Spektor put this awesome cover on her website a few days ago. And let me tell you, it's awesome. Did I mention how awesome it is?
Regina is selling the song on iTunes and the proceeds will go to the Doctors Without Borders Emergency Relief Fund for recently earthquake-stricken Chile and Haiti.
The song is fitting, especially for Haiti, whose government and economy are among the most volatile in the world.
Yorke writes and Regina sings, "A heart that's full up like a landfill/A job that slowly kills you . . . Bring down the government, they don't speak for us." Words any poor Haitian citizen with a shabbily constructed house and an even worse income could say. "I'll take the quiet life/A handshake, some carbon monoxide/No alarms and no surprises."
It's actually haunting to listen to or read these lyrics with Haiti or Chile in mind, and I'd say that's the desired effect.
So you could buy the song on iTunes to do your part (and get a really awesome cover).
And you can listen to the original Radiohead version here.
You heard it here first! Well maybe, but I heard it here and here first.
But anyway, Gibbard announced a few days ago that Death Cab for Cutie will begin recording in the summer and plan to release their album early next year.
The album doesn't have a name yet, but Chris Walla, the band's guitarist and producer, said it'll sound like something in between Narrow Stairs' "live and lose" feel and the more polished Plans, according to an MTV report.
Here is Gibbard discussing the album over the phone with MTV.
So I was reading the New Yorker (yes, I am an un-American leftist looney) and I happened upon an article written by a man who was born and raised in America, lived in China for 10 years, then came back. The article, titled "Go West, Scenes from an American Homecoming," essentially compares and contrasts Chinese and American life.
I really hesitated to write about this because the full article isn't free online. You can access it with a digital subscription or in the magazine ($6 anywhere that sells magazines). But I'll do my best to make this interesting without access to the article. Read a preview of it if you want, though it won't help much.
Anywho, I immediately liked the article because it didn't portray the Chinese as the communist drones we tend to think of (and saw in the opening ceremony of The Olympics). Instead, the author used language like, "Everybody [in China] seems to live in the moment," and he portrayed the Chinese moving crew who packed his apartment as incredibly hard and efficient workers, harder workers than the Americans who unpacked it on the other side. (Wait, I thought communism promotes laziness?). To be fair, he was also living in Shanghai, one of the more free places in China.
More interesting still was the comparison between Chinese conversation and American. What the author, Peter Hessler, noticed was the Chinese ask questions, see conversations as a way to gather information and learn. They don't do much in the way of sharing personal experiences, stories or ideas. The Americans, Hessler argues, are more quick to tell a story, share an experience, and they're much lighter on the questions. He said that where the Chinese listen, the Americans wait for their turn to speak.
Best example (I'll type it up, shhh don't tell the New Yorker):
The [American] driver talked non-stop for a hundred and twenty miles, He told stories about his ex-wife, and he described his studies of Biblical Hebrew; he had strong opinions about the Book of Daniel. Nowadays, he lived in a trailer court, but during the nineteen-sixties he had travelled for France, Spain, Greece, and Turkey. "I had a rich uncle who took me there."
"Wow, that must have been nice," I said. "What did your uncle do?"
"That was Uncle Sam."
People in China never talked like that. They didn't like to be the center of attention, and they took little pleasure in narrative. They rarely lingered on interesting details. It wasn't an issue of being quiet; in fact, most Chinese could talk your ear off about things like foodand money and weather, and they loved to ask foreigners questions. But they avoided personal topics . . . Probably it was natural in the culture where people live in such close contact, and where everything revolves around the family or some other group. (Page 53)
This says a lot about the difference between American and Chinese culture. In China, the basic ideal is the common good – everything for the country and everything from the country. America, however, is focused on the individual. We were all taught to be our own person, raise ourselves up, chase the american dream. America, at least modern America, is built on the rugged individualism ideal: life is for the taking, for personal triumph. Whereas in China, life is for the living, and for the betterment of the community.
So it makes sense that Americans like personal stories more. Life is all about personal goals and successes, and our own life story tends to be a favorite; just look at how stacked the biography section is at any bookstore. Everyone likes writing about themselves. We are very selfish creatures here in the U.S. of A. Gotta look out for number one (and turn number one's past experiences into interesting narratives, thus promoting self-worth through glorification.)
