flahute » Music

The Best Music of 2010 (according to me)

flahute — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 03:00:17 +0000

As the end of the year approaches, many people put together best of lists, most often related to music … so what the hell … here’s my list:

I think one of the main things that threw Kristin Hersh’s latest album over the top for me was the utterly unique way in which it was released … not just as a CD or digital download format, but as a hardcover book which contains full color artwork, lyrics, and an exclusive essay by Kristin on each song. Each copy also comes with a digital code which unlocks a treasure trove of online content, including the full Crooked album, full recording stems for every track allowing fan remixes, track-by-track audio commentary by Kristin, exclusive video content, and outtakes. This full content is only available to fans who purchase the book.

Video Poetry (business as usual edition)

flahute — Sat, 25 Sep 2010 13:19:13 +0000

SAGE FRANCIS – THE BEST OF TIMES

It’s been a long and lonely trip but I’m glad that I took it because it was well worth it.
I got to read a couple books and do some research before I reached my verdict.
Never thought that I was perfect.
Always thought that I had a purpose.
Used to wonder if I’d live to see my first kiss.

The most difficult thing I ever did was recite my own words at a service,
realizing the person I was addressing probably wasn’t looking down from heaven.
Or cooking up something in hell’s kitchen trying to listen in
Or eavesdrop from some another dimension.
It was self serving just like this is.

Conveniently religious on Easter Sunday and on Christmas.
The television went from being a babysitter to a mistress.
Technology made it easy for us to stay in touch while keeping a distance,
’til we just stayed distant and never touched.
Now all we do is text too much.

I don’t remember much from my youth.
Maybe my memory is repressed.

Or I just spent too much time wondering if I’d live to have sex.
Fell in love for the first time in 4th grade but I didn’t have the courage to talk to her.
In 8th grade I wrote her the note but I slipped it in someone else’s locker.
Considered killing myself ’cause of that.

It was a big deal.
It was a blown cover.
It was over for me.
My goose was cooked.
Stick a fork it me.
The jig is up.
I blew my chances, the rest is history, our future was torn asunder.
It became abundantly clear that I was only brought here to suffer.

At least I didn’t include my name.
Thankfully, I wrote the whole note in code,
And it had 10 layers of scotch tape safety seal making it impossible to open.
Plus, it was set to self destruct.
Whoever read it probably died…laughing.
I wonder if they lived long enough to realize what happened.

A year later, I came to understand that wasn’t love that I was feeling for her.
I had someone else to obsess over.
I was older.
I was very mature.
I forged my time signature while practicing my parents autograph ’cause I was failing math.
Disconnected the phone when I thought the teacher would call my home.

I checked the mailbox twice a day at the end of a long dirt road.
Steamed open a couple envelopes like I was in private detective mode.
If you snoop around long enough for something in particular you’re guaranteed to find it.
For better or worse that’s how I learned that it’s best to just keep some things private.
It was the best of times.
It was the end of times.

It was the best of times.
It was the end of times.
I was always on deck, I was next in line.

An only child with a pen and pad writing a list of things that I could never have.
The walls in my house were paper thin.
Every squabble seemed to get deafening.
If my memory serves me correctly I made it a point to avoid and forget some things.
Probably to keep from being embarrassed.
Never meant to upset or give grief to my parents.
Kept my secrets…hid my talents…in my head, never under the mattress.

Therapy couldn’t break me.
Never learned a word that would insure safety.
So I spoke softly and I tiptoed often.
The door to my room was like a big old coffin.
The way that it creeked when I closed it shut.
Anxieties peaked when it opened up.
As if everything that I was thinking would be exposed.
I still sleep fully clothed.
It was the best of times.
It was the end of times.

It was beautiful.
It was brutal.
It was cruel.
It was business as usual.

Heaven.
It was hell.
Used to wonder if I’d live to see 12.

When I did I figured that I was immortal.
Loved to dance but couldn’t make it to the formal.
Couldn’t bear watching my imaginary girlfriend bust a move with any other dudes.

Tone Loc was talking bout a “Wild Thang” but I was still caught up in some child thangs.
Scared of a God who couldn’t spare the rod.
It was clearly a brimstone and fire thang.

