Watch as I attempt to do something once a week, an endeavour doomed to failure.
Blog: http://lovelylisting.com/
A picture blog, which features some rather bizarre real estate listings. From the grimy to the gaudy to the plain weird (a lot of this last category), Sara Lorimer mines a mind-bogglingly rich vein. What really makes it worth subscribing to is the writing, which always raises a smile.
Music: http://www.myspace.com/stvincent
Brooklyn multi-instrumentalist Annie Clark (or 'St. Vincent') writes good tunes and performs them well. There is no higher praise from me. She's also appearing as a guest on the upcoming New Pornographers album 'Together' so she must be cool.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Links of the week
Webcomic: Hark! A Vagrant (www.harkavagrant.com). Effortlessly charming, Kate Beaton affectionately satirizes British, Canadian and, er, miscellaneous historical characters and events. The only qualm is that it is so irregularly updated.
Blog: Zeitgasm (www.zeitgasm.com), by British games journalist Graham Smith, one of many proofs that when it comes to original, intelligent journalism, it's always best to look to the mother country.
Music: Sky Larkin (http://www.myspace.com/skylarkinskylarkin), a Leeds-based band, who basically just make good tunes and play them with energy, which is a pretty obviously good plan, but one that few artists go for.
Writer: Samuel Johnson, who is worth investigating very thoroughly. His essays can be difficult to read, but contain many gems, while his conversation (recorded in Boswell's Life of Johnson) is glorious. His sole novel, Rasselas, is a marvelous distillation of his philosophy (which I find very sensible), as is his poem, The Vanity of Human Wishes, a powerful work which deserves a close reading. All in all, he is quite probably history's greatest literary all-rounder. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_Johnson)
Blog: Zeitgasm (www.zeitgasm.com), by British games journalist Graham Smith, one of many proofs that when it comes to original, intelligent journalism, it's always best to look to the mother country.
Music: Sky Larkin (http://www.myspace.com/skylarkinskylarkin), a Leeds-based band, who basically just make good tunes and play them with energy, which is a pretty obviously good plan, but one that few artists go for.
Writer: Samuel Johnson, who is worth investigating very thoroughly. His essays can be difficult to read, but contain many gems, while his conversation (recorded in Boswell's Life of Johnson) is glorious. His sole novel, Rasselas, is a marvelous distillation of his philosophy (which I find very sensible), as is his poem, The Vanity of Human Wishes, a powerful work which deserves a close reading. All in all, he is quite probably history's greatest literary all-rounder. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_Johnson)
Review of the Decemberists at the Billboard, January 25th
A sizable crowd showed up on the night of the 25th to see the Decemberists play the second of two shows at the Billboard on their first ever Australian tour. I doubt if anyone there could deny that it was worth the wait.
The support act, Sydney’s ‘Bridezilla’ were more than serviceable, struggling as they did with the crap sound customarily reserved for warm-ups (sibilant microphones, no low frequencies). Their violinist, Daisy Tulley, stole the show from an insipid frontwoman, leaping about the stage and cutting through the noise with bow-work that lay somewhere between the Arcade Fire’s Sarah Neufeld and The Velvet Underground’s John Cale.
However, Bridezilla were swiftly forgotten when the main act came out (after a worrying delay for what appeared to be guitar maintenance), launching straight into ‘The Crane Wife #3,’ the consumate slow-burning, starting from guitar alone, adding a thrilling bass-line, drums and all the rest of it, before reaching a crescendo of feedback, which led into ‘The Island.’ This was about the most proggish song they played, with its multiple parts, virtuosic organ solo and impressive changes of instrument mid-song.
The band then reined itself in, with lead singer Colin Meloy opening up a bit, cracking wise about Adelaide and Puffing Billy, before playing one of their earlier songs, ‘July July.’ I have never been especially fond of that song, verging as it does on atonal Smiths territory, however it sounded fantastic live. There is something about their peculiar organ-driven sound that is simply thrilling in the flesh, especially in so intimate a venue as the Billboard.
