It's too late for a real blog, so I'll have to real blog tomorrow. I had intended tonight to real blog, but I got blog-bogged down by design changes. What do you think? The old swag was tyte, but it was time for a change. Tinkering should morph this into a more pleasing layout, but for now there will be some bugs.
Bugs
Summer brings them out.
Groundhog Day
I just watched it for the nth time. Few films are better.
Conclusions
Definitely not a real blog. Tomorrow I'll write about my concert-going these past few weeks and maybe even come up with a review of Captain America. Or Leaving Las Vegas. That reminds me: the new Charlie Kaufman film will feature Jack Black, Jim Carrey, and Nicholas Cage. Hella.
Sometimes words are inadequate. Such was the case last night after the Woods and Kurt Vile show. Zech and I were walking the streets of Bloomington in an emotional stupor, shellshocked and overpowered by ourselves and some heavy music. A first-world problem, but a problem not helped by what we witnessed on Kirkwood.
Knock You Down
The idiot drunkenness that can be seen on weekend nights downtown is usually a welcome component of the college town atmosphere. Last night, however, things were worse. The two of us passed by a group of friends consoling their crying friend, who was distraught because he had (I think) just been verbally assaulted by a pack of what I'll call for the sake of this blog "white people." I used different words at the time.
The crying friend in question was black. He had been assailed, presumably, because of this. His friends were doing their best to explain the idiocy of the passing bigots/worst humans ever/white people. He wasn't comforted.
Take This Weight
I feel immature and naive and "white guilt" writing about racial insensitivity/injustice/violence. Who am I to be taken aback by this scene? It's not as if I didn't know racism was a real and terrible problem in the world. I just can't process seeing that last night. I felt like crying. It's always been obvious that the world is terrible at times. That people treat each other badly. I can't stand it. I can't offer a response to this. I probably shouldn't have even committed it to writing. Maybe by reading it you can feel bad too. Or figure out if there's anything intelligent or useful to be made of this. I just want humans to care about each other.
Anyway, to talk about the usual trivialities of #METASWAG, all of this happened in the midst of an already emotional night. Zech and I were talking deep existential things and trying to figure out what makes everything okay. Maybe midnight bike rides. Talking to each other? Art?
This Is A Music Blog
I guess it's time to talk about why I'm not at Pitchfork. And why that's okay.
> None of my friends were able to go this year
> It would run me at least $100
> The only acts I really cared to see today are G-Side and Julianna Barwick
> I've already been to four concerts in the past week
> So
Conclusions
I'll write up said concerts and talk about less sad things when I'm feeling less sad about things. Wish I had written more carefully and usefully about the sad things themselves. Maybe I will soon. For what it's worth, excepting last night, this week has been spectacular. Back to regular programming in the coming days.
I'm the bouncing head in front of Avey (Good Memories)
When recovering from a two-week bender, emotions may run wild. In the event of tired introspection, do not subject yourself to Purple Rain, late night doses of Sufjan, or early morning sessions with Bon Iver. In an act of folly, I am listening to Bon Iver. And it's pre-noon (a time I've experienced less than I'd like to admit this summer). So, why the long face? Well, it's not exactly long. All of this summer's "change" has been cause for occasional emotionality, which makes my usually short face get long in the wake of things like intense cinema, gorgeous music, or nightmares.
Wouldn't you know that last night's sequence of events were as follows:
> There Will Be Blood (my second, but nonetheless shocking, viewing of the movie)
> The Age Of Adz ("Now That I'm Older" spelled the demise of my composure)
> A nightmare (Based God help me)
Acrost the pale meridian
So, dreams. The only art that is always effective. How sweet that we create it! Mine run the gamut from inexplicable and slapstick to poignant and surreal. The best thing about last night's is that it unearthed moods and sentiments heretofore unacknowledged or forgotten. The worst is that (like all dreams) it is inexpressible. My writing is yet to arrive at a Woolf or McCarthy, and even then wouldn't be able to evoke what happened while I was asleep last night.
This is probably why dreams are so Important to me, and also why I'm impossibly frustrated when someone tries to tell me about their own. They're exclusively personal experiences even more so than waking memories. But I still like to hear about your dreams. It's a good cause for my imagination to run wild, and fun to offer off-beat psychoanalysis. Maybe give mine your best shot:
It was late autumn, began in a cafeteria hall (high school or some school), and soon became a winter battlefield resembling the long stretches of plain and dessert from There Will Be Blood (but not exactly this). The horizon was obscured first by dust, then snowfall. A war broke out between two anonymous forces, and at my brother's side I killed several people (with a Macbook as my bludgeon? I'm a PC while awake). The war ended (read: disappeared). As the dust settled, I relived some forgotten childhood conversation with four too-tall and blurred-out figures. I then checked my phone, and was devastated (read: the saddest I've ever felt) that I hadn't tweeted in four months. And
9:38 AM
So, waking up. I tweeted. Then (folly!) listened to Bon Iver, Bon Iver (let's be honest: twice). It's been a very sincere morning. I'm usually only this sincere when with close friends or when drunk. But dreaming is sort of like being drunk:
You're somewhat out-of-control, exposed to your own ridiculousness, and later have trouble remembering what exactly happened. Of course, this level of dreaming (drunkenness) tends to be rare. Unless you just turned 21 and have yet to settle into an effective drinking style. Mine so far has verged on and often surpassed, to borrow a phrase from Sufjan, "Too Much." But I'm still within birthday grace period. Nevertheless, I've probably made things harder on my head and my body than need be.
