Posts Tagged ‘music’

Brother Sport. – Highly in’appropriate’, somewhat NSFW but very Friday Appropriate.

July 17, 2009

I have taken on the noble task of educating and enlightening ‘da yoof’.
The coolest music my eleven year old sisters are into is Girls Aloud and Black Eyed Peas.
Their taste spirals downward from there to Lady Gaga.

Ouch.

Role model*

With that in mind, I have elected to construct an utterly flawless fool proof mix of actual cool music for them.
More than likely they’ll impatiently skip each track after 20 seconds and hurl the CD into their evermore abandoned pile of Barbies, but I like to think they’ll not only give it a go, but drive my mother insane by playing it LOUD! all day and insisting on it over Spin fucking FM on drives in the car (they whine if we switch over during an ad break or the news, whereupon myself and Mum consequently sing along at them to Fleetwood Mac, Elton John or whatever music-for-old-people is playing).

I made a youtube playlist coz i is yung n cleva n shizz 2**.

11yoCD

*I excuse the inclusion of “kiss me, I’m drunk”, “make love and listen to Death From Above” and “motherfucker’s gonna drop the pressure” considering the girls have (highly in)appropriate dances to accompany lyrics such as “my lovely lady lumps”; “my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard”; “push the button and let me know” and “bluffing with my muffin”.

**Not bloody easy them youtubes. Plus youtube vids are worse than mp3’s for consistency of volume. Also, had to substitute the live version of Heartbeats, which although great, isn’t the one on the CD. And that annoys me. Burranneeway… ~n~joy

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Saturday Afternoon Quote #The Third – Bartók

April 4, 2009

On Thursday night the boredom set in.

I’d washed up, cooked, eaten, rinsed… selected vinyls for the gig, been to the shops to replenish the liquid stores (milk, juice and beer)…
I was in no mood to be creative as such. I didn’t want to turn on any screens. I didn’t fancy reading.

What I wanted, I decided, was to leisurely absorb something new and different – something cultural and interesting.
What I’d have liked was for someone to sit there and enthusiastically ‘sell’ me an interest in something I’d hitherto not paid particular attention.
Some painting or photography… some music or other could be ideal.

“Hey, this is what I was saying – check out the [insert interesting facet/detail]”.

I cursed myself for supposing I wouldn’t have wanted to listen to the Bat for Lashes album I’d been recommended and not copied over for home listening pleasure earlier that day.

I stared at a few walls, and the floor for a moment. My eyes wandered over the stacks of records. I ‘pfff’ed to myself, knowing that I wouldn’t want to hear anything familiar and pondered on how I’d (already) listened to everything – all these hundreds of vinyls at least once.

That’s when I remembered Bartók.
white-spaceBack in Brizzle, Wrong and I would walk to Clifton Village of a Sunday afternoon. Sometimes ‘The Cider Pub’ would be open and we’d quaff the rocket fuel and stumble back to the house. Sometimes it would be shut and we’d duck into the second hand record shop.
One day I couldn’t find anything to tickle my fancy. Wrong handed me the Bartók. It stayed with me unplayed, just like the two Mahlers I already had, for the next five years.

And five years hence, a little too intimidated to snatch straight at Wrong’s recommendation [alliteration not intended], I try Mahler #1.

Fucking shit. Popular, accessible happy shit. Mahler #4. Same. Safe as houses, familiar as shoes and boring as this post so far.

Head’nim

To hell with it. I slipped Bartók out of the sleeve, placed it on the platter and deftly dropped the needle on its spinning outer groove [alliteration, again, unintended].

.

Blew my freaking mind.

Play this shit LOUD!

Here is the plot of A Csodálatos Mandarin (“The Miraculous Mandarin”) (which is what you better be listening to (LOUD), right now) from the sleevenotes:

This is the plot: In a shabby room in the slums, three thugs force a girl to lure men in from the street, to be robbed. A shabby old rake and a timid youth are found to have thin wallets, and thrown out. The third ‘guest’ is the eerie Mandarin. His impassivity frightens the girl, who tries to unfreeze him by dancing; but when he feverishly embraces her, she runs from him in terror. After a wild chase he catches her: the three thugs leap from their hiding-place, rob him of everything he has, and then wonder how to dispose of him. They successively smother him, stab him and hang him up, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the girl – it is impossible for him to die. Only when they cut him down and the girl takes him in her arms do his wounds start to bleed, and he dies.

– Leo Black

Play this shit even LOUDER!