to be very into the idea of proving to the world that their city is a wonderful place, and that they've moved past the uglier parts of the 20th century...so these two stoned germans (well only one spoke English) proceeded to advise us to basically check out every single museum and historical landmark in the city, when really what I wanted to find out was where the cool bars and shows were. Never the less, you couldn't fault the boys for their civic pride.
Ideally, I would have had this Hot Chip fall into the London portion of the trip, as it certainly is basically the mold for this type of Synthy, Dancy Brit-Pop. It's a decent song, but Andy Samburg's "Jizz In My Pants" skit on SNL has basically made this type of song unlistenable to me though. All I can think of is lame ass londoners with their bad hair cuts and sweaters tied loosely around their necks dealing with premature ejaculation.
Luzia at first glance seemed to be a coffee shop. The interior was all done in dark woods, and little tables with metal chairs. The clientele were mostly late 20's to 30's, either in couples or alone with a book. But the music was all speakeasy jazz and there were certainly drinks to be had.
The bartender was exceptionally friendly in recommending some fine German beers for us to try out. Actually, every Berliner we met was exceptionally friendly. It's as if the subtext of every conversation you have is "See, Ve are not Nazis! We are fun and friendly people who live in a beautiful multicultural city". If I had a Euro for every Berliner that emphatically described the city as "Multi-cultural" I'd have come back richer than I left.
Anyway, we were sitting there having our second or possibly third beverage when Anand started staring at whatever was going on over my shoulder in a mixture of amazement and curiosity...it seems that the gentlemen behind us were engaged in an activity that while we knew was legal in Amsterdam, we did not realize was something you could do publicly in Berlin. Turns out that Berlin's laws are a bit more liberal than one would expect, in this regard. We struck up a conversation with the two smokey individuals and asked for advice on what we should check out with only two days to see the city.
As stated above, Berliners seem to be very into the idea of proving to the world that their city is a wonderful place, and that they've moved past the uglier parts of the 20th century...so these two stoned germans (well only one spoke English) proceeded to advise us to basically check out every single museum and historical landmark in the city, when really what I wanted to find out was where the cool bars and shows were. Never the less, you couldn't fault the boys for their civic pride.
Ideally, I would have had this Hot Chip fall into the London portion of the trip, as it certainly is basically the mold for this type of Synthy, Dancy Brit-Pop. It's a decent song, but Andy Samburg's "Jizz In My Pants" skit on SNL has basically made this type of song unlistenable to me though. All I can think of is lame ass londoners with their bad hair cuts and sweaters tied loosely around their necks dealing with premature ejaculation.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Arpeggi - Radiohead - Boston - 6 5 2006 - 2006
Prior to the trip I had done a fair bit of research about Berlin. I knew that I would only have a couple of days to explore it's charms and I didn't want to waste it bumbling around the lame parts of town and tourist attractions (as I had done in Paris 5 years ago...I didn't find the cool neighborhood until my last night). So, I had taken a survey of people who had been to Berlin before, people who's opinion I respected and who I thought could give me the inside scoop.
Most of my responders had pointed out Kruizberg as a cool part of town. Kruizberg was fairly easy to identify on our tourist map as it occupied most of the south east corner of the city proper. Anand and I both being avid walkers and we had come prepared for the snow and cold, so we decided to simply walk from Check Point Charlie down to the hood. We walked....and we walked...and we walked...and yet we seemed to be constantly walking under highways and around industrial complexes...there were no cool bars and restaurants...there weren't even any bars and restaurants and my fears that maybe Berlin was not as cool as I was lead to believe became even more solid.
Finally, we broke down and asked a man in a coffee shop (one of the first things we came upon) if there were any bars and restaurants we could hit up in the area. He pointed us to take a left and head down two blocks...and with that we found Kruizberg center. Apparently we had managed to walk about half way around the circumference of the neighborhood without ever actually entering it. But a brief walk around showed us more or less what we were looking for. It had elements of the East Village and Williamsburg here in NYC, but with it's own East German touches. There were a surprising number of ethnic (non-German) restaurants to be viewed, including, somewhat unexpectedly 3-4 Mexican places...but we can always get that at home. We ended up getting kabobs and giant beers at a Turkish place, finally getting some "lunch" at 4 in the afternoon.