I Would Die 4 U
Now that I think about it, the entirety of Purple Rain is reminiscent of dreaming/drunkenness. The Kid faces obvious personal demons that effect his family, friends, music, and lover. All of these relationships eerily parallel one another, and there's a sense of inevitability in each scene. The Kid's demons can only be overcome with the Perfect Song ("Purple Rain," the actual Perfect Song). How dreamlike that all of the conflict is resolved in a single performance - the fragmented scenes of passionate foreplay and dramatically-lit closeups from before are both fully realized and made irrelevant in the finale's climax.
Of course, none of this seemed relevant or even true when I was enjoying the movie with Hay. I guess none of it seems true now that I see it in writing. Still, a hard night's sleep and an emotionally-turbulent morning gives rise to this sort of #METASWAG.
Conclusions
Luckily, the day ahead will prove less arduous. Sunshine and work. Easy things. Easier than a wintertime battle. Did I really just write about dreaming, being drunk, and Purple Rain? Without irony? Don't let me blog before noon ever again.
It would be alright if this is just a quick blog before lunch. I think it's going to be peanut butter & jam sandwich with chicken noodle soup. Probably chocolate milk for a drink. Is there any better language I could use to convey myself in lunchtime mentality? Is this an accurate portrayal of a sleepy and hungry and chilled out self? lol Can't wait to eat.
Summer Music Review (04)
Here's some writing about the album for which I have halted two parties. Apologies to party people in the place we be, but I love me this music:
Im Gay [2011]
by Lil B
(self-released)
Lil B has finally recorded his masterpiece. And for all of you who have only heard gimmick tracks like "I'm Miley Cyrus" and "Wonton Soup," the previous declaration probably doesn't mean much. Yes, Based God can seem like a joke. Yes, he's released upwards of 1,000 tracks in just a few years. Yes, he is Ellen Degeneres. But (this is why I love him) he's never ironic. I'm pretty sure he cares about "Justin Bieber" as much as he does "I'm God." Now he's trying to make a statement (just look at that cover), and though it's a political failure, it's a musical triumph. Let's talk politics first.
I've previously praised Based God for playing with the standard heterosexist misogyny of rap. But he manages to avoid and ignore the topic all together on a record called Im Gay (the subtitle on the album artwork is an unnecessarily homophobic qualifier too). The album title is based, but it seems more like a publicity stunt than the genuinely progressive moment Lil B wants it to be. This is a missed opportunity to open up about sexuality and identity on a release where people are actually listening to him. While he has tweeted and stated in interviews that he is intentionally pointing out the utility of language and attempting to counteract homophobia in rap, Im Gay could have been a bolder social statement. As is, it's just an excellent musical statement.
That's enough for me. Because I need this positivity and this flow. Here is Based God's first wholly cohesive and consistent album. Im Gay stays at a steady midtempo for its entire running length, but it packs the momentum and punch of [insert name of high-profile and praised rapper] going hard. The production throughout is stellar. From the Spirited Away soundtrack and Barack Obama-sampling "Gon Be Okay" to the chopped and screwed "Iris" that backs "I Hate Myself," the beats are colorful and effective. No, it's not on a RZA or FlyLo level, but it sounds so right beneath Lil B's stream-of-consciousness ramble.
As per usual, most of the raps are based. A lot of the rhymes are nonsense and a lot aren't rhymes. This is nothing out of the ordinary for Lil B (the self-proclaimed "rawest rapper alive"). He's never been a great rapper because he's great at rapping. He's a great rapper because he uses his music to promote a positivity and spirituality that we need. And in the midst of his out-of-control freestyles, he stumbles across socially complex statements like "The hood is a lie," and moments of introspection like "I see myself in the mirror but I don't see nothin." It's his rawness that makes these lines shine. He's never been dishonest to himself or his listener, and the honesty makes for a more intriguing listen. Or maybe you shouldn't trust this review because I unconditionally love Lil B for his based lifestyle.
Real talk: there are more moments of clarity on this album than any of his prior releases, and the production is excellent front-to-back. It's fun, accessible, and chill. And let's be honest: I've teared up a few times to "Unchain Me." Oops. Even if he isn't the best rapper, he is my favorite rapper. I hope Lil B never changes. Thank You Based God.
Conclusions
That took way too long. Now I'll make myself a sandwich.
