"What Did You Do in 1974?"
Albums/singles that Brian Eno recorded, treated, contributed to or produced in 1974.
Coming soon. (next week sometime, i think)
ohhh myyy goooodddddddd
nosy - ParanoiaScape (Jorudan/Mathilda - PSX - 1998)
I still wonder what the hell a game like this would play like.
Episode Two, Part Nine.
Today, Nick talks about girls, and Marie couldn’t give a shit.
Man, we really could rip it!
Every now and then I like to remember what this was like…
“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”
I would so wish to agree.
Funny thing is that out of context it may as well be some forgotten boy band’s video.
If you’ve been looking forward to the utterly banal and underwhelming payoff to the shaggy dog running gag of captions for Moffat stories being of the form “in this scene Clara is cleverly disguised as a…,” I’m pleased to say that tomorrow is your lucky day.
Episode Two, Part Eight.
Hello, Marie! Hey look more new characters!
Four trends in album art design, 2014
And here I just thought it was a reminder that 2014 has been a pretty tight year for music.
Lorde - A World Alone
You’re my best friend, and we’re dancing in a world alone.
“A World Alone” is the last song on the standard edition of Pure Heroine, and it’s perfectly placed – for that reason alone, to respect the intent behind beginning an album with don’t you think that it’s boring how people talk and ending it with let ‘em talk, we’ll talk about this song last. We’re saying goodbye to Pure Heroine today.
I’ve talked a lot about respecting this album, about respecting the mindset where it comes from, and that’s still important. “A World Alone” is the culmination of everything that makes this album interesting, and messy, and a little bit ridiculous. Pure Heroine sits uneasily in the space between experiencing something with your whole heart and knowing that what you feel won’t last forever. You’re in love with your friends but you’re all going to difference places after you graduate. You’re a mess and you’re either giddily happy or howlingly lonely and every time you take a breath it feels like too much, but. But. There’s a tiny machine in the back of your mind, piercing through all the adrenaline, that’s already filing all of these feelings away – a mental photo album you might look at again in five years, ten years, twenty. Laughing Under a Street Lamp in the Middle of the Night, dated “the summer of the year I turned 17.”
“A World Alone” exists as the culmination of an album’s worth of tensions: being vs remembering, fake friends vs. real friends, what becomes too much vs. that which isn’t enough; teenagerhood vs. Teenagerhood. “A World Alone” is a small song. It’s intimate. It’s Lorde and one person, one “you”. People are talking but they don’t matter. People are talking but something about locking eyes with this one person send you somewhere else. The song starts, fittingly enough, with a sunset, and with my favorite line on this album: I feel grown up with you in your car. I know it’s dumb. We’ve all felt that way before - the assumed maturity, the way it pushes your lips into a shyly sly smile, the way your shoulders drop, purposefully languid. There’s the strange confidence that swallows you whole, and then the stinging in the back of your head. I know it’s dumb. This could so easily be an entirely different line: I feel grown up with you in your car, but I know it’s dumb. Instead, they’re offered up as concurrent realities. The warmth in your chest and the vaguely embarrassed giggle in the back of your head coexist, a syncopated joy, like a midnight Morse-code. This song is full of pointed not-contradictions. We’re biting our nails, you’re biting my lip. A pause. I’m biting my tongue, she says, a three-tiered physical counterpoint. We, you, I. That’s what matters. Another not-contradiction: They’re studying business, I study the floor, and you haven’t stopped smoking all night. They. I. You. Constellations of people become constellations of emotion, and sometimes you ache as its happening, you can feel the people you love getting mapped onto inevitable frameworks as you all change.
I haven’t said the world “millennial” yet this week. I’ve been saving it for this song, just for a moment – I think there’s no doubt that Lorde is an internet-savvy, self-aware teen, and there’s also no doubt that she’s at least encountered the countless think pieces decrying millennials as selfish, and self-absorbed, and obsessed with the Internet. Maybe the Internet raised us, or maybe people are jerks, she says, and even though Lorde delivers anything with a deadpan uncharacteristic of a pop musician, there’s an audible shrug behind the last half of that sentence. Maybe people are jerks. Maybe you’re a jerk. She doesn’t care anymore. The album’s great opening statement, don’t you think that it’s boring how people talk?, ricochets through nearly a dozen songs and comes to rest here. Where the opening line is a question, uncertain not of itself but uncertain of you, “A World Alone” knows you feel the same way. Of course you think that it’s boring how people talk. Where “Tennis Court” begins with a declaration of roles (baby be the class clown, I’ll be the beauty queen in tears), “A World Alone” lives in a quieter dichotomy. You’re my best friend, and we’re dancing in a world alone.
There’s a feeling that people call that having butterflies in your stomach, which has always seemed silly to me. That feeling is definitely called you’re sitting in your room trying not to want something, and your phone is lying on your chest, and it vibrates, and your whole ribcage shakes not just with an incoming text message but with the force of your want, with the way you hope it’s the person you’ve been waiting for but you know, probably, that it’s not.
This album lives in the space between those vibrations, not the first second where you just feel like your teeth are shaking out of your skull, but right after, where the feeling isn’t dulled but where you can step back and say – wait. Wait. Does wanting this so badly make me silly or young or both? Will the way I have goosebumps because I’m hoping so hard fade some day? Is this going to be a picture in a photo album? Sure. Probably. But for now it’s just you and the person you were always hoping would call you, and you’re dancing in a world alone.
Pure Heroine begins with don’t you think that it’s boring how people talk and ends with let them talk, a deeply obvious strangely beautiful symmetry that’s simultaneously just as overblown and much smarter than people always seem to give Lorde credit for. It’s an obvious emotional progression, right – you worry and you worry and then eventually you take a deep breath and it’s all alright, it’s just you and a real person. It’ll be over soon and it’s temporary but for now that doesn’t matter. And that’s obvious, sure, but isn’t that the beauty of this album? Just because something’s obvious doesn’t make it not true. Just because something’s blatant doesn’t make it not beautiful. Just because everyone talks about what it’s like to be a Teenager doesn’t mean that being a teenager isn’t like that, just a little bit. We really do want things way too much. We really do never stop talking.
man this week has been so good
Oh, hey, found you guys a new Bowie, if you still wanted one.