After this, we were treated to a hilarious raconte from Meloy, who both looks and amuses like a Northwestern Garrison Keilor. This tale was framed as an explanation for the next song, ‘The Apology Song,’ which was (apparently) originally sung over an answering machine to a friend to apologize for the loss of a bicycle. Following this, they powered through ‘The Rake’s Song,’ ‘The Engine Driver,’ and ‘The Bachelor and the Bride,’ each performed joyously and breathlessly, each wryly introduced by Meloy (the last one with a rather Crowded House-esque performance of a Doobie Brothers Song!). They launched next into my personal favourite, ‘O, Valencia!’ which I regard as a perfect example of how to make a 3 minute pop song, pumped full of hooks, riffs, tunefulness and most importantly life – I was especially impressed here by the work of Jenny Conlee, who switched from instrument to instrument, and even played Organ and Glockenspiel simultaneously.
Having built up the audience’s goodwill thusly, Mr. Meloy started to get a little more adventurous towards the end of the next song, ‘Sixteen Military Wives,’ which ends in a rousing chorus of la-di-das. Firstly doing the conventional line-trading routine, singing a line then pointing the mike to the crowd, who sing the next, he then announced he would try something a little different. While the band vamped, he got the crowd to divide in two down the middle. First he got the people on either side of the line to shake hands. Then to “sort of snarl at each other.” Then he got both sides to compete, trading la-di-das with each other, while shaking their fists at each other. The noise got to be downright deafening, as we lost our inhibitions and bawled our lungs out trying to ‘win’ the contest.
‘Chimbley Sweep,’ which followed this madness, is known to be the number on which the band go a bit mad, with members of the band having engaged in lightsaber duels on stage in the past (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=51fCwGAue5Q ). No such luck this time, however Meloy and lead guitarist Chris Funk did engage in another kind of duel, with a richly ironic guitar battle unfolding, in which both sides competed to go one crapper than the other, playing dubious ‘scales’ while posturing like the rock gods of old and sending the crowd into fits of laughter. Then, to round off the ‘battle,’ they actually crowd-surfed.
The band then walked off stage, which led to calls for an encore that were intensely loud. So loud, in fact, that it distorted in my ears! Dutifully, they returned, to play ‘Eli the Barrow Boy,’ with the crowd falling absolutely silent for this quiet number, on which the awesomely named Mr. Funk showed off his skills on the hurdy-gurdy. Then they played their only cover, ‘Bye Bye Pride’ by the Go-Betweens off their album Tallulah. Evidently they expected the G-Bs to be rather more well-known in their native land than they are, as there was a vague feeling that the crowd was a little perplexed.
The final song was an absolute epic. Meloy instructed the crowd to scream and groan as if being eaten by a whale, whenever Chris Funk gave a signal, by way of introducing the 9 minute long sea-faring tale, ‘The Mariner’s Revenge Song.’ This was the Decemberists at their most folky, with its story of a rakish whaler, an orphaned privateer’s revenge, and the ‘providence’ of a whale, all backed by a accordion-led, punked-up two step, complete with waltzy interlude (for which we were led to sway seamanlike from side to side). Then, at the climax, Funk gave the signal, and the entire crowd moaned, groaned, screamed and wailed as we the ill-fated sailors were variously eaten or drownded. Colin got everyone to lie down, an order readily complied with as by this stage we were eating out of his hand. The band lay down too, as if dead. Then, upon his majesty’s orders, we leaped up and shouted and the band rose from their slumber to close this incredible ballad, first with the denouement of the plot, then with a final speeding up series of choruses, Jewish-style.
It was the perfect way to round off a nigh-on perfect set, easily the best gig I’ve ever been to. If I’ve overused the word ‘thrilling’ it’s because it’s simply the best word to describe the effect – I was thrilled to the soul, and left the venue with my ears ringing, my insides churning, and my heart uplifted.
(NOTE: I may have got the details of the band’s antics in the final song slightly mixed up, as there were rather a lot of them. The setlist can be found here: http://www.setlist.fm/setlist/the-decemberists/2010/billboard-the-venue-melbourne-australia-43d76fff.html . There are a few quite decent clips on youtube from this and the first show to peruse if you like.)
The support act, Sydney’s ‘Bridezilla’ were more than serviceable, struggling as they did with the crap sound customarily reserved for warm-ups (sibilant microphones, no low frequencies). Their violinist, Daisy Tulley, stole the show from an insipid frontwoman, leaping about the stage and cutting through the noise with bow-work that lay somewhere between the Arcade Fire’s Sarah Neufeld and The Velvet Underground’s John Cale.