The role of the individual in China is diminished (or maybe it's just put into perspective. Some of my friends could use a little of that). The overbearing sense of one-cog-in-the-machine-ism (like that coinage?) makes personal narratives uninteresting.
I don't know whether that's better or worse than what we have here. But I can say one thing: If I were to tell my own life story, I'd tell it to a Chinese person. At least I know they'd listen.
The concept is simple: submit something your boss/government wouldn't want the public to see so the public can see it. That's right, WikiLeaks.org makes whistle blowing fast and easy.
A really interesting component of the site comes with a video of a U.S. Helicopter mistaking some Reuters journalists and others for Iraqi combatants in 2007 (be careful, it's graphic). That's what got WikiLeaks into the headlines and that's how I found out about it.
More interesting still is the U.S. Government's resistance to releasing the video, and it's resistance to WikiLeaks (I'll talk about that later). Shortly after the killing, Reuters filed a Freedom of Information Act suit to access the video, which the government has resisted to this day. They didn't even investigate the
killings until requested by Reuters.
That poses the question: what should the government keep from us? If you ask me, I will always always always say "absolutely nothing." A democracy can't fully function without all its components in the know and passing judgement (hence newspapers, read one!). That's how a democracy should work, but then again, what we have in the U.S. isn't a true democracy.
Anyway, the government shouldn't keep stuff like this from us. It's important. The people who actually fight wars aren't the suits in Washington playing games with Reuters. The people who fight wars are the (mostly poor, mostly young, mostly with nowhere else to turn) common citizens. To keep them sheltered from what happens in war is vile, manipulative, and propagandizing in the worst sense of the word.
Furthermore, the government tried to ban WikiLeak in 2008. Ironically, their plan was posted on WikiLeaks about a month ago.
The government report included this in their reasoning:
“Several foreign countries including China, Israel, North Korea, Russia, Vietnam, and Zimbabwe have denounced or blocked access to the Wikileaks.org website.”
Excuse me? China? Russia? North Korea? Did we not go to war with North Korea to "protect man's basic human right to democracy and freedom"? Did we not spend the better half of the 20th century in an arms race with the "commie bastards" in Russia to, again, "protect democracy and freedom"?
If our government is seriously trying to use the fact that communist countries block access to to this site as a justification for why we should, I'm throwing my hands in the air and promptly moving to Canada.
This goes so contrary to to the ideals of democracy and freedom. It's horrifying. What else have they kept from us? It also raises questions as to whether or not we went to war with Russia (kinda) and North Korea. Was it really to "protect democracy"? Or was it to ensure Russia wouldn't get too powerful and threaten our handle on the world. I'm leaning towards the latter. Maybe it was something else. I mean, hell, there's no way we can know if the government never told us.
In any case, what the government did is disheartening at best. WikiLeaks, however, is not.
Everyone likes free music, right? Free music is awesome. Free music is even better when its legal. Free music is even even better when it's from The Antlers. It's even even even better when it comes with a video.
The Antlers, whom I've written about before, put a (kinda) new EP, New York Hospitals, plus the music video for "Sylvia" off their full-length Hospice, up for free on their website. They're even nice enough to share the html code for the download tool, so here it is below as well.
The music video is in a style similar to The Antler's others. Its a sort of pseudo-colonial setting, loaded with sepia toning and slow motion. It's confusing given that Hospice is a concept album set in a modern hospital. But whatever, I guess you don't win indie cred with videos that play out a concept album's story. It's a cool looking video regardless.
The EP features an understated electronic remix of "Sylvia."The album version (also used in the video) is grand and climactic, and I like it a lot more than this version, but the EP version is a nice change of pace.
The other song, "Nothing Matters When We're Dancing," is a Magnetic Fields cover. In typical Antler fashion, they take the original song and make it less happy, slower and give it some soul. Not complaining, but I'd really like to see if The Antlers can make a happy song. Hear me, Antlers? Happy. Try it.
