Here’s the eight installment of my muxtape, and you’ll play it here. This time, it’s all1 about France, people!
This is all about danceabilities, what makes us rock and rule, combining old with new and making ya shake that ass. Kick it!
1. Justice - “Genesis”
The first track off this duo’s debut album kicks ass. I’ve underestimated it, but even though some of the tracks are brilliant, they’re still not worthy of being dubbed Those Who Have Taken The Throne From Daft Punk. I’m waiting for their second album, aah! This track is awe-inspiring in its old skool-ness. The French definitely have a knack for that.
2. Daft Punk - “Musique”
This is a track almost 13 years older than the above, which shows that technology means fawk all and letting your hips lead the way is the thing. Daft Punk came from nowhere and floored everybody with their debut album, which still gets 10/10 from me; this track is a b-side to the single “Da Funk“.
3. Air - “Brakes On [Alex Gopher Mix]”
Air is usually known for being calm, cool and loved by Sofia Coppola, but this time they’re remixed by Alex Gopher, who first came into the scene through Orange, a band that featured people from Etienne de Crécy and Air.
4. Mr. Oizo - “Trina700 (Trina Kills Xtended Edit)”
Mr. Oizo is probably overlooked by the people who think he was a one-hit wonder with the track “Flat Beat” that Levi’s plugged to death through their jeans-commercials in the 90’s. Nopes. He’s still going strong and hasn’t lost his sense of funk, making music as well as DJ’ing.
5. Thomas Bangalter - “Spinal Scratch”((A take on Buzzcock’s magnificent single “Spiral Scratch“.))
Monsieur Bangalter is half of Daft Punk, and is known for a lot of his solo stuff, e.g. this single. The wonderful thing about this version, is that it’s set to the wrong speed; it’s really supposed to be played at double speed, but a Swedish mag - Bibel - issued this version, and I find it superior to the real version. It gnaws its way into my mind by repeating, repeating and repeating without becoming monotonous, reminiscent of Kraftwerk!
6. Jean-Michel Jarre - “Arpegiator”
Yep, I’ve featured Jarre before, and here he is again; without tracks like these, I’m sure that the electronic dance-scene would surely look different. This one’s off his legendary live-album, “The Concerts In China“. The percussion and arpeggi in this song…kills me.
7. Simian Mobile Disco - “Tits & Acid”
This is hard, this is sequenced, digital and staccato as opposed to Jarre’s soft, analogue track. SMD breathes new life into a well-executed techno-track by adding acid. More, please.
8. Daft Punk - “Technologic (Vitalic Remix)”
This track probably is a modern club classic, but Vitalic brings it to new heights. Remixing should be more than just adding a few instruments, and Vitalic has the touch.
9. SebastiAn - “Momy”
From the same record label as Justice, SebastiAn isn’t big, yet. This track shows why he should be. I’m loving it.
10. Rage Against The Machine - “Killing in The Name (Mr. Oizo Remix)”
Mr. Oizo takes on RATM’s old track by providing his recipe for creating the missing link between hardcore and funk. Bring. It. On.
11. Beethoven - “Suicide Scherzo (Ninth Symphony, Second Movement, Abridged)”
From the soundtrack to “A Clockwork Orange“, this is the work of Wendy Carlos, who in the 60’s worked closely with Robert Moog2 to churn out electronic versions of classical music by Bach, and as heard here, by Beethoven. Carlos is one of the pioneering geniuses of electronic music, and her work has inspired many a musician.
12. Justice - “Stress”
Beginning and ending this muxtape with Justice, this track is stress, as well as another good example of how they’ve incorporated groove into their tracks. Even though I don’t think they utilise the bass guitar enough for my taste, they make up for it with the drums working with their brilliant synthesizers and breaks, which actually makes me think of Michael Jackson. Work it!
Those of you who are in the know should know that Wendy Carlos is from the USA and Simian Mobile Disco is from England - but still![back]
In excellent fashion, Albert Finney plays a young, psychopathic rogue who lives for the moment and cares anything but aught for the people around him, especially the women he serenades and treats like trifle. He does, however, care about the weekend! This film is kitchen sink, loving, radiant, raucous and reminds me of "Billy Liar". I rooted for Finney's character in some aspect, waiting for him to change, but do some really ever? Radiant. See this film. Here's a top quote of Finney's from the film:
"Mam called me barmy when I told her I fell of a gasometer for a bet. But I'm not barmy, I'm a fighting pit prop that wants a pint of beer, that's me. But if any knowing bastard says that's me I'll tell them I'm a dynamite dealer waiting to blow the factory to kingdom come. Whatever people say I am, that's what I'm not because they don't know a bloody thing about me! God knows what I am."
Six characters play Bob Dylan during different stages of his career. Never mind that he's played by a child, by men of different ages and a woman; this is poetry. Actually, poetry and a lot of Dylan's anger and an explicit insight into his music. As free-wheelin' as the man himself seems to me, this is very well directed considering Haynes has made me feel that it's a complete film despite six totally different story-lines being weaved throughout the story. Extra kudos to Blanchett; call me stupid, but I didn't know it was she until the very last frame of her.
A sweet romantic comedy about an American star (Roberts) who meets an English boyish guy (Grant) who works in a Notting Hill bookstore. Can they fall in love and will it work? You know the answer. Rhys Ifans steals the show. The film is sweet, and the tell-tale ending made me cry. Oh, mercy me!
I knew this was going to be a total clownboat, but I couldn't possibly see how I'd be retching myself through the 90 hellish minutes that this excuse for vomit is. The film's about the hottie (being Paris herself, executive producer in this film) and the nottie, a physically ugly girl who's best friends with Paris. The main character, a completely unsympathetic drab, takes advice from his best friend - a loser John Belushi-lookalike who lives with his mom - and tries to be OK'ed by the nottie, which apparently is needed to get to Paris. This film is entirely guessable. Everything is shit in this film, especially the scenes where Paris is shown in slo-mo. Avoid or watch when wasted.