It must be said that you can buy a beer anywhere in Germany. You can buy a beer at Dunkin Donuts. It honestly would not surprise me if beer was available at your local dentist office. You probably can get a beer at church...and a giant stein at that.
Once we finished our lamb and giant beers the sun had set, and we were ready to see what the neighborhood had to offer.
Another version of Arpeggi (Weird Fishes) from the pre-In Rainbows tour.
Most of my responders had pointed out Kruizberg as a cool part of town. Kruizberg was fairly easy to identify on our tourist map as it occupied most of the south east corner of the city proper. Anand and I both being avid walkers and we had come prepared for the snow and cold, so we decided to simply walk from Check Point Charlie down to the hood. We walked....and we walked...and we walked...and yet we seemed to be constantly walking under highways and around industrial complexes...there were no cool bars and restaurants...there weren't even any bars and restaurants and my fears that maybe Berlin was not as cool as I was lead to believe became even more solid.
Finally, we broke down and asked a man in a coffee shop (one of the first things we came upon) if there were any bars and restaurants we could hit up in the area. He pointed us to take a left and head down two blocks...and with that we found Kruizberg center. Apparently we had managed to walk about half way around the circumference of the neighborhood without ever actually entering it. But a brief walk around showed us more or less what we were looking for. It had elements of the East Village and Williamsburg here in NYC, but with it's own East German touches. There were a surprising number of ethnic (non-German) restaurants to be viewed, including, somewhat unexpectedly 3-4 Mexican places...but we can always get that at home. We ended up getting kabobs and giant beers at a Turkish place, finally getting some "lunch" at 4 in the afternoon.
It must be said that you can buy a beer anywhere in Germany. You can buy a beer at Dunkin Donuts. It honestly would not surprise me if beer was available at your local dentist office. You probably can get a beer at church...and a giant stein at that.
Once we finished our lamb and giant beers the sun had set, and we were ready to see what the neighborhood had to offer.
Another version of Arpeggi (Weird Fishes) from the pre-In Rainbows tour.
Arpeggi - Radiohead - Live in London 6 19 2006 - 2006
We landed in Berlin at 830 AM (that's 130 AM NYC Time) and I was groggy as fuck. To make matters more interesting, not only was snow falling on the city, but there were already 4-5 inches on the ground. We took a shuttle bus back to our Hotel in The Alexanderplatz. Fortunately they let us check in when we arrived, so that we could go take a brief nap and shower before heading off on our adventures.
The Alexanderplatz seems to be a big shopping district on the old East Berlin side of town, and while there were certainly some decent stores and restaurants over there, my initial reaction to the city was that perhaps the rumors that I'd heard of it being a great town with an active underground art and music scene were a bit overstated...but I would soon learn that, not unlike NYC, it's all about the neighborhood that you are in.
Our first stop was the remainder of the Berlin wall. There is a small museum there called Check Point Charlie, to commemorate the milatary station where well supervised traffic was allowed to move between the sides of The Iron Curtain, but most people had told me that it was a waste of time and judging by the brief glimpse I saw through the door, I agree. There is a small section of the actual wall about 1 block long that we did view...it's covered in graffiti and fliers, but it still gives a sense of what used to be.
Incidentally, my favorite flier on the wall was the poster for the Romone's Museum.
Next Stop, Kruizberg.
This is an early live version of the song that would eventually become Wierd Fishes/Arpeggi. Most of the elements are already in place and it's still a great song.
The Alexanderplatz seems to be a big shopping district on the old East Berlin side of town, and while there were certainly some decent stores and restaurants over there, my initial reaction to the city was that perhaps the rumors that I'd heard of it being a great town with an active underground art and music scene were a bit overstated...but I would soon learn that, not unlike NYC, it's all about the neighborhood that you are in.
