Though not quite sastrugi*, the Jersey swamp's
wind-whipped, frozen hillocks on the way in
to work put me in mind of Antarctica,
and the cold-storage smoking-room's window,
through which I looked out onto the alien
Ross Ice Shelf, busted-up and jackknifed
like a California freeway after an earthquake,
and wondered, "Where in the holy fuck am I?"
* sastrugi = wavelike ridges of hard snow formed by the wind
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Three weeks in the life
Forgive my long absence, Faithful Reader; In the past few weeks I have been really busy.
Two Tuesdays ago I saw Vampire Weekend play at the Bowery Ballroom, hands-down the best place to see a show in the city. They were great: It was the day of their self-titled album release, and during the show I had a smile plastered across my face the entire time. The drummer was like Stretch Armstrong mixed with Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem's drummer, with college-kid thrown in; the keyboardist spent large chunks of a couple songs goonily scratching at his face; the bass player shook and strutted as if he thought he were in a much cooler band than he actually is; and the lead singer was confident and guileless. The music (sort of Afro-pop or, in a much better term, "Upper West Side Soweto"—kudos to whoever coined that) was simple, weird, incredibly catchy and just a lot of fun. The woman I was with, whom I brought to the show without her knowing the band at all and who had been having kind of a bad day, couldn't deal with the very crowded crowd and went to the back of the room during the show—but she texted me during to say, "They are really good!"—They are that irresistible. They won't ever "save music," but they are a great band whose album, since I purchased it at the show that night for $10, I've been rationing so that I don't wear it out too quickly—an honor I reserve for only the albums I love best.
Next up: Joanna Newsom at BAM!
Two Tuesdays ago I saw Vampire Weekend play at the Bowery Ballroom, hands-down the best place to see a show in the city. They were great: It was the day of their self-titled album release, and during the show I had a smile plastered across my face the entire time. The drummer was like Stretch Armstrong mixed with Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem's drummer, with college-kid thrown in; the keyboardist spent large chunks of a couple songs goonily scratching at his face; the bass player shook and strutted as if he thought he were in a much cooler band than he actually is; and the lead singer was confident and guileless. The music (sort of Afro-pop or, in a much better term, "Upper West Side Soweto"—kudos to whoever coined that) was simple, weird, incredibly catchy and just a lot of fun. The woman I was with, whom I brought to the show without her knowing the band at all and who had been having kind of a bad day, couldn't deal with the very crowded crowd and went to the back of the room during the show—but she texted me during to say, "They are really good!"—They are that irresistible. They won't ever "save music," but they are a great band whose album, since I purchased it at the show that night for $10, I've been rationing so that I don't wear it out too quickly—an honor I reserve for only the albums I love best.
Next up: Joanna Newsom at BAM!
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