This film disappointed me. Daniel Day Lewis owns this film, by supreme acting. The cinematography was excellent, as was the dialogue, not to mention the great original score by Johnny Greenwood; direction was great as was the epic storytelling. Thing is, this film isn't my cup of tea. I think bits of it was lost in the process, at least for me. It's like the kind of jazz I don't like; while I appreciate the fact that others may enjoy it, it's definitely not for me. Didn't help that members of the church congregation all looked like they played in The Arcade Fire, either! All in all, the film was good, but if I would have reigned over it, I'd have cut it a lot tighter.
One of my favourite front-people ever, Gruff Rhys, has sung a track with Mogwai, titelled “Dial: Revenge”. Gruff - having written the lyrics - is as funny as ever:
‘Dial’ in Welsh means ‘revenge’…If a welsh speaker enters an English phone booth, having paid the coin/phone card the next command the l.e.d screen throws at the customer is ‘revenge!’ thus setting the tone for a confrontational conversation
I’m currently solo-reading Donna Tartt’s “The Secret History“, and here’s what I found a disturbing and well-written excerpt from it. I strongly recommend the book to anybody who likes crime, Sherlock Holmes and “Catcher In The Rye“. I don’t know why the following paragraphs have stuck with me, quite possibly because I don’t like people who behave like Bunny.
[...]‘But even then I had a feeling we hadn’t heard the last of it. He teased us about it - quite innocently, I believe, but in public as well as private - for the rest of the term. You know how he is. Once he gets something like that on the brain he won’t give it up.’
I did know. Bunny had an uncanny ability to ferret out topics of conversation that made his listener uneasy and to dwell upon them with ferocity once he had. In all the months I’d known him he’d never ceased to tease me, for instance, about that jacket I’d worn to lunch with him that first day, and about what he saw as my flimsy and tasteless Californian style of dress. To an impartial eye, my clothes were in fact not at all dissimilar from his own but his snide remarks upon the subject were so inexhaustible and tireless, I think, because in spite of my good-natured laughter he must have been dimly aware that he was touching a nerve, that I was in fact incredibly self-conscious about these virtually imperceptible differences of dress and of the rather less imperceptible differences of manner and bearing between myself and the rest of them. I am gifted at blending myself into any given milieu - you’ve never seen such a typical California teenager as I was, nor such a dissolute and callous pre-med student - but somehow, despite my efforts, I am never able to blend myself in entirely and remain in some respects quite distinct from my surroundings, in the same way that a green chameleon remains a distinct entity from the green leaf upon which it sits, no matter how perfectly it has approximated the subtleties of the particular shade. Whenver Bunny, rudely and in public, accused me of wearing a shirt which contained a polyester blend, or remarked critically that my perfectly ordinary trousers, indistinguishable from his own, bore the taint of something he called a ‘Western cut,’ a large portion of the pleasure this sport afforded him was derived from his unerring and bloodhoundish sense that this, of all topics, was the one which made me most truly uncomfortable.
The mere word conjures up images in my head, the likes of which quickly tell of my Western prejudice. Or rather, my personal prejudice. I used to think service was such as word, but Hell to the No! More about wrecking my prejudice later.
Mia and I left early to more for the airport. When we got there - having gone by Arlanda Express, a train that cut travelling time to the airport with three fourths in comparison with any other trains - Norwegian, i.e. the company that flew us, had cancelled our flight. Kudos, though, for that fight was immediately rescheduled to take off at the same time. I’d love it if all airlines were to have RSS-feeds telling you if a flight were delayed. Or at least an SMS-service.
Having checked our bags at the counter, we waited to board the plane. I love an early flight, and we left at mid-day to arrive at Orly at nine in the evening. Rummaging through passport control - a much quicker ordeal than at Gatwick in England - was a breeze and actually, so was our first affrontal with the French language. A bus-chauffeur reluctantly cast up his hands in height with his ears and made a frowning grin as I “Parlez-vous Anglais?”‘d him. As we found out that the bus would take us to Montparnasse we calmed and just watched the outside as the bus made its way through Paris.
As with London, the old is intertwined with the new. Lavish houses built this millennium sat side-by-side with buildings made with mortar and clay, threatening to fall to their bare components at any minute. It seemed that age, rather than any well-aged composite material, was holding them together.
Our hotel was recommended to us by Mia’s good friend Malin. The Hotel Aramis Best Western is part of a franchise, in a good way. The staff knew English well and were helpful in every way. And, unlike Hotel First G in Gothenburg, these guys knew how to clean the room we were staying in! The building was small and the elevator furry; it was completely carpeted from top to bottom. Funny, that. I felt like Robert Smith in the video for “Lullaby”.
Our room was situated on the fifth floor, crammed into a corner. It was actually lovely! The room was single, contorted with a double bed in the middle. Ugly painting on the wall above the bed. We gave this little thought as we had to venture into the night and get ourselves something to eat.
If I’d been responsible and checked out facts on Paris before actually travelling there, I might not have mentally copied the rules of London onto it. There weren’t many around-the-clock restaurants abound, so we were happy to get hold of the last two vegetarian pizza-slices from a horribly lit shack just down the road from our hotel. You should have heard my order, a marriage between gestures and bad grammar that would have made Jacques Tati and my old French-teacher wept. Still, we got our food and American soft-drinks without being cursed aloud. Not that I’d understand being barked at in a foreign language; oh, the pleasures of being a total foreigner.
The day after we made tea, made sure that a Do Not Disturb-sign was hanging from our door-knob and got ready for the day. Our friends D&T were getting married now, actually for the second time; apparently, they had to get married in Sweden first, in order to wed in France, which was their destination on where to get married.
We got a map from the hotel and went for the nearest Metro, i.e. subway. The French subway net is the oldest in the world and worked marvellously. One had to walk a lot at intersecting points but that wasn’t a problem in the least as every turn had signs logically and visibly placed. We bought travelling cards from non-service-minded people who actually made me miss Swedish service, which is often beyond crappy. Anyway, we got to Ben-Hakeim we went all-in on the tourist tip, by which I mean that we visited The Eiffel Tower. Oh yes, all-in. My Bog, was that thing huge? Hell yes. It was more magnificent and actually more beautiful than through any picture or film I’ve ever seen it in. The surrounding area was a blend between parks, small gardens and a very attractive pond. Hustlers were abound, a lot selling metal trinket copies of the tower, others decked out as gypsies trying to raise money for their fake son’s fake operation in a real country. We made our way through the rest of the tourists and found out that going up in the lifts or even walking up the stairs wasn’t going to happen, as the queues were inhumanely long, stretching forever, with the partakers being accosted by the hustlers to and fro. Coupling the time it’d take to get into the tower with Mia’s vertigo, we got some mineral water and sat down in an adjacent park.
