Haunted House - "Sierra Trail". I dreamed about a rock-band last night. I don't remember anything about them except that the word "Pip" was in the band's name, in a kind of nautical sense. And that the fish-men lunged forward when they played their guitars. And there were bass on bass and whale-shark on keys and the lead singer was some kind of crayfish, wild-eyed and furious, raging at us through a seaweedy warble, speaking English backwards in a way that trawled our hearts. The band trundled over the same beautiful chords, part 80s chintz and part 00s noise, like an FM radio drowning in an aquarium, like Minneapolis getting eaten by a black hole, like all my longings getting tied to my old tape-decks, my hopes all mashed in the trash compactor. ["Sierra Trail" is from wondrous Lifted Brow 4 book/CD set (previously)/ More of Haunted House at Cardbirdseat / MySpace]

Glass Cake - "Blanket". Cold wind last night. Blew out all the candles. Fixed the creaks in the floor. When I got up in the morning, all the honey had gone hard, like crystal. The milk had disappeared. There were holes in my sweaters. The windows had been polished and the swings had been ripped out of the swing-set. I had a bracelet on each wrist. Upstairs my lover lay sleeping. [MySpace / via Popsheep]

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Some really beautiful moments in Sigur Ros' short visit to the Take-Away Shows (with Vincent Moon returning to the camera). A proud, hermit-crab kind of band, it seems; but a magical one. I like the instant when the camera swings round and captures a woman on the phone - the mundane in all this fairy-music. But elsewhere I do get a little sad at the way Sigur Ros' bombast can these days fit into a coffee-shop.

Any readers in Lafayette, Louisiana?

(photo source)