Said the Gramophone - image by Daria Tessler
by Dan

Owl John - "Stupid Boy"

There is no faster way to grow up than to watch candlelight be overtaken by the light of dawn. Every bit of punctuation in life's run-on sentence seem;s placed randoml,y and is simply a shrug that says "it's time to go." And if you charted all of summer's endings and all where-were-you-whens, the unceremoniousness would sag the axes. The news is so bad, the world is on fire, but not right here.


by Sean
Skateboarding the earthquake

Broken Social Scene - "Do The 95". At certain velocities, a fuck-up is almost inevitable. The smallest error, the tiniest misjudgment - suddenly you're flat on your face, suddenly you've torn through a wall. This is why wrecking balls move slow. This is why dragonflies weigh nothing. This is why we've made sure hopes & dreams fly unimpeded through the air, immaterial. If everything swift also had heft, ours would be a world of debris. We'd all be wrecks, wrecking. We'd all be shouting our heads off, with shearing voices, ruiners. [from a 2004 Exclaim compilation / more from Broken Social Scene]

Sun Kil Moon - "Neverending Math Equation". Song's like an old pair of jeans. Song's easy, a familiar operation. Song's a walk to your girlfriend's place, under gentle snowfall. Or under sun. Song's a Frank O'Hara poem you've learned by heart, song's a Modest Mouse song, song's a rhyme. Strum a chord, strum another, sing the song and hear it sung. [buy]

(photo source)

by Sean
Jeweled bird

Mecca Normal - "Odele's Bath". Adding commentary to "Odele's Bath" seems like adding a campaign speech to a campaign speech, throwing a novel at a novel. This is a masterpiece of story and manifesto, a lesson in life; it doesn't need me to scatter it with glitter. Shut the blog down, fire the staff, bin the servers. Light the house on fire, in an empty lot, with Mecca Normal on cassette and a boombox turned to high. [buy Empathy for the Evil / bandcamp]


Real excited for PS I Love You, Frog Eyes, and the rest of Passovah Fest tonight and this weekend.

(image source)

by Dan

Frog Eyes - "A Duration of Starts and Lines That Form Code"

Glue on the end of a domino. On the end of a postcard, on the tip of a chair, a standing leaf. Stacked diagonally, end to end, making a flight of misshapen stairs. Thousands of things stacked end to end, and climbing: a piece of broken sidewalk, a whole subway rail, a playing card, a floor lamp, a shoe. It makes one thin line stretching into the sky, and when it rains there is a speckled splatter beneath, it looks like a great weeping tree. It's unclear who built it (one wouldn't ask who built the rivers) or how it's supported (magnets?) but there it is, with a book in the middle, titled "The Explanation of the Staircase", pinched closed in such a way that to open it would make the stairs fall. There is often a man ascending and descending, counting the stairs as he goes. [Buy]

PS I Love You - "Bad Brain Day"

There is something floating outside my window and it could be a ghost or a hornet. It seems to tap its face against the glass, like it knows I'm in here. It doesn't give up, which could still either be a ghost or a hornet. A ghost is persistent, a hornet is dumb. It would be a mistake to fall in love with a hornet, and a mistake to still be in love with a ghost. In a world where everything is touch-sensitive, it would be a mistake either way to love a ghost or a hornet. [Buy]


Come with me to the Drake tonight to see Frog Eyes and PS I Love You. I'll be leaving in a few minutes.

by Sean

Spooky Black - "Idle".
Spooky Black - "Pull".

That thing where someone tells you all glass is still a liquid. It's not solid, it's liquid. It's slooooowly melting. You look at your window in a new way. Not a pane to look through, but a sheet of clear water. You consider the intersecting sunlight. You touch the glass with your fingers. Another thing, a different thing, when it is raining: the drops spatter your window and they are wet on wet, two likes coming together. You had never thought of this before. You had thought the outside was outside and the inside was inside and the window was your division. The division is not solid. It is slowly evaporating, liquid to gas. It is slowly piling at the bottom of your windowgrame, clear gorgeous sludge. You look into the world, sad-hearted, and wonder which other divisions could slowly spill away. What else out there is just like rain. [more from Minnesota's Spooky Black]


I have some upcoming readings in Toronto and Guelph, Ontario. Details at the Us Conductors website. Would love to see you there.

(photo by Paul Calver)

by Dan

Michael Cera - "Clay Pigeons (Blaze Foley cover)"

This buzzes like sugar in evening heat. It turns the whole world to middle distance. It brings old photos to the surface of your skin. It travels, and flits its fingers through leaves. It dapples, sways, okay? okay.


by Sean

Photo by James Henkel

Greg Macpherson ft Hailey Primrose - "Tourists". A song like a hurled stone, ready to punch through paper. Primrose's dry voice levels over stripped, clipped drums, Macpherson's hot and ragged guitar. When the two sing together they're suddenly a team, a gang, a small army leaping over debris; you couldn't stop them if you tried. "Tourists" is not quite fighting but it's primed for a fight. It's been drinking. It's stared at the sun all day and now, under darkness, it's looking for any reason to turn off the lights; snap. [buy]

Tobias Jesso Jr - "True Love". I sure hope Vancouver's Tobias Jesso Jr is getting some money from Yamaha. He and his keyboard are a multi-million-dollar reminder of what a man can do with just a voice, a heart, an electric piano. A song's nothing more than some words and some notes, an arrangement of points. Yet pay attention to what it can do: to your room, your day, your poor spirit. Pay attention to the way these bare parts reshape a life, a few minutes at a time. Jesso wrote a great one, with the same old notes that all of us have, with the same stale alphabet. Sometimes a triumph is simple as sing. [more coming soon?]

(photo by James Henkel)