connexion: the selector

The Flanks make me glad-ass happy to be alive, is basically what it comes down to.
And check out that sweet Nick Capodice making the accordian look downright sexy! You can’t get that just anywhere.
If you find yourself in NYC, please check them out and have a drink for me [performance schedule provided on webpage].

Here you have, in order, an original song, a traditional, and a cover of one of my favorite Dylan songs.

Eine zweite Nachricht, und eine dritte! Es erinnert mich an Ereignisse, die schon geschehen sind, und in der Zukunft geschehen werden…. From a tribute and a side-project, these seemed like they were worth posting together: “Summer Haze” is from a Slowdive tribute which has a lot of German bands on it, if I remember right. It’s supposed to be music “by and inspired by.” This is one of the “inspired” ones. Manual’s Ascend album is also recommended. Monster Movie have another album out now, called “To the Moon,” but it’s nowhere as good as “Last Night Something Happened,” and this song has made a couple of totally indelible impressions on me…

I just saw these New Zealand kids last night and they were great. Of course, I love girl-boy vocals, handclaps, the glockenspiel, marimba, clarinet, saxophone, trumpet, harmonica and typewriter in pop songs.

But if you like garage pop, bands who wear Mary-Kate and Ashley masks at shows and brown hair in general (ha), maybe you’ll like them too.

Eine Art Nachricht! Wasn’t sure which song to choose from this album….

I think I met someone.

One can hope, anyhow.

Two Most Important Lessons learned from watching La Planete Sauvage [The Fantastic Planet] as a child:
1. People are all weirdo aliens.
2. The French can do no wrong.

I know Air probably thought they were doing something awesome and original when they composed the soundtrack for The Virgin Suicides, but one listen and you can tell it’s just a rip-off of the plaintive haunting funkery Goraguer’s been doing for decades. He does it in expert fashion here.

you are one big huge fat person bopping down the street, wearing a triple extra large t-shirt stained from your filthy french fry fingers. your ‘clean’ hand is full of twizzlers, and you spin them like a master.

when you’re alone at home in your apartment that is essentially in a state of decay, you paint your fat neck (cattle) red and imagine being an exotic bird.

THE LADIES ARE CALLING YOU.

p.s.

(post collaboration between P.atrick McCarthy and S.ean Negus.)

Brian Joseph Davis was talking to a friend one day, who mentioned that Theodor Adorno’s writings would make GOLD punk rock lyrics. A light went off in Brian’s head and the result is what you have here. Turns out his friend was right and what you are about to hear is total motherfucking genius. Brian handles the instruments and Dawn Unwanted handles the jarring aural scrawling vocal duties.

Nothing to say because this song says it all in just over two minutes.

i am officially exhausted with african music for the next 8 or so hours, and i will digress.

this song is good.

1. mari lataretu, ma uitai spre rasarit.
2. sidney bechet, summertime.
3. aster aweke, antiye.
4. mulunquen mellesse, temenjar shega.
5. sidney bechet, egyptian fantasy.
6. luce-o luce mauvais.
7. cyprus smith & group, sambo caesar.
8. jesus ordonez & orchestra, jota manchega.
9. josephine baker, j’ai deux amours.
10. billie holiday, let’s dream in the moonlight.
11. tinariwen, tenere dafed nikchan.
12. asnaqetch werqu, mengedengnaw lebe.
13. ait bou guemmez, chant improvise.

my ship is wrecked on the canary islands. i woke up in cold linens under a black sky with the salt of the ocean in my mouth and the sand of the beach in my eyes, my head bleeding on a chest of black tea.

by the end, my hair will be bleached, the soles of my feet will have blistered, my mouth will be pale with dehydration and i will have surrended to a solitary existence with one transitor radio that will possess me with the music of north africa, southern spain, and when the wind is good, ethiopia.

see me for songs: untigredepapier (aol instant messenger)

i am so glad to have my father’s name.