Calm. Paris. It kind of dawned on me that we were actually, finally here. A month prior, Mia and I had talked about how soon our trip was to be. The week prior to the trip, neither of us were getting hysterical over trip details, passports, et.c.. We packed everything neatly and now that we were here, it all came to me.
We decided to eat and drink, but sadly we chose the tourist trap Café Eiffel, which was an absolute shithole. Service was relatively quick but that was nothing compared with what was to come; we ordered two vegetarian sandwiches with lettuce, cheese and tomato plus two café au lait. We received the sandwiches with eggs and mayo smeared all over. Fucking hell. Mia hates mayo and didn’t finish her sandwich. The bread was good, but the mayo basically made the rest of the ingredients its bitches and owned them for life. I saw a big coffee-machine designed for professionally making nice coffees, and I even saw a grinder, but I’ll be damned if the coffee tasted anything but pre-ground shit. It was horrible! The only excuse was the big chunk of cream on top, garnished with cinnamon and a hefty amount of sugar. The sugar helped neutralise the effect of the coffee. Having paid close to 25USD for that crapfest, we left.
Ah, Paris. I don’t want to sound complaining despite the above description. Every street held something special and discovering stuff by stumbling onto it was blissful. We lead a cut-up existence, stitched together by a few set points.
T&D’s marriage, for instance. They’d already married when in Sweden, so that they could marry in France. Having visited the Eiffel tower, we got ready and left for the nearest Metro, maps in hand. I’ve actually never felt this comfortable as a tourist. Plodding along streets, trying to navigate while not really caring whether we strayed off the given path (unless time was of essence), we purchased flowers by a place and waited until the time was right. T’s dad’s a padre of the christian faith, and as such, his parents and kids were roomed in the Swedish church, where he was to marry. D’s parents and kid had a room in the same hotel as T&D. The church had a beautiful little court on which the sun shone. Mia and I saw T&D arrive and vanish into the church, before heying them. We quickly went to a nearby café and had mineral water. Mia swore they had the filthiest toliets ever.
The ceremony was beautiful. I’m a true atheist, but as I grow older I grow more accustomed and liking of the ceremony where two people promise each-other eternal love. Of course, this is not a precursor to keeping christianity. D wore a shrouding bridal dress and T sported Roberto Cavalli, both radiating. Mia and I smiled so much during the ceremony that we both complained of gum-ache afterwards. Still, I could not help smiling afterwards. T’s brother poured everybody champagne as we got acquainted with the families. The weather was good and everybody in high spirits. After the ceremony - or rather, following D’s escape as T told her he’d carry her over the steps - Mia and I left for Hausmann, which D’s brother told me we’d easily find on Boulevard Hausmann. Mia and I walked that boulevard for an hour, at which point Mia’s shoes gave up and hated on her, resulting in our retreat for Champs-Élysées and trying to find somewhere to shop, somewhere existing; little wonder did we find two or three Zara’s, a big Virgin Megastore - which, ironically, wasn’t stacking the one French album I looked for - and so we looked a little until the time was more than nigh and we relised we had to get away. No longer trusting ourselves to find the Italian restaurant that T&D had picked, we jumped into a cab and were driven a couple of kilometers to La Familia, a very nice little venue that served brilliant vegetarian ravioli, good wine and a semi-irritating man who wanted to come on like Brando outta “The Godfather”, even calling T’s dad “padre”.
Mia and I were first on the scene, just on the clock. The rain had started pouring down the very second we came into the restaurant. Everybody else were fashionably late yet trickled in, one after another and it was nice to sit on the opposite side of Mia at one end of a long table, with T’s brothers next to her and T’s mom on my side. Mia and I warmed a lot to her, who was warm at heart and had a great sense of humor.
We ate. Oh, lawd, we ate with heart and mind. It didn’t feel strange to be a foreigner eating Italian food in Paris when the food was this good. Bruschetti with great olive oil, a parade of entrées and then the main course, marvellous ravioli with a very fresh, simple tomato sauce; the Brando wannabe twice stated that the ravioli were all hand-made by a most elusive mama. More wine. More laughter. I gazed at Mia, waiting for tomorrow, even though our current setting was grand. After a while we all left for home; Mia and I walked several quarters with T’s mom and dad plus their two brothers. Once we travelled home by metro, we got hold of one of the few open shops in our neighbourhood, got a few Lay’s and plopped down on our hotel bed while watching what turned out to be the middle of Jodorowsky’s “Holy Mountain“; trust me, it was quite surreal, even moreso than watching French game-shows without subtitles.
The day after. The wonderful Saturday that I shan’t forget for the rest of my life. Mia and I got ourselves ready, me with the box in my left jacket pocket, and away we went. It was quite a journey, to get to Cimetière du Père Lachaise, a.k.a. the Père Lachaise cemetery. We refused to buy a map, and hence wandered through the huge cemetery1 where dignities such as Edith Piaf, Jim Morrison and Molière are buried. Aeons of graves, sepulchers and well-sculpted busts and thrones were inspected. Many old ones lay askew and at times seemed like they were going to tumble off the fickle ground. Some tombs were very ascetic in design while others contorted and throned magnificently. Some were superbly designed, others just gleaming of braggadocio. Tourists hovered like bees around the more well-known dead people, taking pictures, as we came further to our gold. The box seemed to burn in my pocket at this time.
Suddenly, we’d reached the tomb of Oscar Wilde. It was covered in lipstick, scrawled messages in different languages and and made me tingle. One of my literary heroes lay buried here, with a beautiful marker of stone to show the place, right next to a small strip of cobblestone road. Tourists were abound. Mia and I waited a little, inspected and photographed the place, then sat down at the opposite side of the road and took in the full glory. And we knew. And I felt everything. And I reached into my pocket and pulled out the box, opened it and asked Mia if she wished to engage with me, to be married.
