I have been making ill-advised plans and picking and choosing the ideals from my youth to return to and any day now my heart is going to explode and when it does it will sound like the chaos of my friends in Lunch.
I wrote you a letter, asked your best friend to send it but took to the sea before you could have read it. Retreated to snowcapped waters of the unknown, extracted my heart while it was still beating but glowing and red. And I swear that sweat would envelop your arms if you broke down and held it. I swear I’m a good man, so why don’t you love me back?
Instead of twisting up words, you just sat there in silence in wind-burnt homes sighing rays from a sunset. And all I could hear was the sound of the wasp nest. My head made a home for the hum of the insects. But my hands shake and shudder at the mention of half-written reasons why we’ll only be friends. I swear I’m a good man.
So why don’t you love me back?
I’ve been trying to figure out the bands I’d be listening to if I was still supposed to be listening to the type of music I did in college. Foxing is a pretty good bet on that.
Don’t blow me out before I finish burning. I’ve settled in to a life of learning. Wouldn’t it be fine if, at check-out time, I was doing what I’m doing right now?
I was staring in to a dirty mirror knee-deep on LSD when I broke out laughing and realized what most people are scared of is what enchants me. And I worked incredibly fucking hard to get here. For a long time, I’ve wanted people to take me seriously. What I’ve realized is, like everything, it won’t happen until I do it myself. I am totally content with living the rest of my life staring peril in the soul. I could listen to this song, though, forever, right now.
Every attempt to … is filled with holes. It reads like a polygraph, I’m told. I’m not bitter anyway. Let it go.
I never sleep still, lest I forget. Tied down by handicaps instead. I’m not bitter anyway, but I didn’t want it to turn out this way.
Sing a long goodnight. Forfeit any fight. Refuse to rest assured. It comes with no reply; hold on too tight, I hang on every word.
If it all ended tonight, you know that I wouldn’t mind. It’d be back to good old times before it won.
For whatever reason, Something To Write Home About has been more in tune with my life (I live ten minutes from downtown, I always fall in love or apart with people during summer, and, well, I’ve always been something of a loner, Dottie, a rebel) than it ever was in high school. Which is cool, I was always a bigger fan of Four Minute Mile, but there’s something to be said for generally youth-perceived music actually being able to last.
(Well, that, or I am just perpetually living the life of a confused 17-year-old.)
By Sini Anderson, 2013.
Kathleen Hanna is so fucking cool, and any time a documentary makes you ask yourself, “Why am I not breaking more rules?” it is successful.
I don’t know if I am more excited about Grouper, Carla Bozulich or SWANS tonight, but the fact that all three are on the same bill is fucking mind-blowing.
Lately I’ve been really digging Boy, but then again “Vessel” is one of my favorite lullabies ever and the combination of the past two SWANS records is enough force to move the world. So I guess this will have to be decided after the show.
Here’s the thing. I realized about two songs in to this show that if you had found me ten years ago as I drunkenly sobbed in to a bottle of Evan Williams with “Play Crack The Sky” on repeat and you told me that, at 31, I’d be seeing Brand New alone and nine months sober on a Saturday after a decade of failed relationships, amateur mistakes and professional drinking problems, I’d probably have said that sounds about right. In fact, I’d imagine most people who knew me back in college probably would have agreed my current situation is a logical progression of my life.
Now, what that says about me and whether or not I like it remains to be seen.
So this song is my favorite thing I somehow never heard until now. Well, I mean, I heard it at some point in the recent past, I just haven’t gone back to find it for real.
It’s just one of many tracks in my Shazam list; songs I’ve heard out somewhere throughout the past couple years, used the app to identify and have subsequently forgot to follow up on.
The randomness of the list is completely nuts. I also have no recollection of when or where I was when I heard any of these tracks, but with a list that goes from Daughter to Brothers Johnson to The Game to INXS, who the fuck knows. Et cetera, through a few more.
I will say, this is humorously like using analog cameras. Doing one action for a later payoff that only increases in weirdness and intrigue the longer you wait.
Also, it isn’t Dead Prez per se, but this has been in my head for weeks, and if I’m listing off random music worth checking out, just, kids these days. Still got it.
I’m not one to browse my own photo archives often unless I’m looking for something incredibly specific. So, today when I wanted to fuck with the front page, I decided to take a look back through my digital archive for some scenery. What I clicked on was the end of August, 2007.1
This was sort of the beginning of the end of my first go ’round in Portland; I moved to Austin on the first of October. I mention this because it was this move that very much informed my life since; I was leaving in order to return by the time I’d turned 30. While I spent plenty of time bounding around aimlessly, returning to Portland was always in the back of my head.
And it’s for this. This collection of photographs; these months and the 18 or so that preceded them. And, for the most part, I still at least have some knowledge of these people. But it’s fascinating to look at them all now, to look at myself now, and to sort of think back on how it exactly was I got (back) here.
So this was the last hurrah of August, seven years ago.
Brent and Jerry are still the guys I see most days. Brent and I will still be seen walking around town together with identical cameras. Jerry and I have made daily sessions of existentialism by porch light. Some things feel better when they don’t change.
Dan lives in St John’s and I’ve seen him a couple times; we were design students at the same time and both seem to stumble clumsily around that life. Ray moved from managing Satyricon here to Mississippi Studios now up in north, which is actually a decent vertical.
Jesse bought a house and a car and works with vegan food. Kyle lives in Washington and I heard he got married. Conrad was doing something in the DJ or promotion line of work in Los Angeles last time any stories made their way home. This was Jesse’s birthday, and everyone was bummed, because that’s just how life was.
Blake became a dad, which was sort of bound to happen. I saw him at a Life and Limb show not too long ago, and some things feel stranger when they don’t change.
Katie and Jerry broke up so she fell off the map. A year and a half ago I was in a bar I never go to and there was Katie at the end of it. Jake died in a tragic accident during the much-loathed summer of 2010, and was one of the best people in the truest sense of the term.
I only included this particular shot because totally randomly in the past 30 days I have seen Will at a basketball game that took place against the side of a van in a parking lot of an Eagles club while Mac and I visited the coast of Oregon with his son a couple weeks back. Both guys look about the same.
And after all that time practicing to spend the rest of my life at the end of a dive bar, I quit drinking. Go figure.
So there are all these faces that I know I’d recognize in the street and we’d say What’s been going on? and that’d be that. I’ve got the contact info for most of these guys; but it just isn’t the same thing. Punk rock sort of ages you out, and the directions people take in life—one way or another—are often just meant to signal that all our interactions are temporary. There will be a few to stick around, but most of us just fall by the wayside.
I guess, there was a time in my life where I didn’t believe that to be true. Maybe that’s why the photos are such nice things sometimes. I don’t mind that this time in my life ended me up right back here, just with a slightly smaller and different cast of characters to document. It’s just the photos sometimes show that so much has changed it seems that nothing ever changes.
I heard this song while working through an anxiety attack in a coffee shop and it stirred me; I couldn’t fully concentrate on it because of all the other noise, but it was calming and resonant.
I’ve been listening to it all day. It’s one of those pleasant surprises, a thing of beauty that strikes out of nowhere.
I am sure I would have heard this song months or years ago if I used things like Pandora, but, this is why I tend to abstain from such measures. It just feels right and significant now, adding a sense of uncertain bliss to life in all of the saddest and best ways. The unknown and unplanned of life, striking you up and down from time to time.
I don’t know, it made me want to paint the way only random and sustained beauty can. Art can be quite remarkable like that.