(sean) negus

Pronunciation: ‘nE-g&s, ni-’g�s
Function: noun
Etymology: Amharic negus, from Geez negusa nagast king of kings

: KING — used as a title of the sovereign of Ethiopia

At first, I couldn’t decide if I liked the ren-faire sound
of these flutes, but then I decided that I did and that it
was ok to like that kind of thing sometimes.

And then I really started to like this song, and the rest of the album.

Missy’s done it. Tina Turner’s done it. but you can’t beat the original for full-on soulful awesomeocity. This song brings me back to hot, muggy summer days at the beach as a little kid, listening to motown classics and Al Green and this song on the way, wailing along with my mum. now, it sort of makes me want to hop into a huge old Chevy boat and cruise down Memphis avenues.

these songs were recorded along the banks of the niger river.

they are lush, invigorating, and taming.

i can only think about the climate.

best eaten with goat yogurt and berries.

this post is about horror flick love, with french kissing bumble gum hockey, mockery, marijuana and mischief.

these songs are for a vixen valentine whose top priority is world domination to the power of revenge, who understands what S.adoM.asochistic romance is all about.

I read somewhere that Justus K�hncke used to play schlager. Not sure if it’s true, but if it is, then thank god he’s not doing it anymore. I’m about to drive off and have something like a good time for the first time in days and when I do this is going to be playing. Loud.

I love trucker songs, especially novelty trucker songs from the 70s when every kid had a CB radio and getting a driver to honk his horn by making the pull-down gesture out the passenger side window was an exultant moment of bliss. And I love songs about stereotyped homosexuals! So when this little number passed through my ears telling the tale of two close male friends trucking along while being accosted over the radio waves by a lithping Lothario, I had to share it with all of you. As with most trucker songs, it has a twist ending, too.

Monica Zetterlund   * 20 September 1937,  † 12 May 2005

Hippa to Da Hoppa, Pt. V

I basically don’t have any vinyl. Mainly because I haven’t owned a record player in ten years, but also because I have imagined that it would be a good way to limit the amount of music I buy. This naïve strategy has of course not worked at all, and this year I finally decided to start getting some releases that are vinyl only. My best find so far, and one of the most awesome re-releases I’ve ever seen, is the one that finally brought me the Cop Hell remix.

RA the Rugged Man & Notorious BIG
Tragedy & Havoc
N.O.R.E.
Kool G Rap & Nas
Ol’ Dirty Bastard
Mobb Deep
Kool Keith

Yes, all of the above on one single 12″: Classic Whites Volume 1.

Get On This Motorcycle is not vinyl only, but it’s probably my favourite Timbaland production of 2004. Hence, I’m ending this mini series with two of my all-time favourite artists, and something that sounds like Ghost in the Shell gettin’ crunk. Now, bring it on brothers and sisters!

melancholy dream-pop for a rainy spring day spent indoors, daydreaming about boys and summer. how twee is that? i am writing this post wearing a thrifted cardigan and awaiting the day when my baby-cheeked boyfriend will feed me popsicles and ice-cream cones as we rollerskate through the park holding hands. expect an eardrum-busting metal post after this one. (nb: i couldn’t find unholy soul for sale online anywhere other than on e-gay. sorry, dooders.)

You probably know this one too. This is one of those songs they played on the oldies radio station my parents listened to a lot of the time when I was growing up. But they didn’t play it so often, so I never knew who sang it (or what it was called, for that matter) until I took it upon myself to do a search for “billy joe mcallister” pretty recently.

Hippa to Da Hoppa, Pt. IV

The Latin Kings were one of the first native hip-hop groups to make any widespread impact in Sweden, and I’d argue they’re the best one. Dogge might not be the most technically accomplished MC, but he dared to rap in Swedish and has a style completely his own. These two tracks are from their third album Mitt kvarter (My Block), the title track having one of the best and most honest lyrics I’ve ever heard about living in the ghetto suburbs.

For those who are interested, Streetzone has a pretty good summary of early Swedish hip-hop. Unfortunately, everything is in Swedish, but all artists are marked in bold and the article has a bunch of audio samples. Navigate the story via the links under SVENSK HISTORIA, listen to tracks by pressing [LYSSNA].