She said yes and thereby made me the happiest person alive. I’ve written about our engagement before as I just couldn’t help myself from blurting it out to the entire world. We shone as we sat. Mia illuminated me with her being and we stood up to walk down the road, slowly. Though the sky was darkening I couldn’t have felt happier. If Mia hadn’t been holding my hand I’m sure I’d have floated past the haunting trees and beyond.
We slowly left the cemetery and went to shop some more before heading back to the hotel; ironically, we found most stuff on the very street where our hotel was situated, i.e. Rue de Rennes. We then left in search of food, and ended up at a local Pomme de Pain. This is the Parisian equivalent of a sandwich shop, where we ate a sandwich - sans mayo and other painful stuffs - and then went to the nearest café which happened to be Café Leffe, where I had a wonderful glass of the Belgian ale and we settled down. It was terrific. The air was quite warm, we were surrounded by people who seemed to love life, and even the traffic was lovely; no, this wasn’t because of the alcoholic beverage that I imbibed. The atmosphere felt completely relaxed, and the service was OK here.
We left to go see T&D at their hotel, where they had a room high in the air. As we entered the foyer loads of Asians were abound. Two old ladies were wearing kimonos and looking cool. Loads of Asian men wearing suits, while the Asian women rushed around. We sat down and waited for T&D to show up. There were golden blingy things everywhere in the ceiling of the foyer, rectangles symmetrically placed. T&D met us and we went up a non-carpet-covered elevator to their room, located almost at the very top of the very high hotel building. Luxuriously, we peered out from the windows until T made way and started launching biscuits from the window! Of course we tried to egg him on to throw more out the window, but suddenly we were out of stuffs and had to break everything down to drinking and talking. After a while Mia started feeling quite tired, and I was on the same path; we tried to break the tiredness by going to the fancy club that the hotel apparently had situated on the very top floor; when there, it was so packed with people that we went back to T&D’s room - only to retry half an hour later, to little aid; it was still full. Never mind, the music sounded like shite. Writing of music, Mia and I were supposed to leave for La Loco, a big club that Malin had recommended. We even had flyers printed to get in at a discount price, but as tired as we were…oh my. We left our mates and their big hotel and jumped in a cab that was seemingly driven by the guy from “Vanishing Point” as he accelerated and braked constantly through the makeshift 20-lane traffic surrounding Arc-de-Triomphe. About 15 minutes and 20 Euro later we came to our hotel, went up and slept.
Sunday. The last day. We woke up without any hang-over and got up, checked out, left our luggage at the hotel and exited to discover that everything’s closed in Paris on Sundays. Hell’s bells! We nearly had to eat gravel as we struggled to find somewhere that was open and could serve us food; combining those two demands was near-death-impossible. OK, so I exaggerate. Maybe a little. A Pomme du Pain had to suffice, and it was nice to sit there as one of their people made crêpes for everybody on the sidewalk to see. By the way, Sunday is the day when everybody in Paris takes their tiny dog for a walk. I rarely saw any medium-to-big-sized dogs, only miniscule ones. Wonder why, but as P.M. Dawn said it: that’s the way it goes.
We ended up at Café Liberte where we were met by nice older men who served us well. I liked that a lot! I feel that ageism really is a problem in Sweden. However, Paris seemed undeterred by this, just like Spain, former Yugoslavia and most other countries I’ve visited2. We sat outside where cold winds were starting to blow, so we went inside and watched as the rain started falling. This, paired with Mia’s aching feet from all our walking, made us scrap our plans to visit Saint-Séverin and instead went to the Louvre. While we didn’t swoon over the masterpieces from the Greek era - which is where we first went, bewildered from all the people swarming the place - we stumbled onto the Napoleonic era and were awestruck. I mean, a blinged-out set like this chair, table and mirror would probably even make Beyoncé or Baby grit their diamonds excessively. This picture of Napoleon III’s dining-room says a lot about why the French people were starving and what lead the royals to lose their heads during the French Revolution. There were quite a few pieces there that I would love to have at home, oh brother. We weren’t helped by the fact that whenever we strolled through a street that contained furniture for sale, a lot of it made me guffaw and want to take it home with us. Anyway, back to the Louvre.
There was a lot of modern art available as well, for instance this party lamb. GO, YOU FRIKKIN’ LAMB YOU! I had to write that. Party hat and all, it killed me. There were a few other pieces of modern art that were massive, but seeing that there are appx. 32000 pieces of art in the Louvre, it’s totally overwhelming. We entered the museum fairly unprepared, and for those of you thinking about going there to see a lot of art: plan what you want to see beforehand, at least per age/period/style. Having passed through the modern arts, we decided to take an elevator instead of grinding through the hordes of tourists who all were heading in the same direction as us: to see the Mona Lisa. Ooh-er, I told you we were tourists!
While waiting for the miniscule elevator with appx. 50 Asian people standing before us waiting to get on, we nearly collapsed. Having to wait for ages until they’d all cleared seemed impossible, until - bang! - all of a sudden every single Asian symmetrically moved away from the elevator and walked the stairs instead. 50 people moving in formation, impressive! Hence, we were in the elevator and up at the Mona Lisa-floor in no time at all. When there, Mia spotted art that she’d seen in books from history class in school. I spotted nothing I recognised, which goes to show how much I know from the 1700’s. And there it was, the old lady, incarcerated behind guards, a fence and thick layers of plexiglass. We looked at it, looked at each-other, said “shall we?” and left.
Once away from the Louvre, we went back, got our bags and left for Orly airport. No troubles. The metro and then connecting at Antony towards the train line, we had our last pain de chocolates and checked in. We bought a few items and then queued to get onboard the plane. Looked like our airline of choice, Norwegian, had mistakenly ousted a number of passengers from their roster, thus creating tension, to say the least. Two younger Swedish men who obviously had travelled to Paris together, were told that only one of them could go home, and that the other could fly home tomorrow. There weren’t any “excuse us” ejected by the crew, and the poor men had to call people themselves, fighting their way through the French and the English language. Oh, I was incredibly happy to see Mia’s and my name pop up when the passenger-list was produced through an old matrix printer3. After a long wait, we boarded and got home. At Stockholm station, an angry cabbie literally threw our bags in the trunk of his car and drove us home, where we fell into bed and dreamland. At long last.