Pyromaniac.
Kleptomaniac.
Couldn’t explain my desire to steal that fire.
Now I add it to my rider.
Like “Please oh please don’t throw me in that patch of brier!” It was the best of times.
It was the end of times.

The school counselor was clueless ’cause I never skipped classes.
Perfect attendance.
Imperfect accent.
Speech impediment they could never really fix and I faked bad eyesight so I could wear glasses.

Considered doing something that would cripple me.I wanted a wheelchair.
I wanted the sympathy.
I wanted straight teeth so then came braces.
4 years of head gear helped me change faces.
It was the best of times.
It was the end of times.

Now I wonder if I’ll live to see marriage.
Wonder if I’ll live long enough to have kids.
Wonder if I’ll live to see my kids have kids.
If I do I’m gonna tell ‘em how it is.

“Don’t listen when they tell you that these are your best years.
Don’t let anybody protect your ears.
It’s best that you hear what they don’t want you to hear.
It’s better to have pressure from peers than not have peers.
Beer won’t give you chest hair.
Spicy food won’t make it curl.
When you think you’ve got it all figured out and then your universe collapses…trust me, kid…
It’s not the end of the world.”

Going viral (NSFW)

flahute — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 03:25:21 +0000

There are a lot of things that can be said about the following video, ranging from descriptions as a brutally graphic political statement decrying genocide and ethnic cleansing to calling it a cynical marketing attempt to generate Internet buzz and fuel album sales.

No matter what you think of the video, it’s an impressive piece of filmmaking, and there is certainly a fair amount of metaphor applicable to a variety of situations going on in the world today, even some involving the United States (who are depicted as the aggressors in the video).

Musically, not really my style … but well worth the watch.

NOTE! This video is definitely NSFW, unless your place of business allows such things.

M.I.A, Born Free from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

www.miauk.com www.neetrecordings.com

Director : Romain Gavras
Director of Photography : André Chemetoff
Producer : Mourad Belkeddar
Production company : www.elnino.tv
Executive Production : Gaetan Rousseau / Paradoxal
Special thanks to Lana & Melissa from The Director’s Bureau

Video Poetry (Kept Edition)

flahute — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 01:16:25 +0000

TANYA DONELLY – KEEPING YOU

I’m keeping you i’m keeping you
I’m keeping you so realize your fate
I’m keeping you i’m keeping you
I’m keeping you so settle down now

You landed here from inner space
You landed with that screwed-up look on your face
I wanted you from way back when
I wanted you for years, then years again

I’m keeping you i’m keeping you
I’m keeping you so settle in now

My return to wildlife by satellite
By beautiful moon-shining girl
Whether by hard ground or splashdown
We’re safely back in the world

My heart’s not new
I’m not like you
I’ve loved and been loved well and badly too
My body’s been through everything
I’ve used and been used
I got over it
There’s something that you learn on a tightrope
Just outside the spotlight there’s a big net waiting for…

My return to wildlife by satellite
By beautiful moon-shining girl
Whether by hard ground or splashdown
We’re safely back in the world

I’m keeping you

Poetry Friday

flahute — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 11:01:44 +0000

THEY

I wondered what had
happened to the chords.
There was a music,

they were following
a pattern. It was
an intention perhaps.

No field
but they walk
in it. No place

without them, any
discretion is useless.
They want a time, they

have a time, each
one in his place, an
endless arrival.

— Robert Creeley (1926 – 2005), American poet.

Video Poetry (Dusty Edition)

flahute — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 04:12:39 +0000

Every once in awhile, you just feel like telling people to … thankfully, I haven’t had one of THOSE days in a while, but I’m still diggin’ the song, what … 15 years later?

CATHERINE WHEEL – EAT MY DUST (YOU INSENSITIVE FUCK)

I think I have the best of me
Inside my head
No one else competes with me
I think I’m great
Got spirit tucked away inside

I know the ghosts of angel notes to kiss
Everything I sing is part of this
Got honey brushed across my lips

I know, I know, I know, I know

If you can call this luck
If you can call this luck
If you can miss this much

Eat my dust you insensitive fuck
Eat my dust you insensitive fuck
Eat my dust

Video Poetry (Youthful Edition)

flahute — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 05:31:15 +0000

EELS – IN MY YOUNGER DAYS

In my younger days
This wouldn’t have been so hard
I would’ve just shrugged it off
But now it’s tough
I’m not so rough
I’ve got a little ways to go
It’s not over yet, I know
But it feels
Not so far away

