Better Moods Through Music

Having a very nice stereo has got me losing my goddamn mind over three records: Foley Room (Amon Tobin), Uneasy Flowers (Autistic Daughters), Standing On a Hummingbird (Mark Templeton).  Whatever, it’s cool to be 3 years late to every party.  Here, have all three. I’m trying to attract the Eff See See’s attn so like twenty universes implode because I’m a brat who believes in sharing art so they destroy our server and sue each of us for a zillion dollars and our futures wither into internet obliv. (Hi Nick!! “Getting angry, baby?”)

I’ve really only been interested in exploring/cooling out to electronic music in the last year. That is while I’m at home, because it’s sort of weird to drive around in your car with your ipod sourcing some really sick glitchy-comatose soundscape jams. That’s when you work it out with a little Dead Milkmen so your friends are all singing along like everyone’s 14 again instead of stewing in alienated silence over in the passenger seat. Anyway, my point is that my preference still leans towards mechanized music that lays its primary samples down with organic stuff you can feel with your body, all the visceral sounds stolen away from the real world.

A personal aside: Paul, do you know that the very first exchanges Ian and I were in Ms. Keisler’s art class where he was just some older little filthy punk who talked like Tim Armstrong and gave me hella shit for my “nintendo music” cuz I was sulking under headphones to this Swedish outfit Baxter, whom I still maintain put out like one of the best albums of all time? (Same lady who fronted Salt, who are also basically perfect.)

I know this is an impossible wish, but my big fantasy is that one day when I call Ian up to wish him a happy 97th birthday, he will tell me he’s finally grown out of punk rock like the rest of us did with the onset of pubic hair and he’ll talk all gravelly at me into the phone and say,

“Lah-Lah, Lah-Lah.  Listen to me, Snizz. Snizz, you were right. You’ve always had better tazzzzte. I’m zo zorry the only record we ever allowed you to play was Reagan Youthssssssssss or that you evuh had to stand in the back of the Continental with our jackets and the L.E.S. Stitches. Hey, remember thah guy Mick though, how he uzzah serve us with no ID?  Thah wuz pretty good.”  (I sure do, Future Imaginary Ian.)

And while I’m at it, Paul, I wouldn’t mind a collective apology for all the chair matches and Rick Flair-isms I suffered through while you guys were smashing baking sheets into each other’s faces.

Jesus Christ, life.