I just came back from the Canadian High Commissioner's house...
And boy are my arms tired.
Wait. I don't think I told that joke properly.
Anyway, I was worried whether I was using the right fork at the right time or not. And I had to look up what "Lounge Suit" meant. NOT LEISURE SUIT. Just FYI.
I don't think I'm going to get into it tonight. Nor will I get into the dinner I had on Sunday night in an abandoned school in south London. In the abandoned drama room, with copies of Brecht's Mother Courage and her Children lying around.
But I thought I might link to a couple of songs I'm liking lately. Just because. I'm not going to become an mp3 blog, don't worry. Or, wait, maybe that would make this blog more focused. Maybe you would like that.
Okay, worry. If you like to worry. (And who doesn't?)
Anyway (I'm using that word too much lately; also "ersatz") here is a song by Low, a band that I saw at the All Tomorrow's Parties in Minehead a few weeks back. (You probably heard about them in 1994; I was listening to Weird Al sing "Smells Like Nirvana" then; sue me.) At the time, I thought: "I think I'll have a nap. These songs are making me sleepy." Now, I keep playing them or, rather, having someone play them for me.
I like this one: Belarus. (I sing, "Belle-ah-Roooooooooooooos(t)e... Belle-ah-Roooooooooooooos(t)e..." to myself, sometimes out loud, too.)
I also lurve this one called Sandinista: "Oh Sand-da-knees-sta... Oh Sand-da-knees-sta." (I sing that one too. Sometimes interchangably with Belle-ah-Roooooooooooooos(t)e.) I can't find it online, but you can hear some band cover it on YouTube and it's sort of like the actual song.
What else? Well, I love the first two songs on The National's new album Boxer. I loved the opening track, Fake Empire, even before Said the Gramophone posted it yesterday. (NB: Yesterday will changed depending on when you read this post.) I kinda like the lyrics, "We're half awake in a Fake Empire." Not too polemical, you know? Just kinda true. (Also the lyric makes me think of the title of Half Asleep in Frog's Pyjamas by Tom Robbins, who I don't really like that much, like I don't really like Breakfast of Champions that much.)
Oh, by the way, Low are Mormons. And Cold War Kids, who I saw the other way and who I might have liked more if their lyrics weren't so ersatz, are Christian. And it's annoying when indie kids back away from music because it's created by religious musicians. Unless those musicians are black. Because black people are allowed to believe in make-believey godheads because they're so salt-of-the-earth, gosh!
I bring this up, because Michael Hann has a good lil' essay about this in today's Guardian.
I don't just like things, by the way. I, for instance, hate some things. Like Mr Hudson and the Library. I call him Mr Hudson and the Die-brary, because he goddamn screwed with two of my favourite songs on his new album, the cocky, wannabe prick. (But which I mean he is a prick and a wannabe; he doesn't want to be a prick; I don't think; semi-colon. Period; punctuation.)
You can listen to him screw the corpses of Tom Adair and Matt Dennis and, what the hell, Chet Baker too with his "cover/hostage taking" of Everything Happens to Me over on his MySpace page. If you want to hear him rape Lerner and Loewe's On the Street Where You Live (I sing this in the shower!), you'll have to buy his album or something, which you shouldn't.
Wow! There are so many Chet Baker videos on YouTube! Oh, by the way Chet, you're not supposed to sit in an armchair cross-legged while you blow your trumpet... Okay, you can get away with it. THIS TIME!