In my younger days
This still would’ve knocked me down
But I would’ve just bounced right back, you know
Now I’m a statistic
But I’m not fatalistic
I’m not yet resigned to fate
And I’m not gonna be ruled by hate
But it’s strong
And it’s filling up my days

In my younger days
I would’ve just chalked it up
As part of my ongoing education
But I’ve had enough
Been through some stuff
And I don’t need any more misery
To teach me what I should be
I just need you back

Video Poetry (Galway Edition)

flahute — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 05:46:08 +0000

THE POGUES (feat. Kirsty MacColl) – FAIRYTALE OF NEW YORK

It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won’t see another one
And then he sang a song
The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I’ve got a feeling
This year’s for me and you
So Happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true

They’ve got cars big as bars
They’ve got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It’s no place for the old
When he first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last

The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can’t make it all alone
I’ve built my dreams around you

The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing “Galway Bay”
And the bells are ringing out
For Christmas Day

Video Poetry (Bird Edition)

flahute — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 03:48:08 +0000

EELS – LITTLE BIRD

Little bird
Hoppin’ on my porch
I know it sounds kinda sad
But what’s it all for?
Right now you’re the only friend I have in the world
And I just can’t take out very much
Goddamn
I miss that girl

Little bird
You look all right
I’m sure it’s not easy
Gettin’ through your night
So tell me this can’t be how it’s gonna end
Tell me my heart
Somehow
Dear God
Is gonna mend

Little bird
I guess you’re right
Can’t let her take me out
Without a fight
But right now I can’t see making sense of this world
I just can’t take out very much
Goddamn
I miss that girl

Video Poetry (Sage Edition)

flahute — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 22:44:27 +0000

SAGE FRANCIS – GOT UP THIS MORNING

It’s not that what we’re doing is wrong
But let’s try to keep this a secret
Between me, you, and the song
A menage a trois that sings to me
Sinfully
When god plays along

What you want with a woman who won’t do what you say?

I was sweet on her
She was sweet on Jesus
We slept with a blanket barrier between us
Master of her craft, I had her laughin’ like hyenas
When I asked her if she’d marry an elitist
Staggering genius in lace
With the grace of a drunken monk
The mask isn’t seamless cause her face says something’s up
But I don’t dare ask her I just listen
Switchin’ to my good ear and adjusting my position
As she discusses Ginsberg I listened and learned
As she dispersed his words I just resisted the urge to do like he would
Whatever he wanted, if she allowed me to
She dangled that carrot then asked me:
“What would Bukowski do?”
Oh don’t go there
He’d make you his mom and then completely lie about it in a book later on

Got up this morning
Didn’t know right from wrong

Spirits were lifted when she whispered something French in my ear
Tension was there
When I responded in English it sounded less sincere
The sex in the air couldn’t be left alone
So welcome to the Terrordome
A bedroom full of pheromones
Where nothing that we say is set in stone
If I thought it was for posterity I’d already be writing better poems
But I’m talking in extremes
Best this and best that
Best not regret anything that ever gets said to this hell cat
Creepin on all fours
Ready for combat
With secretive wars sneaking her claws in our contract
Bending every which way but loose with no proof that anything that we’ve suggested to this day is the whole truth

Got up this morning
Didn’t know right from wrong

I heard her chemical romance was a medical slow dance
Said my advance was sexual
Held my genitals with cold hands
Set up the Coke cans
Broke out the Red Ryder
Then one by one I tried to knock down everything that’s dead inside her
She used to treat street dividers like a balance beam
Arms spread wider than the legs in her dad’s magazine
Re-enacting the pages that she got trapped between
I used it for kindling and then spilled the gasoline
Now I’m your water boy
I fetch it from your cheeks just like tennis balls
Smell the stench of your weakness on the bedroom walls
Somebody careless let em vaporize
“Who let these fall to the floor from your poor vacant eyes?”
Disintegrate
This ain’t a great first impression
But I work better on pages, they say words are my profession
Let me spell it out in simple language
Plain English
I want your suicide to be a book of mine that I never finish

Got up this morning
Didn’t know right from wrong

What you want with a woman who won’t do what you say?