what to write about this weekend:
"a perfect day elise"
working for the cure (& "pictures of you")
note about bell hollow
& my encounter with a soul singer.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
"it's just a shot away"
year: 2007
song: gimme shelter
artist: rolling stones
it's our fifth date, perhaps sixth. still at the point when the smiles are shy and the pauses in conversation infrequent, yet heavy. he was waiting for me outside of the restaurant, perfectly gallant in the black suit i'd come to realize was his wardrobe, opening the door of the cab as i stepped out. he curls into the curve of my neck every chance he gets. there is no pretense or shrewd deceit. it is his complete honesty that disarms me. now, he's dragged me to a hellhole in chinatown, where the regulars pat him on the back and pump his pale hand with a hearty shake. he knows that indulging my guiltiest pleasure by ploying me with karaoke will build an embarrassed intimacy more quickly than any hasty coupling. he urges me to sing from a god awful list of 80s anthems, but all i can do is cower at the bar next to a smilling, toothless man who keeps buying my dark escort drinks. my lover-to-be grabs the microphone with complete confidence. he peers towards the back of the bar, never taking his eyes from me for a single second. though his words are cautious, his entire being is bold when he comes back, a sly smirk on his face, and kisses me with a voracity that leaves me more curious than weak.
song: gimme shelter
artist: rolling stones
it's our fifth date, perhaps sixth. still at the point when the smiles are shy and the pauses in conversation infrequent, yet heavy. he was waiting for me outside of the restaurant, perfectly gallant in the black suit i'd come to realize was his wardrobe, opening the door of the cab as i stepped out. he curls into the curve of my neck every chance he gets. there is no pretense or shrewd deceit. it is his complete honesty that disarms me. now, he's dragged me to a hellhole in chinatown, where the regulars pat him on the back and pump his pale hand with a hearty shake. he knows that indulging my guiltiest pleasure by ploying me with karaoke will build an embarrassed intimacy more quickly than any hasty coupling. he urges me to sing from a god awful list of 80s anthems, but all i can do is cower at the bar next to a smilling, toothless man who keeps buying my dark escort drinks. my lover-to-be grabs the microphone with complete confidence. he peers towards the back of the bar, never taking his eyes from me for a single second. though his words are cautious, his entire being is bold when he comes back, a sly smirk on his face, and kisses me with a voracity that leaves me more curious than weak.
"she looks just like an angel when she walks across the room..."
year: 2000
song: love songs on the radio
artist: mojave 3
i'm stretched before him, tight as a drum. he's my first love, and i've watched him shed both his gangly, heavy-lidded caution and the curls that once wrapped around my slim fingers with a sastifactory snap. now, he's grown into a graceful man who can command with the gentlest whisper. he looks at me as though i may break at any moment, though i've laid, unstill, on his bed for almost 4 years.
the cold white tile is welcome beneath my feet as i move to get a clove cigarette. love damp on our skin, we smoke, together, for the first time in the bedroom at his mother's house. tangled in each other's refulgent youth, we cross lines with each other without so much as a shrug.
song: love songs on the radio
artist: mojave 3
i'm stretched before him, tight as a drum. he's my first love, and i've watched him shed both his gangly, heavy-lidded caution and the curls that once wrapped around my slim fingers with a sastifactory snap. now, he's grown into a graceful man who can command with the gentlest whisper. he looks at me as though i may break at any moment, though i've laid, unstill, on his bed for almost 4 years.
the cold white tile is welcome beneath my feet as i move to get a clove cigarette. love damp on our skin, we smoke, together, for the first time in the bedroom at his mother's house. tangled in each other's refulgent youth, we cross lines with each other without so much as a shrug.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
"the rising sun will chase away..."
it's easy to fall in love with a band when they combine the best elements of all the music i love. pj harvey's sullen growl, curve's slinky whispers, the droning layers of my bloody valentine, the electronic shivers of depeche mode...
cruel black dove's sinuous odes to love and longing are lusciously thick, yet beautifully sinister. and their live shows? positively hypnotic. frontwoman anastasia dimou's delicate porcelain doll looks belie the sonorous voice that comes from her pursed lips and she has the sheer vocal power and diversity to embody both the sultry songstress and wide-eyed banshee. her delivery on the thumping crescendo of "war son" is reason enough to become a cruel black devotee. producer/guitarist alan veucasovic may be stoic onstage, but his incredible talent speaks in volumes. his carefully crafted production has subtlety and ferocity that gets better with each listen (especially on "the offer"). style is delivered by the inimitable shirley ho, whose bone-shaking bass lines and brooding stage presence give the band's live shows an element of dark sensuality. and drummer jonathan nanberg drives each song with rhythmic command that leaves you tingling. quite simply, the boy plays HARD.
forget all the sneering bravado you'd expect from a brooklyn band on the rise- cruel black dove simply delivers. they seem voracious in their unerring desire to chill audiences to the very core. i've been lucky enough to watch them grow more and more polished over the past year and a half, and it's time you started loving them, too.
go to their website. lurk on their myspace page. and BUY. iz good. jes.
overture
i created this to dedicate a concerted effort to writing about my relationship with music. in my lofty pursuits, i hope to create an ongoing collection of posts that reflect both the visceral sense memories from my past that link with songs and the artists i currently obsess over. enjoy.
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