However, Bridezilla were swiftly forgotten when the main act came out (after a worrying delay for what appeared to be guitar maintenance), launching straight into ‘The Crane Wife #3,’ the consumate slow-burning, starting from guitar alone, adding a thrilling bass-line, drums and all the rest of it, before reaching a crescendo of feedback, which led into ‘The Island.’ This was about the most proggish song they played, with its multiple parts, virtuosic organ solo and impressive changes of instrument mid-song.
The band then reined itself in, with lead singer Colin Meloy opening up a bit, cracking wise about Adelaide and Puffing Billy, before playing one of their earlier songs, ‘July July.’ I have never been especially fond of that song, verging as it does on atonal Smiths territory, however it sounded fantastic live. There is something about their peculiar organ-driven sound that is simply thrilling in the flesh, especially in so intimate a venue as the Billboard.
After this, we were treated to a hilarious raconte from Meloy, who both looks and amuses like a Northwestern Garrison Keilor. This tale was framed as an explanation for the next song, ‘The Apology Song,’ which was (apparently) originally sung over an answering machine to a friend to apologize for the loss of a bicycle. Following this, they powered through ‘The Rake’s Song,’ ‘The Engine Driver,’ and ‘The Bachelor and the Bride,’ each performed joyously and breathlessly, each wryly introduced by Meloy (the last one with a rather Crowded House-esque performance of a Doobie Brothers Song!). They launched next into my personal favourite, ‘O, Valencia!’ which I regard as a perfect example of how to make a 3 minute pop song, pumped full of hooks, riffs, tunefulness and most importantly life – I was especially impressed here by the work of Jenny Conlee, who switched from instrument to instrument, and even played Organ and Glockenspiel simultaneously.
Having built up the audience’s goodwill thusly, Mr. Meloy started to get a little more adventurous towards the end of the next song, ‘Sixteen Military Wives,’ which ends in a rousing chorus of la-di-das. Firstly doing the conventional line-trading routine, singing a line then pointing the mike to the crowd, who sing the next, he then announced he would try something a little different. While the band vamped, he got the crowd to divide in two down the middle. First he got the people on either side of the line to shake hands. Then to “sort of snarl at each other.” Then he got both sides to compete, trading la-di-das with each other, while shaking their fists at each other. The noise got to be downright deafening, as we lost our inhibitions and bawled our lungs out trying to ‘win’ the contest.
‘Chimbley Sweep,’ which followed this madness, is known to be the number on which the band go a bit mad, with members of the band having engaged in lightsaber duels on stage in the past (http://www.youtube.com/wat
The band then walked off stage, which led to calls for an encore that were intensely loud. So loud, in fact, that it distorted in my ears! Dutifully, they returned, to play ‘Eli the Barrow Boy,’ with the crowd falling absolutely silent for this quiet number, on which the awesomely named Mr. Funk showed off his skills on the hurdy-gurdy. Then they played their only cover, ‘Bye Bye Pride’ by the Go-Betweens off their album Tallulah. Evidently they expected the G-Bs to be rather more well-known in their native land than they are, as there was a vague feeling that the crowd was a little perplexed.
The final song was an absolute epic. Meloy instructed the crowd to scream and groan as if being eaten by a whale, whenever Chris Funk gave a signal, by way of introducing the 9 minute long sea-faring tale, ‘The Mariner’s Revenge Song.’ This was the Decemberists at their most folky, with its story of a rakish whaler, an orphaned privateer’s revenge, and the ‘providence’ of a whale, all backed by a accordion-led, punked-up two step, complete with waltzy interlude (for which we were led to sway seamanlike from side to side). Then, at the climax, Funk gave the signal, and the entire crowd moaned, groaned, screamed and wailed as we the ill-fated sailors were variously eaten or drownded. Colin got everyone to lie down, an order readily complied with as by this stage we were eating out of his hand. The band lay down too, as if dead. Then, upon his majesty’s orders, we leaped up and shouted and the band rose from their slumber to close this incredible ballad, first with the denouement of the plot, then with a final speeding up series of choruses, Jewish-style.
It was the perfect way to round off a nigh-on perfect set, easily the best gig I’ve ever been to. If I’ve overused the word ‘thrilling’ it’s because it’s simply the best word to describe the effect – I was thrilled to the soul, and left the venue with my ears ringing, my insides churning, and my heart uplifted.