Anyway, download it. It's free! And get into The Antlers. I guarantee you'll like 'em. If not, at least you can throw the name around for indie cred.
Ain't no cred like indie cred, as they say (by they I mean me).
I'm most proud of my "Music for Bro-in' out with some natty ice, chicks and backyard sports" playlist. It's a fine assemblage of everything wholesome, pure and thoughtful about music – the absolute pinnacle of today's music and today's culture. So condoms be damned! Crack open that cold, refreshing light beverage with a girl in each arm, listen and relax.
The lead singer of One Up Downstairs, American Football and Owen has lead a long and under-appreciated career, so I'm gunna give it some appreciation.
One Up Downstairs
It started with One Up Downstairs, a four-piece that put out one three-song-long EP. The band had an incredibly short career, but the music it produced rules.
Check out my favorite from the EP, "Rememories," here.
It's fun, upbeat and hooky. The guitar and bass duet rules, and the drums tie it all together. It's an all around fun song.
Mike Kinsella is the lead singer. This song, along with One Up Downstairs' other two, is really light on the vocals, it's much more about the musicianship. As far as I know, Kinsella was not the guitar player in this band as he was in American Football and Owen. Nevertheless, you get a glimpse at his singing style in this song. It's a little airy, far from milky, and lacks grandiose tone, but it's concise and it gets his lyrics across.
American Football
With lyrics in mind, we'll follow Kinsella to his next project, American Football. Musically, American Football is One Up Downstairs on half-speed with added musicianship and added heartbreak.
Get your tissues ready, here's "The Summer Ends" off American Football's self-titled full length.
And here are the lyrics written out.
Thinking about leaving And how I should say goodbye With a handshake, or an embrace, Or a kiss on the cheek, Or possibly all three
Well maybe I've been wrong Maybe my intentions are irrelevant But honestly, it's not just for me We've both been so unhappy So let's just see what happens When the summer ends
I can't tell what I like better. The music is great, but the poetry on its own is just as good. I could contently listen to the music without lyrics or melody, and I could contently read the poetry without the music (and I've never been the biggest poetry guy).
That's what makes American Football. It's a combination of that distinct Kinsella sound: the intricate guitar hook drum beat duet, the time signature changes, the catchy riffs and leads, and the overall funkiness (This is the saddest music I've ever had the urge to move to. Maybe not "The Summer Ends," but "Never Meant" and "I'll See You When We're Both Not So Emotional" are straight groovy); and that distinct Kinsella poetry, as exhibited above.
When the two come together, I cry while dancing.
Owen
One Up Downstairs has one EP to its name. American Football has a full length and an EP. Kinsella's solo project, Owen, is a different story. Owen has produced 5 full lengths and 4 EPs, spanning from 2001 to 2009. American Football's last effort came out in 1999.
Thus, Owen is Kinsella's longest and most productive effort, and it's slowly becoming my favorite. To follow the trend, Owen is slower and more lyric-oriented than American Football. Instead of the electric guitar, bass and drum in One Up and American Football, Owen is acoustic-guitar based, with occasional drums, bass, piano and ambient sounds. Of all Kinsella's projects, this one requires the lowest heart rate to fully enjoy.
His first album as Owen, called Owen, debuted in 2001. It's a 10-song effort, with bountiful sequences of trance-like guitar arpeggios, ambience, and slow, thoughtful poetry.
The second to last (and best) song, "Places To Go," tells the story of a traveling girl – presumably an ex-girlfriend of Kinsella – with some advice-through-poetry.
Before listening, I want you to read the lyrics.
I've a picture of you:
A parisian street
Early morning
Late spring
And I know what you were thinking
You were taking a break from life
You were traveling light
(A pair of walking shoes and a sweater)
You were where you were
When you pictured where you'd be:
Anywhere but home
Well, it's your last chance to change things
I know you've been getting by alright
And alright's okay for the day to day
But for the rest of your life?
An honest face like that
You just can't take back that easy
An honest face like that
I just can't forget too easy
(God knows I'm trying...)
Like I said, I'm no poetry guy, but as far as I'm concerned that's beautiful. It perfectly paints a scene with the first half, then perfectly paints an emotion with the second half.
