Archive for the music Category

Listen, I’m Doing A Bunch of Things This Month

Posted in event, Lists, music, people to watch for, poetry, the universe will wreck you, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 11/08/2012 by alex c

November’s a big month for me as I have three events (plus the usual Mental Marginalia) coming up with some good people and I’d love to see you out at some or all of them…

First up:
Tuesday, 11/13, 7:30pm
@ Bear
12-14 31st Avenue, Long Island City
An admixture of poetry and fiction paired with liquors and foodstuffs. A salon in which poor taste will mingle with the delectable; ears and mouths stuffed and stumbling.

The Readers:
Beth Amodeo
Alex Crowley
Keara Driscoll
Robert Tumas

There will be $5 Dirty Martinis, bar snacks on a menu specially designed by Chef Natasha Pogrebinsky, and a happy hour following the evening’s proceedings.

Saturday, 11/17, 7pm (?)
@ Brooklyn Fire Proof
119 Ingraham Street (at Porter Ave.) Brooklyn (Morgan L)

Join curators Eric Nelson and Mike Lala at Brooklyn Fire Proof for Fireside Follies’ second event this season, featuring:

Dorothea Lasky (Thunderbird)
Macgregor Card (Duties of an English Foreign Secretary)
Courtney Maum (Big Things in Small Places)
Alex Crowley
Olivia Kate Cerrone

This event is FREE and open to the public.

Tuesday, 11/27, 8pm
@ The West Brooklyn
379 Union Ave., Brooklyn (L/G to Lorimer & Metropolitan)

Mark Gurarie & I host, these cats read:
Tom Oristaglio
Fred McKindra
Alex Norelli
+1 tba

and last, but not least:
Thursday, 11/29, 8pm
@ Legion Bar
790 Metropolitan Ave. Brooklyn (Graham L)

We’ve got a new bassist & we haven’t played since February. Per usual, come listen b/c who knows when we’ll play next!
We’re sharing this bill with some fantastic bands. Come out and enjoy the fantastic-ness.

Here’s the order of bands:
9:00, Big Plastic Finger,
9:45, Warmth,
10:30, Beasty,
11:15, Old Monk,

Thanks for reading all the way to the end!

St. Vincent, Coffee, & Constructivism

Posted in music, poetry, random, review, The Trading Post, undigested with tags , , , , , , , on 10/08/2012 by alex c

St. VincentMarry Me
Naum Gabo & Antoine Pevsner – The Realistic Manifesto


“While it would be impossible to explain, in simple terms,” the plinkiness over what is this beat? Now, now, I may not understand modern pop music, but I do understand flight and Kenny Rogers this morning reminded me to tear my mind on something I’ve only seen under the influence. She’ll make me sorry and I don’t doubt it given how this has transpired so far, giving way to distortion.

Little drummer boy, and probability ensures that is what you are, get rolling bum bum bum, bum. I guess. Here we find a native tradition and a graft from an alien culture. Alien only to one who never made a habit of orchestrating what didn’t need to be orchestrated in the first place. A simple proclamation will do nearly always and if we want to get into what constitutes “mysterious” then I’ll admit my ignorance of everything. If I remember correctly it was “Why ask why? Try Bud Dry.”

My face is red, too, but it’s a temporary blood pressure thing and not merely my lefty sympathies. This city’s black b/c it’ll always be the style here. Guilty party after guilty party and how long did it take me to figure out the difference between style and fashion? The excitement of collaborators as they meet to plot in the local drink, the recently-dubbed Last Bohemia. We know who dunnit, we know who owns the stakes at least, we recognize a good fade out.

In futurism I can taste what I cut my tongue on, but Andy Warhol & The Beach Boys left a lingering stench of passive aggression and I feel it in the powerless melodies and three-part harmonic middlebrow miasma. Whatever that was.

Someone says get rid of the bass and adopt the tuba, which seems like a good idea only in the way that the Gypsy Kings make an Eagles song listenable. Too much dance in the steady rhythm of the telegram. I can handle the flamenco as long as I’m sitting down, which, helpfully, I am at the moment, unable to stand without knocking the props off this cluttered sitcom set. Speed may have been a pompous program, but at least it was an ethos. I can hold a mug and empty it.

Pianos are nice, a life-lesson oft-discussed and never learned for lack of discipline. Another life lesson imposed via petropharmacopeia. Avoid catatonia at all costs, in this case it’s nearly free since I know the barista and, fortunately, lack internal ulcers. I’d be painting in abstract shapes if I could pain at all.