Our first stop was the remainder of the Berlin wall. There is a small museum there called Check Point Charlie, to commemorate the milatary station where well supervised traffic was allowed to move between the sides of The Iron Curtain, but most people had told me that it was a waste of time and judging by the brief glimpse I saw through the door, I agree. There is a small section of the actual wall about 1 block long that we did view...it's covered in graffiti and fliers, but it still gives a sense of what used to be.
Incidentally, my favorite flier on the wall was the poster for the Romone's Museum.
Next Stop, Kruizberg.
This is an early live version of the song that would eventually become Wierd Fishes/Arpeggi. Most of the elements are already in place and it's still a great song.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Are You Swimming In Her Pools? - Swan Lake - Beast Moans - 2006
My girlfriend started a new job last week. I am exceptionally happy for her to have found a publishing job in this shitty economy, but there are a few substantial downsides. First and foremost she has a really terrible commute. We've all been there (here in NYC at least). You end up needing a job, and taking something way out in Long Island that take you an hour and half to get too...but her's is especially grueling, as she's tied to the LIRR schedule. She basically has to either show up 45 minutes early for work, or 15 minutes late...and as the job has the usual level of draconian requirements placed on entry level employees, she is pretty much forced to do the former rather than the latter. This means she out the door at 6AM and not home till 730PM and dead tired when she shows up.
And of course the job has pretty much put the kibosh on any extra-curricular IMing or emailing...so I don't get to talk to her during the day, other than some furtive texting she does covertly in the ladies room and on her lunch break. So, I've gone rather suddenly from being in mild girlfriend overload, to pretty hard girlfriend withdrawl, which sucks for both of us.
But as my friend Shani pointed out...it'll just make her appreciate the kick ass job she'll get in a few years even more.
Despite being mildly underwhelmed by Swan Lake, it is interesting to hear a Spencer Krug song stripped of it's grandiose Wolf Parade trappings. Mostly reduced to an acoustic guitar and vocal (with some keyboard noodling and harmonies from the band's other two high-ish profile members) it sports a surprisingly sweet melody that is only slightly undercut by the out of the blue profanity (not that I'm prudish, it just seems really left field) and an intentional (or intentionally included) mistake in the middle of the song.
Definitely one of the better songs on the album.
And of course the job has pretty much put the kibosh on any extra-curricular IMing or emailing...so I don't get to talk to her during the day, other than some furtive texting she does covertly in the ladies room and on her lunch break. So, I've gone rather suddenly from being in mild girlfriend overload, to pretty hard girlfriend withdrawl, which sucks for both of us.
But as my friend Shani pointed out...it'll just make her appreciate the kick ass job she'll get in a few years even more.
Despite being mildly underwhelmed by Swan Lake, it is interesting to hear a Spencer Krug song stripped of it's grandiose Wolf Parade trappings. Mostly reduced to an acoustic guitar and vocal (with some keyboard noodling and harmonies from the band's other two high-ish profile members) it sports a surprisingly sweet melody that is only slightly undercut by the out of the blue profanity (not that I'm prudish, it just seems really left field) and an intentional (or intentionally included) mistake in the middle of the song.
Definitely one of the better songs on the album.
Monday, December 29, 2008
April Showers - Secret Agent Gel - No Floor - 2006
Well, I'm back from my Christmas hiatus in the land of sweatpants and melted cheese and I managed to come back relatively unscathed. However...
For various reasons, I decided to rent a car and drive to visit my parents this winter. By and large this was a good decision that I do not regret, with one exception.
The drive from NYC to Cincinnati is about 11 hours long, and despite getting a late start and the fact that NYC got snow on the day before, our trips were relatively uneventful. 11 hours in a car can be a test on even the best of relationships, but my lady and I managed just fine enjoying the music and the sites and the road food. All was good.