The days after made us recollect and dream of Paris even more. Oh, I can’t wait to go back! The city and experiences we had outshone my wildest expectations, and I couldn’t be more happy about it. By no way, most of the pics above are courtesy of Mia, whose pictures are available here.
Here’s the seventh installment of my muxtape, and you’ll play it here.
Crikey! What happened to installment six? It went and gone. I uploaded the files, but didn’t write anything about it. Anyway, here’s a nice little assortment of quirky, lovely and angry tracks for you.
1. Laurie Johnson - “Theme from The Avengers”
I didn’t mean for this to be another Theme from, but it just turned out that way. Even though I really wanted “Theme from The Persuaders“, this is infinitely cheesier, which I think works better on another level with the hard beautiful shell that is
2. My Bloody Valentine - “Sometimes”
This track is in modern times probably most well known for being featured in the wonderful film “Lost in Translation“, which Kevin Shields1 curated, musically speaking, with Sofia Coppola. This track serves to prove why “Loveless” is one of my favourite albums ever; incidentally, it’s one of the albums I’ve always heard is great, but took the most number of listens before I could even call it listenable. These days, I couldn’t consider parting from it.
3. Scout Niblett - “Lullaby For Neptune in 10 Years”
Speaking of genius, to me, Scout Niblett is a magnificent artist, an ardent follower of doing things her own way. Reminiscent to Kurt Cobain (who musically convinced Niblett to create music of her own), this fantastic track kicks ass in an artistic and a get-your-rocks-off way. And yes, I’ve podcast this song more than two years ago. It’s produced by Steve Albini, damn it, so notice how the drums are in the forefront during the chorus. Beauty.
4. Body Count - “There Goes The Neighborhood”
There goes the neighborhood.
Here come them fuckin’ niggas
with their fancy cars.
Who gave them fuckin’ niggas
those rock guitars?
Who let ‘em in the club?
Did you make ‘em pay?
Who let ‘em on the stage?
Whose lettin’ ‘em play?
Don’t they know rock’s just for whites
don’t they know the rules?
Those niggers are too hard core
this shit ain’t cool.
I love the album “Body Count”; during the early 90’s, Ice-T had the audacity to make a hardcore rock album with punk ethics, compiling lyrics about everything from racism to sexism; some people hate their debut record, while it’s one of the very few of the genre that make me want to get stupid in every sense.
5. Rage Against the Machine - “Know Your Enemy”
Even though this is also hardcore, it’s a lot better produced than the Body Count-track mentioned above; Zach de la Rocha is another vocalist, really knowing how to phrase his vocals, not to mention Tom Morello’s trademark style of guitar-playing, et.c. This is an extremely tight band.
Yes, it’s the theme song for Emmerdale Farm - so what? It’s pretty! It’s swooning, seemingly made for pensioners sailing on their solemn way towards death by TV. A big nod towards Francis Lai and Georges Delerue.
7. Whale - “Pay For Me”
This is a Swedish band from the 90’s, consisting of a TV show-host, a comedian and a record producer. Still, they did rock. The video is Jonas Åkerlund’s first. The sung lines “For God’s sake/Jesus” is genius.
8. Atari Teenage Riot - “Kids Are United”
Since Swedish company KPA started pimping the classic track “Kids Are United” by Sham 69, I remembered Atari Teenage Riot’s take on it, and here it is. Guitars are mashed by samplers and gabber urban warfare, proving founding ATR member Alec Empire’s point that riot sounds can indeed produce riots. When Thurston Moore2 heard ATR, he famously said he wanted to discard his guitar and pick up a sampler instead.
Here’s the commercial by KPA, by the way.
9. Dinosaur Jr. - “Sludgefest”
As ATR have sampled this track by this American drone-band, I thought of including it. Either you love or hate it, as with most of Dinosaur Jr.’s music; it took me a long time to get around listening to “You’re Living All Over Me“, but every strain was worth it. I love J. Mascis’ guitar-solo.
10. Depth Charge - “Shaolin Buddha Finger”
English, big-beat classicism, 90’s, kung fu-flick-samples, hip-hop-worshipping. Differs a lot from the rest of the tracks on this mix.
11. Rah Band - “Clouds Across The Moon”
This is the first song I ever downloaded using Napster, which took me 9 hours through dial-up. Worth it? You bet. I always think of Douglas Adams’ “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” when hearing it; oh, the harrowing tale of love lost through a broken intergalactic phone-line: Next year…next year…next year.
12. Filter - “Hey Man, Nice Shot”
Having played guitar with Nine Inch Nails for a long time, Richard Patrick left the band during the recording of “The Downward Spiral” and formed Filter, which released its debut album in 1995. This is their debut single, which is inspired by Bud Dwyer’s way of ending his life.
The founder and musical genius of My Bloody Valentine.[back]
Founding member, singer and guitarist in Sonic Youth.[back]
You bet. We’re going to see Ice Cube as he hits Stockholm in July, for the first time in 15 years. I’m looking forward to extreme amounts of sexism, racism, wiggerism and funkiness.
And the tickets are now literally in my hand, yeeeea boiiiiii bitches!
SebastiAn’s “Momy” is the best new track I’ve heard in a long time. You can listen to it here, and don’t forget to pick up SebastiAn’s “Motor EP“, out now.
Terence Fixmer has just released his first 12″ - “Avalance EP” - in a year, and I’ve really been looking forward to his new release! I can’t say I’ve heard other tracks than the one available at his MySpace page, but it’s promising, even though I like Dave Clarke more. As if that’s not enough, Fixmer/McCarthy play Stockholm in May.
Portishead has played Coachella, and somebody’s nice enough to have released a radio rip of the event downloadable in its entirety right here. Now buy their new album!
Picture courtesy of Petter Brandt; more of his from the gig are available here.
Mia and I went to see them live, but unfortunately Berns has non-existing air-conditioning and hence we avoided death and left the venue while the third song was playing. I felt so ill I almost thought staying would be a good idea, which probably can be compared with the feeling people who are freezing to death get, experiencing that they’re very warm just as they’re about to die.