On the upside these things are brief and the despair will subside as soon as the palate is cleansed. I was probably mistaken with this choice, or, more likely the case, there really is something to this disaffinity with so many peers. “In them we do not measure our works with the yardstick of beauty, we do not weigh them with pounds of tenderness and sentiments.” Sentiments are to heavy for any contraptions I own and, anyway, I hate the word tender. What is everyone made of? I can’t follow the line of logic anywhere.

There are so many things I’d love to renounce, on behalf of culture or taste or what-have-you, but God help me if people all liked the same shit. Regardless, it’s a great way of saying I’m right, you’re wrong, and also that painting sucks.

I can agree with the affirmation of tone as the only pictorial reality. I like weathered concrete and irregular rhythms, though under certain constraints that I can only gauge by analogy to pornography. For example, it’s nearly impossible for women to wear high-waisted jeans, but they do it anyway. Some of these passages would make great samples, but on the whole, I just don’t know.

This fretwork was more interesting before the bossa-nova: I love the ocean but I’m wary of the beach. Whenever people talk about plasticity I’m, like, what? Canals are cool, as are railroads, yet here were are hostage to the car. The smell of gasoline versus the smell of brine. Pickle me when I’m dead.

There’s nothing left in the tank. I’m just sitting here listening and dulled. Something should have happened by now. One can make things happen or wait for things to happen or whatever-the-fuck. Globetrotting adventurers are usually morons.




TV Personalities, Bourbon, & Brutalism

Posted in music, poetry, The Trading Post with tags , , , , on 08/22/2012 by alex c

Television PersonalitiesMummy Your Not Watching Me (WHAAM! Records #3)
Bulleit Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey

———SIDE A———

howl through brutalist tower architecture & the realization that the record player was still on 45 from all the reggae singles
the jangle must have been so harsh at the time do you ever start start to wonder who comes up with these ideas
says an adventure playground what it is you want and the expectations pouring up stalagtite-like from the sidewalks
they’re fine with trees and nooks & context
fading out

bang bang slow stutter & ring
dip dip call in from disembodied man on accordion
the steps up this house, the cubist ziggurat
wants to be an actress
wants a heart-shaped swimming pool
& a set of ray guns
I’m infatuated with the stains weather-beaten into
béton brut my lucky number’s seven, too
an echoplex from whichever perspective
most of these proposals never left
the desks they were drawn upon

stacks stacks stacks eight stories high
this speed beatles imitation’s pretty tight
the woo woo police keyboard settles
for overcast in charcoal on paper
as substitute for the micro town
lining Tanguy’s horizons & shift keys
downward so the neighbors will hear
scroll downward steadily

folk tune smily face student union facade
is why we’re crying mommy
stopped watching this indulgent little project
repetitive themes of trying again & remembering
different bits each time, the first flight arched
yet boxes follow from there, imagining a liftoff & losing sight
as the local atmosphere ends

would you like to cross this elevated walkway
pilot this fleet of airborne cars
for a negligeable psychic fee
I have a staircase down a grassy knoll
the landing’s not complete
I feel like the side could end any minute
that’s what the sleeve indicates
it’s all gone goofy, subhumans on lsd
all phones set to autocorrect

I was all totally wrong about that earlier assertion
it was unfair of me to make such a wild guess
sometimes it feels gone on too long & a nice punch
brings it all into focus
this was exactly where the gold was supposed to be
the mist’s a filthy liar & light’s no better

———SIDE B———

I love Kubrick flics for the settings & the grim
in this bass tone, the simple way a cylinder, a triangle, & a rectangle
can make an exquisite home
many times the necessary change in timbre drops in
on precisely the wrong instrument
is that called Zappic?
I mean waves & waves of concrete, arcing
on the tops of y-shaped pillars, spines & ribs
to the elements, take it take it take it
because we mean it & we’ll shout it
from the bannister

takes a while to kick in everywhere
the Japanese have produced some notable Scotch
it’s not painting by numbers
it’s sneaking off behind the rafters
to get your hands up her shirt
who here watches drum improv
videos online as a recreation

new page, similar aesthetic, similar dainty intro
composed entirely of single dots
I could stare into for days
you’re well aware how uncanny my attention can be
when I have the slightest bit of interest
I sometimes wish this style of design had never died

a nostalgia for automated walkways
a nuclear bunker mentality, whatever extras
that entails to carry on dreaming & laughing
cynically, sarcastically all at once
the butt of the joke & the butt of the joke
pretending to pretend to not need anyone

can’t tell if these are getting faster or everything I’ve taken’s kicked in
I enjoy all these black & white photos of well-lit European
buildings & the cosmopolitan stragglers shaded into the foreground
of an otherwise beautiful ecoscape
even the religious could get on board with this
the way a poured, prefab castle can squat near a rebuilt medieval town

“Just Screwin Around”: King Buzzo On Writing

Posted in interesting things that caught my attention, math-rock, music, poetry, random with tags , , , , , on 05/13/2012 by alex c

The best laugh in the business.