The drive from my parents house in Cincy to my grandparents house in butt-fuck Indiana (Poland, IN, if you want to get technical about it) is typically about 2.5 to 3 hours. Shortly before we got to Indianapolis traffic began slowing down due to the freezing rain on the highway. By the time I pulled onto 465 (Indy's bipass) I was gliding through curves and clutching the wheel to make sure I stayed on track. Just west of Indy I got on 70 and stopped at the rest stop (which would later prove to be a great idea). Within ten minutes we were in completely stopped traffic. Between the hours of 430 and 1130 we moved about a mile and a half. I have to say both of us kept our temper pretty well (and hats off to my diabetic girlfriend for making it through without a potty break...or killing me). It wasn't until about 830 that I really started throwing my shit out the window (so to speak). For the first couple of hours you just sit there thinking "Well, this is annoying, but I'm just going to hang out with my grandparents, nothing that I can't be late for...surely it'll clear up any minute" And then it doesn't...and it doesn't...and it doesn't.
Even when we finally started moving again the roads were so icy that not much progress was being made. The fifteen mile drive to the next exit took an hour, when we finally got there we immediately went flying to the gas station bathroom and then went looking for hotel. Despite the fact that we were only 15 miles from my grandparents house, it was well after midnight and I wasn't sure I could navigate the country roads in the ice. However, the fact that all 4 hotels in the truckstop town were completely filled (People were even sleeping in the hallways and lobby) meant that I had to try my luck.
By the time I finally arrived at my grandparents it was 1:30...so it actually took me an hour longer to drive from Cincy to Poland, IN than it did from NYC to Cincy. But on the plus side, it's all over now.
This is my buddy Corey performing as Secret Agent Gel. His music is a bit more dancey and electronica-y than my usual taste, but I've gotta give my man credit for sound quality on this stuff and, as always, for having the hussle to produce his own work. That's more energy than I generally exert.
For various reasons, I decided to rent a car and drive to visit my parents this winter. By and large this was a good decision that I do not regret, with one exception.
The drive from NYC to Cincinnati is about 11 hours long, and despite getting a late start and the fact that NYC got snow on the day before, our trips were relatively uneventful. 11 hours in a car can be a test on even the best of relationships, but my lady and I managed just fine enjoying the music and the sites and the road food. All was good.
The drive from my parents house in Cincy to my grandparents house in butt-fuck Indiana (Poland, IN, if you want to get technical about it) is typically about 2.5 to 3 hours. Shortly before we got to Indianapolis traffic began slowing down due to the freezing rain on the highway. By the time I pulled onto 465 (Indy's bipass) I was gliding through curves and clutching the wheel to make sure I stayed on track. Just west of Indy I got on 70 and stopped at the rest stop (which would later prove to be a great idea). Within ten minutes we were in completely stopped traffic. Between the hours of 430 and 1130 we moved about a mile and a half. I have to say both of us kept our temper pretty well (and hats off to my diabetic girlfriend for making it through without a potty break...or killing me). It wasn't until about 830 that I really started throwing my shit out the window (so to speak). For the first couple of hours you just sit there thinking "Well, this is annoying, but I'm just going to hang out with my grandparents, nothing that I can't be late for...surely it'll clear up any minute" And then it doesn't...and it doesn't...and it doesn't.
Even when we finally started moving again the roads were so icy that not much progress was being made. The fifteen mile drive to the next exit took an hour, when we finally got there we immediately went flying to the gas station bathroom and then went looking for hotel. Despite the fact that we were only 15 miles from my grandparents house, it was well after midnight and I wasn't sure I could navigate the country roads in the ice. However, the fact that all 4 hotels in the truckstop town were completely filled (People were even sleeping in the hallways and lobby) meant that I had to try my luck.
By the time I finally arrived at my grandparents it was 1:30...so it actually took me an hour longer to drive from Cincy to Poland, IN than it did from NYC to Cincy. But on the plus side, it's all over now.
This is my buddy Corey performing as Secret Agent Gel. His music is a bit more dancey and electronica-y than my usual taste, but I've gotta give my man credit for sound quality on this stuff and, as always, for having the hussle to produce his own work. That's more energy than I generally exert.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Apres Moi - Regina Spektor - Begin to Hope - 2006
Okay, I will totally admit it...I don't often listen to music just cause the musician is hot, but I have Ms. Spektor on my iPod for two reasons (no, I'm not going for THAT crass of a joke): 1 I really think Fidelity is a good song, and 2 I'm a sucker for busty russian jews...hey, everybody has their thing.
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