got a crappy little radio from fleet for signing up for my bank account. the thing looks very 1999 with the see-thru blue plastic and chrome buttons. it only picks up the hip hop and oldies stations, which is fine with me.

am writing this from the brown music department, my new home. so many books about music! i feel a wonderful calm being around all this information.

oh also thinking - how abt that new rapture album? can't believe that those little pretty boys couldn't get together a few decent new songs. did they *really need* to regurgitate all those dance remixes? a singles band with the reputation for being artists? a tight-lipped cure cover band? nyc scene survivors? the magazines covers cannot lie.

this shortlist thing seems like yet another misguided attempt at 'helping to raise the standard of music entering the mainstream of america.' the whole idea of mainstream music is so absolutely obtuse at this point, with most 'stars' being so vertically integrated that music is but a small and often insiginificant part of their entire celebrity package. look at beyonce, ludacris, jlo, britney or even someone like slightly less like sean marshall...i suppose the beatles, elvis and all did these things, but with the ever falling sales of albums and what has to be an extremely low level of radio listening (is there evidence of this? who the hell really listens to the radio only?), it seems that music is just an easy entry point for these very false talents.

strayed from my point. what purpose does 'indie music in the mainstream' serve really? to diversify voices? to encourage a meritocracy of songwriting and production? to feed into the psychological need for an underdog? looking at the choices made by the mainstream critics and artists (beck, pete yorn???, the music writer for time magazine, a writer from the source) it is all the darlings/college radio selections whose vapidness and crass indie commercial viability is debated endlessly on the fun v. smart threads of i love music and like boring critic flame boards. where are the 'oh brother where art thou?' types - the gospel, folk, jazz, 'world' and other genres that are also 'pop' and often more popular than those fannypack chicks will ever be. every person in the industry - inside or out - loves when such things boil up into 'the mainstream' because it is this truimph of the righteous and non-fame seeking. so why no actually celebrate these things? because it wouldn't be too glamourous to hold an awards show with a bunch of dirty folkies or bluegrass types.

okay. i am ranting. award ceremonies are dumb. the first short list thing went to sigur ros who are the yanni of indie rock. yawn.

i might be the last person to know this, but the classic tune 'summertime' was written by gershwin for porgy and bess. the zombies version of this song is one of my absolute favorite, spine tingling twilight summer jams. do the world a favor and never try to sing along on the radio. that means everyone.

watched the maddeningly romantic 'cinema paradiso' last night and cried my little eyes out. those italianos with their winking, curious little boys. something in it didn't sit right -- like all that the world needs is a kiss to stumble out of hate? ennio morricone did the soundtrack.

in my mad rush of film consumption, watched paul mccartney's buddy holly docu, which contains some amazing, shaky 8mm home video footage of a young holly (or holley if you go by tombstones) opening for elvis at his first gig. spends too much time dwelling on the backwardness of lubbock (which in this '80s BBC vision looks like any burnt brick midwestern dust town) which makes sense when you realize that good ole paul is DOING THE INTERVIEWING. all the hired hands, now beer gutted and still a prayin' that buddy will come back, look real nervous in their q&as. then there's keith richards, a charming interview always and so forthcoming about holly's influence on his guitar style. strum a strum strum strum.

speaking of which, i'm geeking out and reading the history of the rolling stones songs. every semi-serious flashback into rock's past either looks like MOJO's duochrome or stinks like rock n' roll hall of fame exhibit. there has to be a better way to deal with this stuff then rummaging through press clips and chatting up the mic placement boys. oh ya, there's VH1, where you just interview the talking head journos talking about rummaged clips...that they wrote. barf.

this is my remedy for the 700+ page mozart book i'm tackling which isn't at all bad since old gottlieb was into scatalogical humor and had a serious mindfuck from his daddy. the kitty kelley virus just jumps right in, doesn't it?

a friend of mind once posited that in the future, the only jobs left would be polishing the robots. (i think he even has robotpolishers.com but if you go there, you will only see his undeveloped genius). anyway, this guy would agree, though in a much less imaginitive and more michael moore type way.



got the glenn gould goldberg variations for my birthday. am enjoying the masterful, sleek 1955 and will tackle the psychosis laden 1981 later this evening. what a sexy beast the weirdo was back then, before going brian wilson.

spent some time with van morrison's astral weeks upon friend's 'hold shit dude listen to that.' overwrought is never a bad thing. crazy hobbit instrumentation with bad bongo sprinkle things unforgivable in an otherwise magnificent piece of celtic psych folk. man o man there's always so much more to hear. his lyrics are pretensious in a way only okay in 1968 but that tull rode through the 70s. fucking prog rock. amg calls aw 'soothing, literate, laid-back' - amg as the friendster of rock music. testimonial 'i thought all that winsome, pastorial microlabel bullshit was soley the product of barrett and misguided attempts to replicate the album art of ian and sylvia until i heard this. fucking brilliant!'

frog eyes - beefheart without the brains? itchy scratchy vocal pranks?