Now give it a listen (sorry the video's labeled wrong again. It happens). The poetry is the best part of the song, but I feel like the music adds to it, gives it depth.
Owen's albums are all pretty equal, though I haven't given all of them the same attention. The album I've listened to the most beside Owen is At Home With Owen, which has a similar if more developed style.
I actually had the pleasure of seeing Kinsella as Owen last november. Northeastern's (the bastion of higher education I have the great honor of attending) music magazine put on a show and Kinsella was the first opener for Kevin Devine. If the aforementioned music magazine had any sense, it would have been the other way around.
Here he is performing to a much-too-small crowd. He played a great set, with all of the songs I've mentioned above and plenty more. But, with Northeastern being the kingdom of bros and biddies, he was booed, talked through, and generally not appreciated, except by the dozen-or-so people in this shot.
Kinsella deserves appreciation. He's one of the best songwriters out there today and he's still coming up with good material nearly 20 years into his career. Yet he still goes largely unnoticed. But then again, he doesn't make a music video in which he's half naked, covered in police tape and making out with a she-male while wearing sunglasses made entirely of lit cigarettes.
I am by no means a good writer. That's partly why I started this blog. I want to get some experience under my belt; hone and develope my skills.
Lately I've been more complacent. I haven't been revising or even rereading what I write. I'm not going to improve that way.
So I ask you, readers, to tear me apart. If you see something wrong, something that looks out of place, awkward, stupid, grammatically incorrect, tell me. Leave me a comment. In fact, send me an e-mail if you'd like – billshaner91@gmail.com. Make it scathing. I need you to keep me in line when I get complacent.
I've also implemented a little reaction meter gadget at the bottom of each post. If it sucks but you don't feel like saying why, just click "needs work" and I'll reread and revise. It wont show me who clicks what, don't worry.
I'm thinking about making writing a profession. So for my own sake, tell me if my writing sucks now before it's too late. You'll only help me in the end. And don't hold back. Any criticism is good criticism, as long as it pertains to my writing. Fire away.
With that in mind, I'm keeping the tone of this blog very conversational and colloquial, so telling me the words I use aren't big enough or my writing lacks formality goes against what I'm trying to do here.
As an addendum to the Kerouac post, I'll discuss Ben Gibbard's relationship to Kerouac's work. They have quite the history.
The clearest and most obvious example is "Bixby Canyon Ridge" off Death Cab's most recent full-length, Narrow Stairs.
Here it is below.
The song is a non-fiction account of Gibbard's trip to a sea-side shack off California's Route 1. There, Jack Kerouac wrote Big Sur and sunk into a drunken depression. Fun stuff, right?
"I descended a dusty gravel ridge, beneath the Bixby Canyon Bridge," Gibbard sings. "Until I eventually arrived/at place where your soul had died . . . and waited for you to speak to me."
The song continues as a pretty damn poignant narrative of Gibbard seeking some sort of other-worldly guidance from Kerouac – guidance he didn't receive – as he found himself at a crossroads in his life.
Gibbard calls Kerouac is one of his biggest idols, but also said he knows Kerouac essentially met his end at the cabin in Big Sur. He didn't die there, but he did go crazy. Gibbard calls it the "place where [Kerouac's] soul had died."
In the song, Gibbard effectively said he felt himself going in the same direction as Kerouac, with the line, "And I want to know my fate, if I keep up this way/but it's hard to want to stay awake."
Gibbard went to the cabin seeking reassurance of his lifestyle from his fast-living idol.
But Gibbard "trudged back to where the car was parked/no closer to any kind of truth/as I must assume was the case with you."
He didn't find what he hoped to from his pilgrimage. And, from what I know of Kerouac's book, Big Sur, neither did he.
While Gibbard was at the cabin, he also wrote an essay titled "The Meaning of Life." He started the essay off with a simple description of why he took the trip to Kerouac's cabin.