Hippa to Da Hoppa, Pt. III

I discovered Poison Clan just about a month ago. They started out as a pretty average Miami bass group, their debut being produced by Mr Mixx of 2 Live Crew. But what makes Poison Clan awesome is this, their second album Poisonous Mentality. Exit party. Enter gangsta.

Bonus info: The intro on this 1992 album contains the same kung-fu samples as the intro on Masta Killa’s No Said Date.

So yeah, two of my favourite music and lyric-writing fellas, together here for you in Selector-town! I’m doing what I can to make up for the disaster that was Merman. Apologies!

OK, well the Colin Meloy track is from a tour-only EP that might be a touch tricky to track down (but it�s worth going to see The Decemberists for that reason at the very least). Never has there been a modern day musician so enmeshed in Victorian times as Colin Meloy � not even Helena Bonham Carter and her busty moves can touch Meloy’s apparent affinity with all things 19th century. The Decemberists� frontfellow writes what often amount to brilliant indie rock sea shanties or something of the sort. Oh yes, anyhow, here he�s covering an old Morrissey b-side. It always kind of makes me excited in that low-grade way when artists cover Morrissey rather than The Smiths.

Morrissey, my first true love of a lyricist. Maybe, to paraphrase the more melodramatic type, my first true love. His voice, that which either irritates or liquidates the soul. People say he�s mopey but I don�t think you can write as brilliantly as Moz without a killer sense of humour. And his voice, his wit and his looks are all holding out. Two short short tracks from Bona Drag…

Adorable innuendo for a rainy day. You probably know it.

A lot of people crap on Badfinger as being sort of the B-team Beatles, and I’m not going to argue that some of that’s deserved, especially with the amount of second-rate McCartney they were saddled with, but besides all that there’s some really lovely songcraft there too. Pete Ham, the group’s frontman, was an especially amazing writer who tragically hung himself after getting seriously screwed over by his label. Ryko put out a collection of his home recordings a little while ago and they’re incredibly beautiful, perfect, fragile little pop gems. I hope you like this one.

Hippa to Da Hoppa, Pt. II

I’m not very loyal when it comes to music. As soon as a favourite artist of mine starts to decline in greatness, I usually jump the ship and after a release or two I’m far from eager to check their latest stuff. The good thing with this strategy is that it saves me precious time I can use to discover other great artists. At least that’s what I imagine. The downside is that I sometimes miss out on great album tracks from so-so albums.

A dear friend of mine has the greatest patience when it comes to his favourites, and I can only thank his never-ending love for Rap-A-Lot and the south for making me discover awesome stuff like Geto Boys and Eightball & MJG. Ever since discovering gangsta rap as a kid, he’s been following his old heroes release by release, collecting gems amongst the dross. Like this late DJ Quik production with Hi-C. This one’s for you Christian!

Making up for my absence last week, I upload a second song. Maybe on the more secular side and another sentimental favorite from my meth-sniffing teenagedom, I give you The Vibrators. I got this on a tape called “The Best of Punk Rock, Volume One” that was put out by Priority Records, of all places. The same people that introduced me to N.W.A. and Ice Cube also helped me find out about Wire and The Buzzcocks. Amazing.

Qawwal is a form of Sufi devotional music, and is even allowed to be played in mosques if I’m remembering right. The Sabri Brothers are among the most famous Qawwali musicians; allmusic.com tells me that Ghulam Farid Sabri’s funeral was attended by some forty thousand people. All I have to say is that if those “Worship Together” CDs were full of stuff like this, “CCM” would be a better thing for it. The album that contains this, Tasleem doesn’t seem to be terribly available, but I’ve linked to their greatest which still comes highly recommended.

Hippa to Da Hoppa, Pt. I

I think it’s about time we up the hip-hop quota in here. Hence, beginning today, I’m starting a hip-hop mini series in five parts. First out is two classics from seemingly forgotten Group Home, because once in a while, you just have to nod your head pure NY style.

This week has been a drag. I’ve been alone at home, a cold and fever, not ill enough to sleep all day, but not well enough to enjoy reading a book either. The constant battle has been to find entertaining music that suits my mood.

