Walking Music

Tonight's weather was perfect for walking. That is, if one's partial to rain and spritz and dry and spritz and oh hey rain, again. A scarf wrapped around mouth, chin, neck. Hat all snug. Gloves! Yes. Gloves. Black ones, simple.

Nico - These Days

When I'm aware that what I'm listening to reflects my life in a specific moment, it startles me. Sometimes, I put on something different. Sometimes, I keep it up.

Nina Simone - The Laziest Gal in Town

I bought a bottle of wine. Honestly? I'm pretty sure this is my first legal self-purchased bottle o' alcoholic grapes. I'm not a wino. More like a beer-o. My roommate pointed out that I am always drinking expensive beer. Not true. I buy the prettiest label with brand recognition and style preference at $10 or less. What class. But I mean, I drank Mickey's for the first time in years recently.

Election Night

I may be the only person I know in Chicago not at an election results party nor among the ridiculous masses downtown at Grant Park right now. I'm not partial to mass gatherings nor do I want to test the legalities of substance consumption in public (never mind that that's a shaky excuse to begin with given my track record with the booze and the sunshine and the outside...). It sure is a beaut of a night and let's hope for results that won't burn down Chicago.

Instead, I'm listening to Coltrane's Blue Train, drinking Bell's Oberon Ale, and reading Wallace Stevens out on my balcony, watching people wander in and out of the rec center turned polling place across the street. Every few Sundays, folks come for polka. It's incredibly charming. I really love my neighborhood. I mean, after a spontaneous bike ride to pick up some esoteric fruits and hot sesame oil in Uptown, and making a batch of scallion pancake, I wandered around the corner last night and got to see Tirra Lirra, Marnie Stern, and Gang Gang Dance, drink a couple of beers, and wander back to my apartment. I'm really excited for school to be over so I can follow these whims with more frequency.

Also, Marnie Stern is AMAZING. Look:

Things not to forget

You know how sometimes you'll hear a song for the first time in a long while and it strikes a certain chord that you didn't expect? I have been itching, dying, yearning to feel something lately that didn't throttle me into pure nostalgia. Then I put it on, for the first time in maybe two years.

Fiery Furnaces - Tropical Ice-Land (from EP, although, really, I meant to upload the one from Gallowbird's Bark)

I'll admit it. I like being sad. I have functioned a lot of my life feeling bad because, duh, I'm a first generation Asian American and much as I loathe to fall in the stereotype, here I am, sad as fuck, reeling from the fall out of some war that I can't even fathom that killed aunts and uncles and cousins and great-whatevers I never had a chance to know. Plus, I cry and talk now when I get nervous. Isn't that gross?

But this isn't about that (although everything is, I suppose). I listened to "Tropical Ice-Land" and I remembered how much fun I have listening to music. Poorly playing music now. Talking about music. Letting music plug up whatever organ it is that I've got a hole in. It's a beautiful song. A nonsensical, rambling, heartbreaking song that makes me smile and want to walk around outside alone or hit huge church bells with proportionally large mallets.

I don't mind this feeling. I like it, actually. I don't know what it is. Maybe it is bits of things. It doesn't matter what it is.

Maybe I've written about this song before. It seems like the thing I'd do.

Crunch crunch crunch

Hi, blog. Can't say that I've missed you, but I can say that I did see two excellent shows this weekend. Let me just say that Deerhoof is always, always good and Dead C surpassed my expectations, but you know what I thought both nights? Dang, I haven't had anything to say in that blog I neglect but if I did have something to say it would be how effing amazing music can be. Really. Truly. I love you, music. I love you, sometimes, blog.

Sweet jams.

I have been listening to Ladyhawke, like everyone else. It's true. Please don't judge me. I'm excited for the show. Gotta dance it out. JUST DANCE IT OUT. My two favorite tunes happen to be singles. WHO KNEW?!:

Crush boners.

Here's a pretty boy with an excellent song and the pretty intensifies when he hops out of his seat a little. Oh, you'll see. Gosh.



ILU, Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson.

Wherein I write too much about myself and not enough about Joanna Newsom and the CSO

Relatively last minute, I was able to score amazing seats to see Joanna Newsom perform with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Roommate Tim and I sat on the main floor, center, second row after biking slowly (I was in a dress and shoes that clicked--yikes!) from the near-west side to downtown. I'd never seen the CSO nor I had ever been in the space and it's safe to assume that it was beautiful. The sound, the building, the hugeness of things. Everything was crisp and clear and I quickly drank a beer and sat down and had a throughly enjoyable time. Am I supposed to do anything other than gush? Her voice has gotten stronger and fuller and uuuhhhhh what else am I supposed to say other than it was so much better than I expected even though I expected total greatness? What does that become then? GREATNESS GREATNESS? Yes, let's settle on that.

The first half consisted of songs from Ys. And duh, of course it translated beautifully from record to stage because Van Dyke Parks is a genius and all of the musicians involved are terribly talented. Although there was no "danceploration" from the Drag City folks, it was particularly adorable when conductor Ryan Francesconi picked up an instrument part way through a song and kept his head bopping. Then intermission came, a break for fresh air, and more more more. I was and am still impressed by everyone. And have you seen Joanna Newsom live before? Talent. I mean, really, truly, even if you're not fond of her voice, it's a wonder that her hands move so and that she's still singing perfectly.

There was cute banter and overwhelming beautiful arrangements of songs that played a significant role in my life as Milk-Eyed Mender was one of the three most played albums during my stay in France (you know, one of those typical "coming-of-age" experiences because if I am anything at all, I am pretty normal).

My favorite song of the night? I don't know. I can't say. My favorite song from the second half? Maybe "Peach, Plum, Pear". Maybe not. Look, I can't choose! Here's a video from Brazil of a song that she also played on Friday night that's a contender for favorite:



If it's any indication to how the new album is shaping up, then gosh. Well, gosh. My goodness. I'm going to go melt somewhere now, thanks.