Reckless Lots

I find record stores as uncomfortable as book stores. I love these places, but I am under-qualified to be there. I know nothing of music or books. I played the violin for a little while when I was younger but what kid didn't play the violin? Sure, I'm a writing student. That doesn't mean a thing if I can't focus to write what I need to write.

Record stores make my guts open up and let my heart dive into an acidic bath. I get so nervous. I bite my nails. I end up buying some album, any album. Please don't judge me, I think. Please be my friend and think that my selection means that I am an inviting and interesting person.

Admittedly, that's stupid. Pathetic. No one cares about what album I am buying, about what album I'm listening to, what song I'm obsessed with. No one really cares about much of anything, least of all some dippy girl who is clutching on to a Leonard Cohen album she already owns but will probably buy again anyway because she's forgotten her Ever-Growing List of Records That Should Be Bought. She's forgotten it because she's walked into a dim record store where everyone else knows everyone else and she's starting to bite her nails, really bite them, and goodness, that's the sound of a heart splashing and writhing inside of another organ, isn't it?

Cooling Effects of Summer Solstice Felt

Though having lived on the same floor for a couple of semesters in college (which, by the way, I still have three semesters left to get my thrilling BA in Fiction Writing !), I don't know The Armchairs (Myspace) too well. Not much at all besides that they were directly across the hall, one-half of the duo hails from the same state I do, and there had been a passing hello once in a while between us. So when one morning I awoke and there was a Myspace friend request from their band, I hesitated before I listened. I knew, somewhat, their taste in music but had no ideas about their music-making abilities. It could've been crap but I enjoy their fledgling project. The influences are pointed out then explored and exploited to the point where I am, well, impressed by the (this is a phrase I loathe) pop sensibility (Mantra #1: "Whatever That Means"). I like the band name as I'm a sucker for plush single-seaters (good for "reading", i.e. passing out after being consumed and then spat out by the new Don Delillo and Haruki Murakami--summer reading is great!) and really, starts with a "The" and ends with two easy-on-the-tongue syllables. What a name!

It's nice. Vanilla ice cream nice. Single scoop in a cup with a wooden tongue-depressor type of spoon. You know what I'm talking about. I liked the strawberry syrup topped best but chocolate was the one I always chose. I would hazard to say the choice was made because it was standard and comfortable. When I was back in Pennsylvania earlier this month, I stopped by H Mart and bought nougat ice cream bars dipped in the thinnest coat of chocolate. New standard of comfort. It's how The Armchairs will taste like if they're still around to be stumbled upon in the next few years. Who knew they were across the way for all that time?

...

Melt Banana are playing tonight. I am stoked. But not enough to go to the ATM, get out cash, and make the (probably) hour-long trip on the CTA to see them. I need to learn how to ride a bike and carry cash.

Today, I went downtown and ordered my MacBook Pro. I'm frugal but when I spend money, I spend enough to get me to the other side of the world and back one-and-a-half times. Should be getting it within two weeks. Look forward to consistent updates and a better variety. Better is subjective. Aren't you psyched? Aren't all three(?) of you readers psyched? I am.

I Know I'm Not Wrong

I didn't intend for an almost month-long hiatus from this blog. Not at all. I had listened to a fair amount of my digital music collection and made lists of what I thought would be interesting to put here so that I can show the great big wide world of the Internet that I do have taste, really, I do. Not particularly good taste or bad taste but taste still the same.

I didn't intend for my computer to die (shot motherboard). The death of a very important technological apparatus somehow sparked the idea in me that perhaps I can go a summer without a computer of my own. I can't. I'm going to purchase a MacBook (Pro?) by the end of the month.

I didn't intend to stop listening to music. I haven't stopped. I've listened to loads, actually. I've bought CDs and I'm going to suck it up and go to a record store and buy actual records soon. Record stores frighten me. I don't feel adequately interesting enough to patronise one.

I don't intend to keep this blog on the sickly sweet indie pop side of the musical spectrum, but here I am about to ramble on about a band from Brooklyn who make mildly folk-tinged pop songs with a spark of technology hovering over top (a big surprise, any of this?). I'm not going to tell you who's in the band (I have no idea) because you can find out on your own, but Mossyrock is pretty darn sweet in the way that my kid sister is sweet. So not sweet but another vague word: charming. Or maybe fresh. It's how my pores feel from a well-rested night of sleep and I wake up in the springtime. Full and content but not bloated. Whatever that means.

I like it best when no one sings, by the way. Reminds me too much of Shop Assistants when a warm voices creeps in to fill the gaps if Shop Assistants were more inclined toward Spring and not Autumn (and again, I have no idea what I'm talking about). You can hear a few tracks from Mossyrock on their Myspace (the first track, "I Know I'm Not Wrong", is great, singing and all). They're also currently on tour with James Apollo as part of the Big Art Show summer tour. Big Art Show is all sorts of fun. It'll be in Chicago tomorrow, June 13 at well-loved South Union Arts.