Tuesday, July 22, 2014
For myself more than the other crate-diggers out there; people still find old music here, ie. Talking Heads, Meatbats, The Cancel, etc.
From the silly first angst-filled posts which first begot this blog, to the sullen and sarcastic view of my perspectives on events past and present,
I no longer find the need to write in order to categorize my thoughts, to reorganize and restructure a new perspective.
What does this mean to the author though?
Would it be, GOD-FORBID, that I have somehow grown up in a way?
Or rather, that the views I currently adopt are worthwhile hanging on to, permanently?
This site will thus be further updated with newly-released albums (which I have been neglecting for a long time, so assume that any album I put up from here on after, is a must-download.) courtesy of TPB, which will be virus-free (checked by me personally), and crude, unrefined short stories, if I ever can be bothered to finish one.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
This is not the purpose.
One day, I promise you I will finish that post. When I find the purpose.
I spent a good deal of time with my best friends today, till the wee hours of the morning. Many things were discussed, with many laughs shared and the like.
There was a lot of soul searching to be done though, and I feel different about these things than what I would have, years ago. Mainly before army I suppose.
There is a being inside all of us, and sometimes it's hard to keep track of its progress in its own growth. The importance of hindsight actually helps for once, and is a mildly accurate gauge of how much you have grown both as a person and as an individual.
I'd like to differentiate the two as a "person" is who you are to other people, whereas the individual is who you are to yourself.
We all have values, morals. Things we live by, things we believe.
But how often do we put these things into practice?
For instance: Does acting a certain way around certain people change the individual, as much as it would change the person?
What would this say about the individual?
Is the individual, the person?
Does the individual, control the person?
Perhaps we do not need the reason as of yet. Perhaps the purpose has yet to be discovered. Hell, maybe the purpose is unique to all of us.
Does, the individual need to be the person?
Is it up to us? Truthfully? Just how much of the person is really us, and not simply a reflection of the person the individual thinks he is?
There are social rules and norms to consider, but the apple does not fall far from the tree. (I consider this, arguably, an acceptable situation in which to use this idiom.)
Do you see?
Is there really one true identity for you?
Who are you?
And do you need to care?
Sunday, April 13, 2014
2. Keep It Healthy
3. Love Is To Die
7. Disco // Very
8. Go In
9. Feeling Alright
This is the first real post I've done in several months I guess.
The post below will be finished some day (don't count on it, but count on it).
This is most definitely my favorite Warpaint album to date - and I think the girls have finally settled down on their sound; hence the eponymous album, after their previous two EP's.
I like to call Warpaint the ultimate reverb band, since Emily and Theresa's vocals are almost always so clouded and dreamy, and likewise with the intricate fingerpicking on tracks such as Keep It Healthy (my personal favorite.) Little nuances such as electronic percussion (mainly played by Theresa live), as is in Keep It Healthy, the little 'pop-pop' sounds in between verses and Jenny's hypnotic bass tones are the subtle beautiful things inlaid within the album and are just waiting to be discovered by you.
Love Is To Die, Hi, Biggy, and Disco//Very are also rated very highly on my list.
Here's the recently released music video for Disco//Very and Keep It Healthy.
I don't understand it at all.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Hindsight is always 20/20, but surely my foresight can't be that bad, can it?
Sometimes when I wake up to the sound of the same alarm of another day facing the ceiling, sometimes the wall, sometimes nothing, I wonder; what the actual fuck am I doing here? (I tend to stray away from cursing on my blog but sometimes I feel it is somewhat appropriate)
Sometimes when I look at my own goddamn name on the green and black in the mirror, complete with the three ugly stripes down my chest I wonder; what the actual fuck did I do it all for?
Sometimes I can stare down into the plastic plates of my life and forget the future. All I can see and taste is spice. Also it's not very nice.
Yes, I can plan ahead into the distant future and yearn for cool wind to kiss my skin or perhaps a day where I can dress myself in the mirror without having to stick to the same colors every day, but the present presents itself on a silver platter just for me - the waiter floats down on gangly legs with a loosened tie, cropped two-by-one and five-o'-clock shadow.
"Your meal, sir," he lays down the silver dome on the table where we have been seated for the past year. "Sorry.." He clears his throat, scratches his neck audibly, rolls his eyes. "Sergeant. My mistake". I glance at him to tell him it was okay, but he's disappeared, a faint wisp of smoke spiraling downward.
Eat, you gesture with your eyes, and I lift off the cloche with the tip of my pinky. It's silver, silver, second to gold, you say, and I have to agree. Inside there's another cloche, and I am already tired of this game, I lift it up and find..
A card. A little sandwich card folded downwards into a little tent with a number on it. DISAPPOINTMENT, the card reads but only the number remains in wiry gold writing. Should I call it? I ask no one, and everyone wordlessly reaches into their handbags and pulls out a mobile phone. I choose one at random and dial the number.
H-hello? A voice, thin as a whisper, yet as rich as a sunset trickles in from the earpiece.
Hi. Was that my voice?
Who are you? The musicality of her voice was undeniable, inescapable. Every syllable was a note, every sentence a melody.
I.. Well, I'm not exactly sure.
O-oh. The dismay in her voice was obvious, the diminuendo encroaching rapidly on my hastening pulse.
W-wait, don't go..! It was like I already knew.
There wasn't as much as a bye, before the line dropped dead. CALL ENDED, SUCKA, flashed lazily on the screen as I hung up. I looked to hand the phone back, but everyone was gone. Resigned, I dumped it onto the plate with the sandwich card, and slouched back into the chair.
Do you understand now? You ask, wearing your sunglasses, and standing up, legs knocking your chair over.
Yeah, yeah I do, I tell you, but we both know the truth.