Love From London
Album comes out next Tuesday.
Here's a taste (complete with nice cello action):
Monday, February 25, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Fish, Living and Dead, Subtitled in German
I'm never gonna be 35...
The sun was coming up over a hill.
We were in a car. Driving towards the sun. I'd like to tell you what state it was, but I can't remember.
She had a sweatshirt on. From a university she'd never heard of.
She'd bought the sweatshirt at a flea market, drawn by the logo, which had a small fish in the corner.
I never would have bought that sweatshirt. Not if I hadn't been there. Not if I hadn't heard of it.
And certainly not if there was a fish on the logo.
We were heading to an abandoned village. A ghost town that had boomed briefly, then died.
A place where people fell in love, had children, made millions.
A place that was rumored to be in the running for a huge corporate headquarters that instead went to the Great Plains.
A place supposedly rich in minerals. But they could never be found.
A place with a fantastic lake that was ideal for swimming. Until the earthquake when it drained.
We started at 4 in the morning. The drive was only supposed to take an hour.
But we made some wrong turns.
And several roads were unmarked.
And there was a tree down at one of the intersections.
So it took longer.
We'd planned to get there before sunrise. Watch the sun come out over the rotting buildings.
Those were the plans.
I'd like to tell you that it was amazing when we reached it.
I'd like to tell you we had fantastic adventures when we were there.
I'd like to say that the abandoned village gave me insights that colored the way I viewed the world.
The truth is we never got there.
We never found it.
And on the way back, we stopped to eat.
And she left the flea market sweatshirt on a chair.
Lost to the vicissitudes of time, the tiny fish on the logo unable to find the lake that was no longer there and swim away.
The sun was coming up over a hill.
We were in a car. Driving towards the sun. I'd like to tell you what state it was, but I can't remember.
She had a sweatshirt on. From a university she'd never heard of.
She'd bought the sweatshirt at a flea market, drawn by the logo, which had a small fish in the corner.
I never would have bought that sweatshirt. Not if I hadn't been there. Not if I hadn't heard of it.
And certainly not if there was a fish on the logo.
We were heading to an abandoned village. A ghost town that had boomed briefly, then died.
A place where people fell in love, had children, made millions.
A place that was rumored to be in the running for a huge corporate headquarters that instead went to the Great Plains.
A place supposedly rich in minerals. But they could never be found.
A place with a fantastic lake that was ideal for swimming. Until the earthquake when it drained.
We started at 4 in the morning. The drive was only supposed to take an hour.
But we made some wrong turns.
And several roads were unmarked.
And there was a tree down at one of the intersections.
So it took longer.
We'd planned to get there before sunrise. Watch the sun come out over the rotting buildings.
Those were the plans.
I'd like to tell you that it was amazing when we reached it.
I'd like to tell you we had fantastic adventures when we were there.
I'd like to say that the abandoned village gave me insights that colored the way I viewed the world.
The truth is we never got there.
We never found it.
And on the way back, we stopped to eat.
And she left the flea market sweatshirt on a chair.
Lost to the vicissitudes of time, the tiny fish on the logo unable to find the lake that was no longer there and swim away.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Full Speed Ahead
Many more of them live next door...
If I ever have billions of dollars, I'm going to spend a healthy chunk of it hiring my favorite musicians to recreate my favorite albums live.
You might say that this would be incredibly self-indulgent.
And you'd be right.
But think how much fun it would be.
If I ever have billions of dollars, I'm going to spend a healthy chunk of it hiring my favorite musicians to recreate my favorite albums live.
You might say that this would be incredibly self-indulgent.
And you'd be right.
But think how much fun it would be.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Jam On Uke
Because... the internet
Really, nothing says punk (or mod) like the ukulele.
And just in case you need to cleanse your palate:
Really, nothing says punk (or mod) like the ukulele.
And just in case you need to cleanse your palate:
Monday, February 18, 2013
RIP Tony Sheridan
To call him the "one-time Beatles frontman" is stretching the facts a bit...
... but Tony Sheridan certainly does loom large as an early collaborator.
RIP.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
An Early Clue
A Little Teaser
The context for this will become clearer in a few months, but until then, enjoy:
The context for this will become clearer in a few months, but until then, enjoy:
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Quick Take
Literally.
I guess when you've got a rave-up like this, there's no reason not to power through the whole thing in 90 seconds.
Proving that, at least for a few years, the Ramones had nothing on Ray, Dave, and the boys:
I guess when you've got a rave-up like this, there's no reason not to power through the whole thing in 90 seconds.
Proving that, at least for a few years, the Ramones had nothing on Ray, Dave, and the boys:
Friday, February 8, 2013
Who Said Anything About Love
From those long-gone days of silly video transitions, huge mirror sunglasses, and a time when Joe Jackson still had (a little bit of) hair:
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The Hill
It's Getting Dark, Too Dark to See...
It had always been there. In the distance.
We'd paid no attention to it. For years.
But one night, one cold and snowy night, suddenly the only important thing was to go out in the moonlight and climb the hill.
It wasn't that big. It wasn't that steep. It didn't require training. Or oxygen.
But we knew it required effort. And scarves.
So we fortified ourselves. With booze. With warm clothing. With heavy socks.
And we set out. Eight of us. Piled into a car.
And we walked. In silence. In the moonlight.
Up and up and up.
It was deceptive from the distance. From where we lived. From the warmth of houses, schools, offices.
But once we were on the way, we couldn't turn back.
Yes, there was a path. Twisting. Turning. Not as direct as we'd imagined.
And after a very long time we reached the top.
And we passed around the bottle. Looked down on the town. Saw the lights from the houses and the long darknesses of the fields.
None of us spoke for a long time. And then someone said "I guess this is what it looks like."
Yeah. I guess so.
Not at all what we imagined. But somehow beautiful. In its own way.
It had always been there. In the distance.
We'd paid no attention to it. For years.
But one night, one cold and snowy night, suddenly the only important thing was to go out in the moonlight and climb the hill.
It wasn't that big. It wasn't that steep. It didn't require training. Or oxygen.
But we knew it required effort. And scarves.
So we fortified ourselves. With booze. With warm clothing. With heavy socks.
And we set out. Eight of us. Piled into a car.
And we walked. In silence. In the moonlight.
Up and up and up.
It was deceptive from the distance. From where we lived. From the warmth of houses, schools, offices.
But once we were on the way, we couldn't turn back.
Yes, there was a path. Twisting. Turning. Not as direct as we'd imagined.
And after a very long time we reached the top.
And we passed around the bottle. Looked down on the town. Saw the lights from the houses and the long darknesses of the fields.
None of us spoke for a long time. And then someone said "I guess this is what it looks like."
Yeah. I guess so.
Not at all what we imagined. But somehow beautiful. In its own way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
