and much has happened. I’ve seen some great music, picked up some great vinyl (GO SAILOR! Talulah Gosh! Veronica Falls! POBPAH East River Pipe cover! – yeah, I know “Jeremy”, the Magnetic Fields cover is the A side, & is awesome but “My Life Is Wrong” is the devastating keeper, September Girls! Baffin Island!), and done some great traveling.
So, a few posts are en route: A Dignam Porch review/meditation on genre and aspects of the music scene in Portland, Jens Lekman show review (holy shit is that guy the Best. Storyteller. Ever. There’s this childlike free-association that he has; it’s whimsical without being too darling, like how he says the Northern Lights are like someone spilled a beer across the atmosphere. More amazing is that is that somehow he makes his frivolity coherent by bringing back around and reincorporating it successfully…but I’m getting lost; this can all wait till the show review), a spontaneous trip to the Crystal the next day to get comped & walk into a Cat Power show,
& then a DJ set the next day at Tube, closing out a show w/ 3 local bands. Both good music and hilarity ensued.
Then there was a trip to Paris.
Record shopping and Indie Pop bars; late-night shows w/ French musicians singing in English; baguettes and soft cheese; bad coffee & good wine; chained Gauloises, late-night pizza, reading Virginia Woolfe & No. Sleep. Ever.
I think I found the indiekid area.
They found a way to make the street their own.
And this is a wall from the best indie bar in Paris (and there are many good ones), after last call, where the once packed-in-a-way-no-New-York-subway-ever-has-been room now stands empty. The bar also functions as a vanity-label for some of the owners pet music projects and the work of their friends. Some of it is quite good.
To get into the room where the bands play, you enter from the sidestreet, push your way into the main room where the bar is, grab your pint and head upstairs…
and then walk past the comfy upstairs room that feels like a funky US coffee house with all kinds of vintage furniture that just happens to be situated in a castle room (or so it feels), past the chalkboard where the upcoming bands are revealed
And then down the dreary hallway that looks like it was most recently renovated in the 15th Century,
down into the cavernous-yet-tiny, stone-walled dungeon of a basement, far too dimly lit for any photo to be taken, where the room gets so tightly packed that the audience and the band have to step into each others clothes to find space. The collective joy in the room is an effective enough panacea for any sort of claustrophobia.
But to get to the point, there’s a bit of a backlog o’er here at HTWCOHIC, so here’s something to tide you over.
I came across this write up about Sarah Records & it was the most inspirational thing I’ve read in a bit:
“A label dedicated to the dying 7″ single, to cheap pop, to emotion, to socialism you CAN carry out in your daily life in our world, not to dogma and rhetoric, to living & not saying ‘We are the blank generation’, to the ideals of both punk rock & hippydom that everyone found so embarrassing. To be a thorn in everyone’s side, despite being a marginal irrelevance. To make you think, to make you feel, to make you love, laugh, cry, and to make you rush in every Monday they release something to buy it, half the time for the insert they write as much as for the records.”
Fuck. Yes. A thousand times: YES.
So, some music for you! We’ll do something from the esteemed aforementioned label. Since I mentioned the East River Pipe song earlier…I’m totally gonna take the “fuck it” plan and play some Blueboy, because this song is the MOST BEAUTIFUL THING EVER. Hyperbole is *not* Bourgeois; you’re Bourgeois!