Archive for the ‘Tunes’ Category

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I can only snigger.

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T. Rex – Life’s A Gas

Sweltering sun and shimmering blades of grass dancing in the wind would suggests a typical exquisite summer evening. That’s just it, though– typical. Even in the midst of dusk’s magic,can the feeling of indifference imbue your state of mind. Where’s that jolt? Where’s that bang? Slipping into a spiral of tawdriness, you’d think to recuperate your buoyancy with a bit of glint and vitality.

I can’t be bothered.

I chose to linger in indifference.

Marc Bolan knows this feeling. Marc Bolan said it all.

Just for another 2 minute and 24 seconds. I want to linger. I want to sulk in the vacancy. I want to lay wilted. I want to dawdle in the realization how nothing really matters at all. I want stare into the exhausted sky. He says he can place my love there. I want to ponder priesthood. I want the strings of the songs to take it’s best shot at breaching the abyss that is my mood. I want to take a crack at breathing unwavered even for the duration of the last 20 luminous seconds of the song.

But I can’t.

Through the jingle of his gripe and the grief of his recollections, I can only snigger. Albeit, I concede the “what if’s”, the “maybe’s”, the “almost’s” induce the most tragic, heartrending, sorrowful tales there are, (they don’t count, you know). Bolan is right. Life’s a gas. [Purchase.]

Posted on July 27, 2010 - Tunes - 1 Comment » Share

She is perfect in that fucked up way

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Everclear -Amphetamine

I should have quit when I wasn’t so far behind.

[Buy So Much For The Afterglow and listen to it pretty consistently in your middle school years so when you play it later on in life it will be drenched in enough nostalgia to drown your inhibitions toward rocking out alone in your car.]

Posted on July 26, 2010 - Tunes - 2 Comments » Share

Before it changes itself.

Written by

Nick Cave – I’m Your Man (orig. Leonard Cohen)*

*Turn the volume up. So loud that if you have to drown out Mr. Cave and can scarcely hear yourself drain the sounds out of your throat so be it.

He awoke that morning feeling dead, looked about his covered walls trying to connect to something; some appearance, some idea, some light, but – nothing. And so he lifted his legs up off of his bed and went outback. Removed a rectangular piece of steel from his pocket and began to drag it across the small of the back of his smooth neck – the blood dripped, it seeped into his black, short-sleeved cotton shirt, flowed over his beautiful soft hands. His mouth wasn’t clasped but its lips felt no jerk as to part and release a sound – not a sigh, not a cry, not a yearn. After three grazes, Kal dropped onto the cemented pavement and rubbed oil onto the bleeding cuts. As he felt the burning sensation he lit a cigarette and his mouth involuntarily formed a smile. Thus, he could walk in the world. Whether the road be concealed with ordinary gravel or reveal a shallow dirt.

[Leonard Cohen’s I’m Your Man soundtrack is awash with glittering covers dragged through the mud. Just like it should be.]

We don’t know who Jerry is. We found this in our email a few mornings ago and here it is today. Maybe he’ll be back someday but regardless, thanks.

Posted on July 25, 2010 - Tunes - 1 Comment » Share

Go, go! Go, Johnny, go go go!

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Chuck Berry – Johnny B. Goode

Strap pushing down on his shoulders, Johnny strummed his air-guitar in front of the mirror with his legs spread wide and one knee kicking to the beat, the other stretched straight. He was wearing his favorite crushed brown leather jacket; one his father would wear on most nights. It was years away from fitting Johnny. He would contort his fingers into perfect chords, and hum his progressions with immaculate timing while grilled chicken and baked potatoes wafted into the room from downstairs where his mother was preparing a meal. Jumping, sneakers pounding down on the hardwood floor with a crash crash crash, Johnny riffed. From downstairs his mother called, “Johnny, be good!”

[Buy Chuck Berry Is On Top.]

Posted on July 24, 2010 - Tunes - 1 Comment » Share

Wisdom

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Marc Streitenfeld – Wisdom

The opening click clack of acoustic and modern swoon may be all your heart needs to fall. This song and its sensitive synth, artfully allowing for the calm transition of keys to horse shoe clatter, calming choir, and drawn out strings. Oh, to have a château in France. I lost one whole summer to that dream – and I’m willing to hold to it tight until its eventual fruition. The wisdom is in the jump, not the landing.

[‘A Good Year’ and its soundtrack.]

Posted on July 23, 2010 - Tunes - No Comments » Share

Dictated but not read.

