My Saturday began and ended badly. After blowing a tire on the way to work, I had to lock up my bike in industrial Bushwick and catch the annoying weekend shuttle bus that has temporarily replaced the L Train out in these parts. After work, on arriving back at the pole to which I had attached it, I found that my trusty red cycle had vanished.
The night was poised to end on this low note, but luckily I found a package from Drag City sitting inside the door to my apartment. In it was David Berman’s new book, The Portable February. Filled from beginning to end with illustrations that are scathingly witty, hilariously irreverent and absurdly delightful, The Portable February helped my evening bounce back to a much less gloomy level.
Some of Berman’s comics don’t make sense (at least to me), and that’s fine. Often an elusive punch line or topsy-turvy visual presentation can offer more than a straight up New Yorker-style delivery. Berman’s drawings aren’t what you would call “skilled,” but his simple stickfiguredness succeeds with a minimal directness.
And, in these days of pixels, Twitter, Kindles, etc., it’s almost overwhelmingly wonderful to crack open a book that is nothing but hand-drawn lines from title page and ISBN to back cover and price tag. The only synthetic image on the whole book is the barcode sticker on the back, and it felt so crude and out of place that I immediately peeled it off.
The Portable February is something you should have. It’s slim and (as its title suggests) mobile, and its great to flip through when you’ve just had your bike stolen, and, I imagine, in many similar and dissimilar situations. If you’re a fan of Silver Jews or Berman’s poetry, well, that’s all the more reason you should pick up this little gem.
(Pokey LaFarge at Esmont Rocks, a music fest, cookout and wedding)
The past week has been quite a ride. I rolled down to Charlottesville, attended a surprise wedding that doubled as a sweet music festival, saw Bonnie “Prince” Billy play at Fry Springs Beach Club, scored a lot of sweet vinyl, met some wonderful new people, and hung out with a bunch of great Virginia friends. You can find my review of the BPB show over at Tiny Mix Tapes. Also, while I was gone, the newest issue of Long Island City’s Ins & Outs magazine hit the newsstands. It includes my profile of NYC collage artist Michael Anderson. You can find the article on their website by clicking “contents” then “arts” and scrolling down, but I recommend picking up a copy because Ins & Outs is a beautiful publication.
Charlottesville was a blast, but it’s also good to be settled back in Brooklyn. I’m excited about this summer, as there’s a constant stream of amazing music pouring out of this place. I intent to take as much advantage of that as humanly possible. Stay tuned for the results.
“Dreams Come True,” the first single from Cass McCombs‘ forthcoming album Catacombs, drops tomorrow. Here’s the video for the tune, which features actress/singer/extraordinaire Karen Black. You might recognize Ms. Black from films such as Easy Rider, Nashville, The Great Gatsby or Rob Zombie’s House of 1000 Corpses, among many more.
“Dreams Come True” is a leisurely love song. It floats along on a cloud of supple satisfaction and gradually weaves together Cass and Karen’s voices, culminating with an intertwined chorus. They may have been born 33 years apart, but its a beautiful musical fit.
Thursday night Blues Control killed it at Coco 66 in Brooklyn. The NY duo shifted through clouded rhythms and eroding textures, peeling away one sonic layer after another, only to reveal more beautiful ones underneath. I first saw Lea Cho and Russ Waterhouse when they opened for Animal Collective back in January, but their magic didn’t spread through all of young Animalheads. This time, though, in the cosy confines of Coco 66’s backroom stage, there was no escaping it. People have drawn comparisons to luminaries like Royal Trux and Terry Riley, and I can’t see anything wrong with that. But they’re very much their own sonic monster, too, floating through a thick aquatic world of good vibrations.
My review of Losing Sleep, the iTunes-topping, major label debut from Charlottesville’s Parachute, is in the current issue of C-VILLE Weekly. Back when they were known as Sparky’s Flaw, I hit the road with the band for an East Coast jaunt and wrote a cover story about it. As if cursed by the album’s title, I indeed lost a lot of sleep putting together this piece, a fact that made its way into the review. Hope you enjoy.
[Photo taken by me at NYC's Knitting Factory for C-VILLE]
I haven’t had a chance yet to get my hands on After Hours, but D. Charles Speer is really hitting a sweet spot right in a world where David Berman has hung up Silver Jews and Wilco is jamming further and further from alt-country-ish territory. Speer is more tilted in the cosmic direction of Royal Trux and Neil Hagerty, though. I’m over a year late in some respects, but I’m going to pick up this album ASAP. Thanks to Clint for first turning me towards this. You can listen to songs at the first link above or on the Myspace page.
A few weeks ago I saw Jandek perform at NYU. I didn’t get a chance to write it up, but here are couple of the photos that I snapped of the Representative from Corwood Industries and his ensemble, which included dancer Biba Belle. I saw my first Jandek show back in 2007 and wrote about it for The Declaration. Read More »
My Saturday began and ended badly. After blowing a tire on the way to work, I had to lock up my bike in industrial Bushwick and catch the annoying weekend shuttle bus that has temporarily replaced the L Train out in these parts. After work, on arriving back at the pole to which I had attached it, I found that my trusty red cycle had vanished.
And, in these days of pixels, Twitter, Kindles, etc., it’s almost overwhelmingly wonderful to crack open a book that is nothing but hand-drawn lines from title page and ISBN to back cover and price tag. The only synthetic image on the whole book is the barcode sticker on the back, and it felt so crude and out of place that I immediately peeled it off.
