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Strange reunion

8 May

Strange reunion

Another interview landed in my lap Friday afternoon; did I want to talk with Band X before their secret show on Saturday? Well, yes. Of course. Always.

So I did. Halfway through the interview, a longshoreman walked in and explained the subtle difference between stevedores and longshoremen. (Stevedore is a company name, FYI.) “My mother told me I look like a longshoreman,” I said.

“Your mother needs to have her vision checked,” the guitarist said. Zing!

The longshoreman gave me and the band little union lapel pins. Worker solidarity for all. At the end of the interview, one of the guys asked if I worked for Magazine X full-time. No, I said. Beauty editor by day, music writer by night.

“Oh, my girlfriend’s a beauty editor,” the bassist said. I asked for her name. He gave it to me. Turns out we know each other, and we’re traveling together next week. The smallness of the world never ceases to amaze.

Pontification under duress

4 May


What was that I was saying about being incompetent with web stuff? Yeah.

Since buying the USB keyboard, my dreams of becoming a famous recording artist have not exactly come to fruition. I dream of releasing brilliant songs that move people to emotion; instead, I compile trainwreck-beat Keyboard Cat remixes and awkward interpretations of Undertones songs. (Did you know that “Teenage Kicks” was John Peel’s favorite song? It’s true.)

One of the songs I’ve been wanting to cover is the above, which is one of the most triumphantly snarling I’ve ever heard. It starts out sounding like a bouncy smile, but then the lyrics bare the fangs that hide behind the beat. The plan was to finish it by May 4, but that isn’t happening. Maybe next year.

Black hair, black eyes

14 May

Ooh boy, Examination of The… is coming to the Fireside Bowl. For some reason, I’ve been heading back to hardcore during the past week or two. Maybe Owlie and I will traipse to a show during the next month.

It’s sometimes difficult to connect with people who are completely unaware of punk or hardcore culture. Even though I’m not immersed in it anymore, the music and that time still means a lot to me. I recently met some people from San Diego, and so I babbled BLAH BLAH CRIMSON CURSE DOO DOO DOO SWING KIDS ROMULANS, only to receive blank stares in return. Then I felt like an arse.

So you know, I tried to explain what the subculture was, but it was so difficult. I talked about fests, and one person thought I meant something like Coachella. I didn’t know how to describe the feeling of being eighteen and having the world constrict to a church basement with some kids watching other kids screaming their lungs and life out. Maybe that’s just it: who can explain the way your heart threatened to burst at eighteen, doing anything, anywhere?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time for some light German dance-pop.