After a bit of conferencing with Mia, we agreed on leaving. I felt like I was snatching her away from a band she really wanted to see, but in the end, we both needed to leave.
After all, we got to see Neubauten in their glory. Blixa. As he sang through “Nagorny Karabach” and Hacke hit his trademark bass-style, I felt at home. And I felt utterly sick from there being no air whatsoever in the venue, with people behaving like ogres. Perfect proof of this was a 40-year-old man who jumped onto the little mini-stage Mia and I stood on, just ahead of her, so that she couldn’t see a damned thing. Wankers.
The band, though. It was lovely to hear them. We’ll see them again, no doubt, as I’m quite sure they’ll pop up just when we least expect it. We purchased some merch before we went home, e.g. a singlet and the book No Beauty Without Danger. We carried this home in a black Neubauten plastic bag with the logo in gold. Sweet.
On the other hand: I curse you, Berns! Get your AC in order, or I’ll…curse you more.
Here’s a video of the second song performed (not filmed by me).
It’s amazing how time - and to a different extent sad, tarnished Malcolm McLaren - has changed how people view Sex Pistols; the way shock value has changed over the decades since punk rock as well, probably. When this mangy bunch of characters were assembled, had learned how to play their instruments (to a limited extent), desired fame and rebelled at boredom with wit, few points of ethic and great tunes, people were shocked. Of course.
Before the Sex Pistols, bands like The Modern Lovers, Television, the New York Dolls, the Ramones were fresh, had a simple, hard, guitar-based sound, came from the USA and turned things around for a lot of British youngsters, bringing simple songs you could play your guitar to with lyrics that you could relate to. No wonder punk became a massive movement, the very ethos of which is do-it-yourself.
The artists that were popular just before punk rock came had become dinosaurs, no longer on the tip of their toes, too rich for their own good, creating music that was far too complex to be played by their fans with lyrics that didn’t connect. Artists like Emerson, Lake & Palmer, The Eagles, Genesis, Linda Ronstadt, The Doobie Brothers…and, sadly, even Bowie. They weren’t in touch with younger generations who desperately dreamed of something that they could connect with. Hippies singing about golden arcs in the sky with phantom dreams of forlorn…Hotel California didn’t say anything to those whose lives that were being mauled by Margaret Thatcher and teachers who told them they weren’t going to amount to much. From the mouth of Johnny Ramone:
They were writing songs about their cars, about making out with girls. We didn’t have that. We wrote songs about boredom and sniffing glue.
From necessity came punk rock.
Sex Pistols were a lot more than the filth and fury that the rag mags made them out to be; just see the seminal documentary about them - “The Filth and The Fury” - to know more. Their songs were at times designed to be crude and offensive, but considering just something like the political situation at the times, little wonder! People like to beat down on John Lydon for being a lazy sod, an opportunist, a puppet in the hands of McLaren, an anti-intellectual, but he wasn’t1. Instead, he had intelligence, wit and a personality that very few lead singer ever have matched.
The track “No Feelings” isn’t apathetic. It’s self-lovin’:
I got no feelings, a no feelings
No feelings for anybody else
Except for my self
My beautiful self, dear
That, paired with the wonderful “Liar” that casts aside all curtains in all its simplicity:
I know where you go everybody you know
I know everything that do or say
So when you tell lies
I’ll always be in your way
I’m nobody’s fool and I know all
‘cos I know what I know
The first line in “Holidays In The Sun” says it all: a holiday in other peoples’ misery!
I don’t wanna holiday in the sun
I wanna go to new Belsen
I wanna see some history
’cause now I got a reasonable economy
Here’s the fifth installment of my muxtape, and you’ll play it here.
1. Barry De Vorzon - “Theme from The Warriors”
Even though some don’t know what “The Warriors” is, this is a swift reminder of the great soundtrack. Analogue synths with arpeggios team with guitars to sound rough. Remember, suckers?
Cyrus: Now, here’s the sum total: One gang could run this city! One gang. Nothing would move without us allowing it to happen. We could tax the crime syndicates, the police, because WE got the streets, suckers! Can you dig it? Gang Members: YEAH!
2. Beastie Boys - “Stand Together”
When I saw them live for the first time, these guys played this as their intro. As the crescendo kicked in, people went happy, and I went down into the ground, trampled by the masses. And yes, I was happy.
3. Tindersticks - “Feel The Sun”
From their new album, “Hungry Saw”, here’s a sombre, nice track that brings memories of yore; mind you, “yore” is their album “Curtains“, that I loved on its release.
4. Billy Swan - “I Can Help”
A modern-day classic from Gus van Sant’s brilliant film “Paranoid Park“, this is an odd track. Good voice and…a nice message.
5. Daft Punk - “Oh Yeah”
Off their debut album, this is one of the tracks that wasn’t released as a single; it just goes to show how snippets of silence can create funkiness and that said album doesn’t contain a single filler.
6. The Last Shadow Puppets - “My Mistakes Were Made For You”
This is a duo consisting of Alex Turner from Arctic Monkeys and Miles Kane from The Rascals, making tracks as if Scott Walker continued doing his thing. Produced by a guy from Simian Mobile Disco, no less.
7. Portishead - “Hunter”
From their new album, “Third”, come these Bristolians with a tweaked sound, reviving themselves after having scrapped nearly an albumful as they thought that it sounded too much like…themselves. Daring, and it seems to have paid off. The new album is spellbinding.
8. The Stone Roses - “Driving South”
From their second and - what will in all probability be - their final album, this is a boogie-trip with a brilliant riff. As a lot of people diss the album from whence this is ripped, I retort to say it’s got a lot of highs - check out “Ten Storey Love Song” and “Begging You” from the album to see what I mean.
9. Charlotte Hatherley - “Kim Wilde”
Before Ms. Hatherley left Ash to go solo, she released a wonderful, quirky pop-album filled with hooks and turns that reminded me of Pixies and Graham Coxon’s later solo-stuff. This first single off that album, “Grey Will Fade”, was actually released for free.
10. Bonde Do Role - “James Bonde”
Before Marina left the band, she helped turn it out and make it really memorable. This is a good example of the beats and voice of the band at their most minimalistic.