Friday Morning Subway Ride Random Rock Playlist

Posted in Lists, math-rock, music, random with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on 03/30/2012 by alex c

Settings > Shuffle > Songs

Music > Genres > Rock > All Songs

Subway > M train

Dazzling Killmen – “Captain Is Dead”, Dig Out the Switch

Tera Melos – “Party With Gina”, Patagonian Rats

TAD – “Trash Truck”, 8-Way Santa

Torche – “Erase”, Torche

The Catalyst – “Jesus Garcia”, Marianas Trench + 9

Melvins – “Big As Mountain”, Gluey Porch Treatments

Soundgarden – “Half”, Superunknown

Karp – “Pistol Whipped”, Action Chemistry

Radiohead – “Airbag”, OK Computer

Faith No More – “Crack Hitler”, Angel Dust


Posted in event, math-rock, music, the universe will wreck you with tags , , , on 03/18/2012 by alex c

After nine months of no shows at all, my band [WARMTH] returns to play as a duo. We’ll be opening up for our friends/space-mates, ICONCHASM, on their debut show. This should be real rad, it’s cheap and at Death by Audio, which is always a great place to both see and play shows.

UNDIGESTED #5: EARTH—Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II

Posted in music, review, undigested with tags , , , , , , , on 02/15/2012 by alex c

Welcome back to another installment of UNDIGESTED, wherein I listen to an album for the first time and share my [pretty much] unedited thoughts while it plays.

Today I’m checking out the new Earth album Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II (full stream here, listen along!). I kinda dug the first one, but I didn’t get super into it. The glass onion is good to go now, however, so let’s see how this turns out!

Sigil of Brass

I don’t know what a “sigil” is at all, but there’s a nice bell-like tone in the guitar. Sure sounds like Earth. Just that guitar, though, and only 3 minutes. really? That felt like 1:30, tops. Continue reading

Or A Reasonably Close Approximation Thereof

Posted in interesting things that caught my attention, Lists, music, random with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on 01/27/2012 by alex c

Haha, eight isn’t a very high number.

The alcohol content of this Double Bastard Ale I’m currently drinking is 10.5%.

I’m gonna go outside now.

Trading Post °1: Axe to Vox

Posted in essays, music, The Trading Post with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on 01/24/2012 by alex c

This is the first installment of The Trading Post, what hopefully becomes an ongoing series in which I trade albums with fellow writer friends and then we proceed to dance about the architecture with which we’re presented. This project stems from the many discussions through which it became undeniably clear that my musical tastes are vastly different than most of my literary friends; I thought it would be fun and enlightening for us to both share what we love with while hearing new music we might not otherwise encounter. Though there will likely be a decent amount of hating on stuff (from myself at least), that’s not the point at all. Rather, much like my encounter Lynne Tillman’s novel American Genius: A Comedy, I appreciate wrestling with work with which I don’t have an immediate affinity and then trying to understand why I might hate it so much while also recognizing important qualities such a work may possess. Having said all that, these aren’t going to be deep analyses, either, merely thoughtful reactions or something along those lines. I guess we’ll see what happens and that’s part of the fun!

For this first installment, Seth Graves decided on a simple trade based on vocals and guitar. He gave me albums by Why?, Danielson and Destroyer. In return I made him listen to albums by Gorguts, Krallice and Vektor. We’ll start with Seth’s responses because I flipped an imaginary coin and won the toss. Follow us after the jump!

Continue reading

Mankind for the Music of Wine Fresno

Posted in interesting things that caught my attention, music, poetry, random with tags , , , , on 01/19/2012 by alex c

I’ve Been Looking Busy for Years: A Memoir

Wine Fresno’s the king of this goddamn valley
thick tuft of parent hair
we on only uppers
and downers
Say it with arrogant sonofabitch
pouring off the end of your nose
All my memories have cottonmouth
*see p.8
You don’t need to comb, I’m doing that for you with my hands
you don’t need to cut your hair, soon enough I’ll have eaten it all
that’s about 13 years
worth of tea
Wine Fresno will get you high and let you know
Paul Provenza spelling bee champion
can’t a fella just dream of the idea of San Francisco?
Good ol’ Fidel Chavez
Soon I’ll have that patent for my spring-measuring machine
Pool of potential role models full of white collar workers
Hey hungry, got this ClifBar
The wrath of a bunch of epic
Wine Fresno sold naked pictures of your sister
on the internet
Good people, the kind you’d want to die
in an orgy with