Today, I’m finally starting to feel better. Maybe it’s the fever wearing off, or maybe it’s Robyn’s Be Mine which I heard for the first time today. This song is fantastic. The staccato strings immediately stabs you right in the heart, the bass punches you in the stomach, Robyn crying out her desperation. This is exactly what great pop is all about. It makes you feel and it makes you strong. Because, in the end, hearing a song like this just makes you happy.

My adult life and the Go-Betweens dovetailed quite nicely, you know.

When I was 18 and making frantic calls to a bemused therapist, all the while thinking of girls who were too young, and what to do with them, there was a track called “Streets of Your Town” on an old Beggars Banquet compilation I’d lifted from a tiny shop in Carlisle, PA.

That was all forgotten for a number of years, and, suddenly, I was twenty-one, hot-shit, still-young, probably hated, behind my back at least. I was at another record shop, thinking of other girls who were still too young, and I saw the copy of Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express. That doesn’t have “Streets of Your Town” on it, not even a little. I bought it and played it when I got home.

The Go-Betweens are a story of two guys: Grant and Robert. Who’s in charge? The soft-spoken, wistful one, the one with the honey-voice? The angular, thin, bitter-sounding one, with the often cocky drawl and the leer? The one who’s depicted on an inner sleeve with a black eye? The one who’s clutching a book, or posing with an intense stare and no shirt, or lifting his overcoat above his mouth like a spy or a vampire …

The Go-Betweens duly became the story of deciding who I was. These guys were singing it, finally, and it wasn’t an act, except when it obviously was, and we all know those guys. I count myself among their number, you see.

This isn’t from the best Go-Betweens album. In fact, Tallulah is my least favorite. But I’ve been reading a lot from lonely people, or from people who keep getting lost and want to be found, or people who don’t know what it’s all building up to.

Ah, hey, I was that lonely kid, and I was lost, and I still don’t know what it’s all building up to. “And, most of all, you said, ‘Learn to live again.’” Are you warm, deep down inside?

No secret that Roy Montgomery is one of my favorite guitar players who doesn’t have a ton of my favorite material and I’d gladly relocate to New Zealand if the antipodes came calling. What is a secret (well, not really a “secret” secret but rather a “nobody cares” secret) is before he made Temple 4 and a bunch of other good and great records he was in a couple little bands in his native land, the Wire-esque Pin Group and the absolutely nothing else on Earth-esque Dadamah, who did this song. Two of the members hadn’t been in a band ever before and haven’t since. It sounds like it’s in the basement of a wooden house on a green cliff. It’s gorgeous and silly and perfect in every way. The album flits back and forth between spacey wails and off-cut pop nuggets, and of course, me being me, I prefer the latter. I suppose this isn’t the best pick for those looking to get into the band or the scene as it’s a weft of an anomaly, but I, as per always, couldn’t care less. Enjoy the song.

yes, i just did.

i’ve been eating narcotic painkillers all night long. i went out at the first peek of sunlight and saw the reflection of our solar system on the glass buildings in kansas city. then i found carly simon and sang mocking bird to an elderly pedestrian whose reaction was rather ambiguous.

for the geriatrics: when someone serenades you, you’re supposed to look flattered.

hanged up - losing your charm

zeena parkins - maul: benya krik / zero hour

prurient - kiss, scar aka bell

navicon torture technologies - everything dies

hanged up - sink

a silver mt. zion - 13 angels standing guard ’round the side of your bed

beequeen - whispering confessions

navicon torture technologies - white oleander

Shots upon shots of vodka with lemons and sugar that eventually get given up for straight swigs from the bottle.

Dancing so wild you’re bumping into things and people and pictures fall down.

Stories of the tragic fate of swans that were supposed to beautify the ponds of Vienna but instead met with the hungry mouths of gypsies.

Late night outdoor screenings of Black Cat, White Cat.

This is what happens while you fall for a Roumanian boy.

He may not study tantra, but he didn’t need to.

I really love how nerdy Garçons look at the cover, yet the music is pure dance extravaganza.