11. Refused - “The Refused Party Program”
Swedish hardcore legends Refused made their albums without any sense of how to sell it; it’s not that they tried, but didn’t want capitalism to rule.
12. Aphex Twin - “73-yips”
I actually bought the single “On” on vinyl because of the strength of the video (directed by Jarvis Cocker), and this is one of the b-sides. To say this track disturbed me during my first listen would be a slight understatement.
You’re just too good to be true
Can’t take my eyes off you
And so, it’s finally happened.
Mia and I are engaged to be married. As I cannot wait to publish it as part of my coming post on our recent trip to Paris, I write it now. I’m elated. I’m floating at stratospheric levels while my feet are on solid ground. I’m brought to the point in 1993 when I saw Depeche Mode live, performing “Higher Love” as the first track; I’m reminded of an early morning on Hornsgatan when I listened to Okkervil River’s “A Glow” for the very first time; I think of how I’ve sung “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” to Mia while lying in bed. This is a feeling I cannot truly describe.
This is unprecedented.
The ceremony – to me – held what Morrissey touched1 when singing “Love is natural and real”. The blinding light.
As I held Mia’s hands in mine sitting in front of Oscar Wilde’s grave, I felt everything was in its right place. There was no sense of wrong, no doubt. There was acknowledgement; I felt that I was exactly where I wanted to be, with Her.
She and I have been through much during our relatively short period of time together so far; we have experienced heart-shattering pains, mind-numbing sadness, the unveiling of each other in ever-delving depth and breadth, coiled with mind-expanding bliss, bare-boned happiness, independent togetherness, the growth of friendship and love (simply put) beyond the limits of what I’ve ever known. I feel the greatest sense of trust when divulging what are my most personal matters to her, which of course partly displays why it is so easy to do. I hope she will always feel the same for me.
All that has happened between us has brought us nearer to each other by every day. Every day.
Life is changing so fast and there’s nothing I can do to stop it
But when I crane my neck to kiss your head, I know
That there is something that I can rely on
And when I strain my thoughts to push this thread I sew
It’s some kind of future that I can be sure of
Because I love you, because I love you
With Mia, I have found trust, immediate honesty and the most beautiful friendship with the person I want to live the rest of my life with. Plainly put: it’s Love.
For as long as I’ve known Mia, her being has made me hear music, existing and non-existing. Right now, Gene comes to me:
Hello, hello, hello
At last I’m satisfied
At last I have arrived
We know, we know, we know
We don’t want more
But I greedily do want more of one single benefactor: time. And I aim to treasure and revere as much as I can wring of it for as long as I may.
The sun is rising as I write this. I am bathing in light.
In the song “I Know It’s Over”; the irony here is almost Wildean![back]
At. Long. Last. The release date for “The 3rd World”, the third album by Immortal Technique, has just been set as I received the following from Immortal’s record company:
Artist: Immortal Technique
Album: The 3rd World
Release date: June 24th
Label: Viper Records
Distribution: Koch Entertainment
Features include: Chino XL, Crooked I, RasKass, Psycho Realm, Diabolic
Production includes: Green Lantern, Southpaw, Buckwild, Scram Jones
[...] Immortal Technique and DJ Green Lantern (DJ for Jay Z & Sirius Satellite) complete their vision of colliding their worlds into one full-length album, The 3rd World. The mix of street Hip Hop with the vivid landscapes of global struggle shows that world politics and music politics are almost one in the same. While still a full-length album, DJ Green Lantern blends and mixes it from start to finish, with about a 1/3 of the production to his name. Expect to hear Immortal Technique’s striking lyrics on an even more street influenced production that occasionally fortifies him to show his bi-lingual versatility on the mic.
As if this problem isn’t international…still, I’ll write about what happens in the country I know.
It seems that TV-commercials in Sweden plagiarise known songs a lot more now than before. Rather than licensing the original track – that is, if they’re allowed to – SAS has created their own version of Brian Eno & David Byrne’s supreme song “Regiment”, off the multi-layered masterpiece “My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts“. Check the original out here. Sadly, the commercial isn’t available online.
Another big company, Dressman, has ripped off Beck’s track “Sissyneck“, which is from a masterpiece album namely “Odelay“. When I confronted them with this, their Marketing Manager, Tomas Behring, said Dressman’s version is original and made to evoke “a summery feeling with energy and joy but [sic] at the same time a manly rock light sound.”1 Yeah, right. Nobody thought of the intro whistle, the drums, the singer’s way of singing is extremely like Beck’s “Sissyneck”? Come off it. Their idea of ripping Beck off isn’t even original, as IKEA ripped Beck off a year ago for one of their TV-commercials.
Nycomed AB, a company that makes medicines, has blatantly stolen Carl Orff’s “Gassenhauer”. Check the company’s ad here, and listen to Orff’s track here.
Then I saw another commercial where they play “Mares Eat Oats“, an old American track, which incidentally is the one that Leland Palmer sings having his hair just turned white. Click here to find the Swedish commercial, and see below to check the bit where Leland goes more insane than usual:
My own translation; the original quote reads as follows: “Vi ville ha en sommrig låt med energi och glädje men samtidigt ett litet manligt light rock sound.”[back]
As Mia and I hadn’t had a proper housewarming party, we decided to finally have one. I think it was good of us to set it post-renovations, to be a carrot of sorts. We finished our renovations just before the party, and even got some furniture in place to prove it.
Nanna and Rade1 came by on Friday evening and we spent it watching “No Country For Old Men” yet again, drinking beer and wine; it ended with Mia falling asleep slightly before Nanna. Rade and I then went to bed and we all got cheerily the following morning.
Massive amounts of balloons were inflated, hoovering was performed, a bowl was smashed by accident (by yours truly - I’m ever so sorry, Mia!) and punch was mixed during and after I kicked Rade’s ass in Burnout Revenge:
Despite all of Rade’s previous petty attempts to say he’s the best at gaming, I say we’ve all finally got video proof of the truth! If you wonder, I made Rade promise not to drown his sorrows in Prozac. Instead, we had another thing coming.