Written by

Stone Jack Jones – Smile

This time last year, the same date I think, I told someone in a
drunken ramble that, “I pride myself on my impotence, er,
independence.” That is exactly what I said. I can remember
word-for-word what it was I said a year ago, but not who I was talking
with when I said it. I remember the song that was whispering fuzzy
through a radio close by, but not who it was I was talking to. Isn’t
that funny?
I thought so at least.

Anyway, this time last year, I felt my greatest strength was the fact
that I could live without anyone close to me, just wallow in my
loneliness and I would be okay. I said that then and I guess it was
true.

I met you after that, not very long after that, either. We spent every
minute together that we could spend together, you remember. And there
was that night we climbed that hill and drank wine and saw the
fireworks exploding over all the city lights, remember? Of course you
do, what am I thinking. You said it amazes you that each of the lights
has its own purpose. I think about that time a lot, actually. It’s one
of my favorites, you know. But I think you knew that.

I need you here right now. I need you here anytime, but mostly right now.

Christ! Sorry, I rolled over my toe with this godforsaken chair.

I mean sure, I’ve got my bed and my blankets and some to spare, but
it’s not the same. Warmth. You had this warmth about you. When my
knees were all folded under your knees, and my arms wrapped around the
whole of you, it was just
fucking
warm.

It’s so damn cold here.
I don’t mean to curse but god damn if it’s not cold here.

And quiet. I haven’t heard a sound other than myself for two hours
now, maybe three. I never talked to myself before I met you, but now
it’s all I do. Talk and talk like someone’s listening. But you aren’t.
Are you? No. What am I thinking.

Who was it that I was talking to that night last year? Was it you? No.
Yes? I don’t fucking know. Sorry, I don’t mean to curse.

(illustration by Stanley Donwood)

Josh is a friend. And Josh found tunetheproletariat some way somehow and we are grateful to offer his writing proudly like a peacock’s feathers.

Posted on July 22, 2010 - Tunes - 1 Comment » Share

I’ve got nothing left to be

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Dinosaur Jr. – Plans

It’s my birthday today. I’m 24.

I never planned on living this long. Seriously, I thought I’d die by at least 21. I’ve accomplished everything I set out to do, like support myself and learn to not hate myself.

I’m not really sure where to go from here. How much longer does this life thing keep going? I guess I’ll have to make a new list, maybe get a better paying job and learn to like myself a bit.

Nah, I’ll probably just get drunk instead or something.

[Buy Farm.]

Posted on July 21, 2010 - Tunes - 6 Comments » Share

Lay stubs from a movie, where

Written by

Explosions In The Sky – Magic Hours

crumpled in her pocket,
lay stubs from a movie, where
she blew him in row J.

[Buy How Strange, Innocence.]

Esin offered this scrawl of writing to us today, and we’re humbled. Many thanks. She doesn’t have somewhere we can tell you to go, but a photo of hers has snuck onto our Tumblr page in recent times.

Posted on July 20, 2010 - Tunes - 3 Comments » Share

Jump! Jump! Jump!

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Glen Miller – In The Mood

I admit, to leave the lax countryside behind and take any part in the taut city streets is somewhat demanding. I just have to be in the mood and the moment can’t be sprung upon me – I need time to adjust to the thought. My own quirk, my own failing. It just doesn’t appeal until I’m there, until I’m in the swim.

Still, today, lovingly forced to take adventure, I finally advanced towards Oscar Wilde’s memorial at Merrion Square where he sits alone and aloft a stone with a wry smile forever etched on his pale face. Thought is not catching.

A boy, a man, a something, jumped into the Liffey. He resurfaced, or so I overheard some onlookers say, and was met by three police cars and three fire engines (all for a desperate swimmer). There were the drunkards who even with smiles fail to bring about comfort in me. The presence of suffocating mortification with every product I (somehow) accidentally let fall to the floor in the company of others. All plastic or food based so avoiding the ‘you break, you buy’ ruling. I had a Chinese food buffet (for the first time): I enjoyed it.

All the while I could not remove Glen Miller from my mind. My very own pressed soundtrack.

[Woody Allen and music from his must-see movies.]

Posted on July 19, 2010 - Tunes - 4 Comments » Share

Somewhere, waiting for it

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Train Company – The Otherside (Limited Issue)

This song should be the soundtrack for every forlorn figure that walks, leaning into the wind, through the icy streets of Chicago, coat barely keeping the burn of the freezing air at bay, elbow crooked where a significant other should attach itself

[Buy Train Company.]

Posted on July 18, 2010 - Tunes - No Comments » Share

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