Andrew Bird - "Fiery Crash"

I have a fear of flying, that's a true thing about myself. I share this with some people I admire (Lars Von Trier, Aretha Franklin, Immanuel Kant (had planes existed, I guarantee it)) and, I'm sure, some people I don't. I won't guess as to whether Andrew Bird has that same fear, but his lazy vocals lifted to a call, and his urgent opening guitar and angular rhythm make me believe the song has that fear. That kind of shrugging, I'll do what I have to, it's only a 3-hour flight, kind of acceptance of reality that is at once the only mature thing, and the most passive-aggressive surrender. This song, with all its regularity and nerves pressed down like holding a patch of bedhead, and unbelievable superstition is what it feels like for me to get on a plane. [Buy old stuff]

Agent Simple - "Friday"

In taking a couple of ethics courses at school, I came across a certain trend called "simplified living" or something like that, that some of the students had described as their choice of lifestyle. Basically it seems to consist of the removal of all kinds of intense media from one's life. They don't listen to the radio, they don't own a television, or any books (libraries only), one pair of shoes, not more than one kind of dish and utensil, very few clothes, this kind of thing. Some of you readers may be more familiar and can fill in my gaps. But it's just occurring to me now that Agent Simple is some hulking, warped version of that same ideal. However, he seems to love intense media, and is exhausted by the constant barrage of having to talk to people. It would be tragic, if he weren't so damn contented about the whole thing, and he didn't write such chewy, glistening pop songs from his couch of isolation. [Buy]