People started showing up and we got merry, with conversations flowing a-wild. Nanna tried to control Mia’s and my musical playlist by crazily double-clicking every single track until I physically removed her from it, and banned her from reaching for the controls. After that, our nazi way of playing our music worked wonderfully and people had a good time! If anybody’s interested, here’s what was played during the party.
We made more and more punch until we ran out of some of the fruits used, and then had to let people get high on their own supply - which really wasn’t hard. Rade and I had bought a bottle of Cris, but this time around, it just didn’t taste…like it did before. Could be because I’d drunk punch before that, but it shouldn’t really have mattered that much. Ah, living the dream. Rade and I toasted as we ran Big Tymers’ “#1 Stunna” video in the background, full screen, stereo blasting it. Anyway, we proffered Cris to a multitude of people and Zak flipped, living the dream the way it’s supposed to be lived! Here’s picture proof of just that - before I hid his shoes and he went home in a taxi. Or the train, was it, Zak?
After a nightful of partying, Mia came up with the brilliant idea to turn people on to SingStar, and we sang ourselves into a stupor. Mia killed me singing the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe” and probably in Pussycat Dolls’ “Don’t cha” as well. Kim ruled! Too bad Mia didn’t battle him. As SingStar went silent and people went home - except for Malin and Criz who went to Medusa, and Rade to Alladin - Mia, Kuba and I started singing merrily away to The Smiths and Morrissey. Oh yes, all-together-now-style! And if you’ve got a Facebook account and you know me, you’ll see the proof of that right here.
Then, we crashed, apart from me collecting Rade as he came home, memory not intact. Funny, everybody who drank my mineral water + vodka-drinks had memory-gaps. Is it really so strange?
The day after we said bye to Nanna who left early for her home town. We then woke up slowly, cleaned the place a little and had soy burgers with Rade, who left shortly after that.
Thanks a lot to everybody who came! You made the party a success and it was insanely fun to see you all again - and some of you who turned up for the very first time. Here’s to many more times to come!
Mia’s uploaded a bunch of pictures from the party, viewable right here; she and Zak have respectively recapped the party in more detail than I have.
I like Grooveshark lite, a free site by a company that’s created a P2P-client and now lets you partake of all their MP3’s. I’ve created a little film that allows you to see how the site works, so to see it, click here.
For those unfamiliar with the company, Grooveshark allows users to upload and share their music collection with friends, but with a twist: every song uploaded can be purchased DRM-free with the uploader getting a cut of each sale (the rest goes to the record companies, and the service is 100% legal).
The new Grooveshark Lite player is not dissimilar to what Last.fm offers, but without the silly restrictions like being able only play the single five times. It also helps that Grooveshark has a huge selection of music; I don’t have comparable numbers but Grooveshark returned better results on a couple of more obscure searches, where as Last.fm failed or only had 30 seconds of the song.
Nice. We need more ways to listen to and buy obscure tracks/albums/artists through the web, without having to register.
By the way, Allmusic seems set on revamping their site again, giving its users more music and info, but nobody knows how it’ll look or when it’ll happen.
Here’s the fourth installment of my muxtape, and you’ll play it here.
1. Fumio Hayasaka - “Titles”
Hayasaka made a lot of cinematic music for Akira Kurosawa, one of the masters of cinema. This is just one example of his expertise in using crescendo.
2. Jean-Michel Jarre - “The Overture”
While Jarre has more or less turned away from his more avant-garde self in the late 70’s, this track - off his great live-album “The Concerts in China” - shows how his sense of arrangement and lush analogue synthesizers rocked. Slow and massive, this is how he kicked off the very first concerts by a westerner in China for many a year.
3. Clint Mansell - “Summer Overture”
Taken from the soundtrack to “Requiem For A Dream“, Mansell churns out a harsh theme by violin.
4. Aretha Franklin - “Niki Hoeky”
The voice! Next to Dusty Springfield, few soul-singers have turned my world upside-down like Aretha.
5. Dexys Midnight Runners - “Thankfully Not Living In Yorkshire It Doesn’t Apply”
Speaking of soul, here’s a white bunch led by Kevin Rowland who really managed to show the world what northern soul can be about - brazen, political, carrying its own system of laws and - very importantly - you have to dance to it.
6. Dan the Automator/DJ Shadow/Nana Simopoulos - “Ganges A Go-Go”
This is a mighty ensemble of DJ’s and producers, who’ve taken on Bollywood jingles and made them into Indian-ish hip-hop; this is taken from the album “Bombay The Hard Way: Guns, Cars And Sitars“.
7. Blondie - “Maria”
What to say? It’s a strong pop track.
8. Primal Scream - “Stone My Soul”
This is taken off “Dixie Narco“, a very early, wonderful EP by the band, just as they were stepping off the trippy dub masterpiece that is “Screamadelica“, into the world of cocaine and a lot of time before their descent into the paranoid, schizophrenic, political world of “Vanishing Point“. Don’t miss this track. It’s a quite treble’d slide-guitar blues-trick, and I love it.
9. Public Image, Ltd. - “Public Image”
To everyone who’s ever thought John Lydon was washed-up after Sex Pistols: fuck you. PIL’s albums are golden and this is a perfect example of this. Nobody laughs like Lydon.
10. Clint Mansell - “Pi r^2″
Yes, a second track by Mansell, also for a film by Aronofsky, this time for the beautiful “Pi“. Breakbeats are nice.
11. Jeffrey Lewis - “The Last Time I Did Acid I Went Insane”
A modern folk classic, and don’t forget to check out the lyrics. Brilliant.
12. Jimi Hendrix - “Voodoo Child”
The God of Guitar. This song evokes two memories in me: first, when I was a young lad who had just started playing guitar, I watched Hendrix’s performance from Woodstock, and basically wanted to smash my guitar into the ground. I remember thinking Oh, this is as good as it gets, so fuck it. I might as well find another instrument to play. Then, as I was gaining confidence, I heard Johnny Marr play “The Queen Is Dead” and was about to give up the second time around. I’m glad I didn’t - even though my friends may well be of another opinion.
The second memory that rushes through me is of Withnail1 being drunk out of his mind, driving down an English motorway with “I” waking up beside him, dizzily finding out just where he is as the song really kicks off post-intro. Unforgettable.
One of the lead characters in the epic film “Withnail & I“.[back]