(NOTE: I may have got the details of the band’s antics in the final song slightly mixed up, as there were rather a lot of them. The setlist can be found here: http://www.setlist.fm/setl
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Zut! Competition!
It appears I face a challenger in my quest to become the most notable Cardwellite on Blogspot - my nefarious brother, Joel. To this affront, I declare this: he is a big stupid-head with a silly beard! Sir, this is war!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Things I recommend
Ry Cooder: Paradise and Lunch (1974)
Ry Cooder was one of a number of artists in the 70s who present a major challenge to anyone who would attempt to slot different music into neat, self-contained genres. Like Randy Newman and the McGarrigle Sisters, Cooder exploited the often murky demarcation lines that separate American popular music, mixing and matching country, jazz, blues, western and gospel to create a sort of ultimate, idealized America, that manages to be both iconic and original. Highlights include a sublime cameo by jazz pianist Earl Hines on the otherwise bluesy Ditty Wah Ditty, and an inspired interpretation of the 60s R&B hit, It's All Over Now.
Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis (1992)Don't listen to any fanatical Sierra supporters - Lucasarts was the best, indeed arguably the only good developer of graphical adventure games in the early 90s. Fate of Atlantis was one of its very best, offering a story well worthy of the Indy series, with Nazi scientists, mysticism, camel chases, fistfights, balloon rides and an explosive finale. However, it is far more than an interactive movie - the gameplay does not disappoint, with puzzles that are never unsatisfying and always fit the logic of the Indy universe. The game's greatest gameplay triumph is its innovative three-path structure. At a critical point in the plot, Indy has to choose whether to follow the Fists, the Wits or the Team path, with each choice leading to a completely different series events. This not only creates an incentive to replay the game, but is an interesting way of looking at how we can solve the same basic problem in vastly different ways. Fate of Atlantis is probably the best introduction to the glories of classic Lucasarts, as familiar characters and the absence of surrealism make it a more welcoming experience than the bizarre worlds of Sam and Max or even Monkey Island.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Token First Post
I started this blog almost a week ago. I have yet to post. Why is this? Is it that I am a 6th rate thinker at best, sails tattered, crew scurvy-ridden? Is it that I am an irrepressible procrastinator? Is it simply that my heart is not really in it? To all three, the short answer is yes. The long answer is yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssss.
However, I realized that part of the reason for my inability to fill this space is simply the pressure of being first. I felt that the first post of a new blog ought not only to be especially good, but also that it should be somehow indicative of everything that would follow it. It would define the tone as well as the content.
With this high-minded artistic ideal, I set out like a man who has just embarked on his honeymoon with his beautiful, young bride. Yet, like so many before me, I was undone when my darling wife turned out to be an axe-wielding transvestite with a taste for human flesh. That is to say, I was disappointed, the pressure to create the perfect first post leading not only to an unfulfilled sex life, but also considerable danger to my person. Like an over-extended simile, it tried my patience.
In the end, I decided that my first post would be neither enlightening, entertaining, nor epoch-defining. "Perhaps," thought I, "if I can just bang out some rubbish, throw in some dubious assonance and maybe a little smarmy deconstruction, then I can bypass the first post altogether." And so here we are. Hopefully now that I have this out of the way I'll be able to think of something actually worth saying for the next time. Until then, keep your stick on the ice.
However, I realized that part of the reason for my inability to fill this space is simply the pressure of being first. I felt that the first post of a new blog ought not only to be especially good, but also that it should be somehow indicative of everything that would follow it. It would define the tone as well as the content.
With this high-minded artistic ideal, I set out like a man who has just embarked on his honeymoon with his beautiful, young bride. Yet, like so many before me, I was undone when my darling wife turned out to be an axe-wielding transvestite with a taste for human flesh. That is to say, I was disappointed, the pressure to create the perfect first post leading not only to an unfulfilled sex life, but also considerable danger to my person. Like an over-extended simile, it tried my patience.
In the end, I decided that my first post would be neither enlightening, entertaining, nor epoch-defining. "Perhaps," thought I, "if I can just bang out some rubbish, throw in some dubious assonance and maybe a little smarmy deconstruction, then I can bypass the first post altogether." And so here we are. Hopefully now that I have this out of the way I'll be able to think of something actually worth saying for the next time. Until then, keep your stick on the ice.
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