Why did I think I was going to come here and have this place change my life? I wanted it so badly, as I’m sure Kerouac did. I wanted to cleanse myself with this place. I’d spent years wondering what it looked like, wondering what it would be like to be here. And now here I am, sleeping in the same room Kerouac slept in. I’m walking the same path he walked when he came to the beach and wrote. Jack Kerouac sat here and wrote poems about the sound of the ocean. He sat right here.
As the essay continues, it's evident that Kerouc was not only an idol for Gibbard, but a life changer.
Gibbard was an engineering student – hard to believe, I know. In the essay he said when he first read On The Road, he was in college, taking biology, calculus and physics. Kerouac's book was something he needed.
I thought, “That’s the way, that’s the ideal life, that’s great. You get in a car and you drive and you see your friends and you end up in a city for a night and you go out drinking and you catch up and you share these really intense experiences. And then you’re on the road and you’re doing it again.” The romance of the road, particularly from Kerouac’s work, encapsulated how I wanted to live. I found a way to do it by being a musician, which is what I always wanted to be.
Without Kerouac, Gibbard could be working in an engineering firm right now. Think about that. Thank god.
But Gibbard realized in reading Big Sur that the wild life has its consequences. It's reflected in the later sections of the essay and in the last line of Bixby Canyon Bridge, mentioned above.
Gibbard is approaching that age now. According to Wikipedia, he's 33. Personally, I feel Gibbard has the wherewithal Kerouac didn't, and he'll be able to transition better into later life. And I mean, he's married to Zoey Deschanel. How bad can life be?
Lucky bastard.
In any case, Kerouac was an idol and inspiration for Gibbard. Hopefully Gibbard can avoid what happened to Kerouac. Actually, maybe he shouldn't. Then the door would open for me to marry Zoey. I assure you, folks, that will happen. Just you wait and see.
Do you have a friend, maybe multiple friends, that turn their life into an emotional roller coaster ride when in reality it's more like an emotional bike ride?
People who are overly self-involved attempt to make their life meaningful. And a good way to do that is to make one's life into a story. A story with a dramatic, climactic plot line; an overarching theme or motif; and most importantly, dramatic happenings to be addressed and overcome by the protagonist. The protagonist then betters him or herself with the experience. At least according to Kurt Vonnegut (link courtesy of Shoot An Apple Off My Head's stumbling).
People's lives are not stories, he argues, not roller coaster rides, but rather bike rides on a flat street with the occasional hill to tackle and hill to ride down. In general, humans coast on a relatively flat plane, with no story-line, no cataclysm. So it goes.
I'm about to plunge into Big Sur, one of Jack Kerouac's latest and, from what I've heard, darkest and most depressing works.
This worries me.
I go back and forth on Kerouac. One day he's my favorite author and the next day the thought of him annoys me.
By any conventional standard, Kerouac is a terrible writer. His sentence construction is awkward and halting, and at times borders on being grammatically incorrect. And the two books of his I've read (On The Road and The Dharma Bums) have had incredibly anti-climactic endings that seem to peter out when Kerouac decided he didn't have anything else to write about.
On the other hand, Kerouac puts excitement about life and adventure onto page better than anyone I've ever read. He seemed to derive so much joy from his experiences. The simplest things that, if you thought about them yourself, would seem so mundane, seem so incredibly exciting and, well, awesome when Kerouac writes about them. If you ever get a chance to read On the Road, and I suggest you do. Wait until Kerouac described a bebop jazz club. You'll never feel the same way about it again. I'd quote it, but I don't own a copy of the book right now. I suppose you'll have to see for yourself.
Point being, what I like about Kerouac's work is the zest and wonder and excitement about life he puts onto page. It's incredible, really. But as far as prose and story structure go, he's not my favorite.
That's why Big Sur worries me. If it's going to be a depressing, ho-drum account the whole way through, it'll take away the one aspect of Kerouac's work I really like. I'm still gunna give it a shot, but for now, I'm a skeptic.
But, as I said before, On the Road is totally worth reading for Kerouac's take on life and the excitement come through onto page. It could change the way you think. It did for me.
Ever looked in a glove compartment? You probably wont find gloves. You wont find gloves here either. But if you like books, movies, music and random tidbits of information like I do, you might find something you like.
