Cleaning out the garage

Can't tie together a theme... but here are the songs that have been playing somewhere near me over the last few days.









Good night internets.

The one where she is sleep deprived and blogging.

 Winner of the best album of 2011 according to punknews.

Fuck I love this song.

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Also, I was reminiscing how much I love this album last night.

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Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to nap.

Tidbits and hobnobs

Let me just begin by saying, best blog title ever. Say it out loud, go on. SEE HOW FUN IT IS?!

Ok, ok, let me just compose myself.

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The Menzingers - The Obituaries by Epitaph Records

The band I went to the biggest record store in the world to find (well... not really, but coming across their album was just a bonus) has a new track up ahead of a forthcoming album and tour. The album is called On The Impossible Past and the tour is with punk stalwarts Bad Religion. Most importantly, get their earlier album Chamberlain Waits and put it on repeat. They. Are. Going. Places.

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I am a little late on this one, but if you are a fan of interesting, post-something, lo-fi goodness, get onto the new Michael Beach album. Once a Melbournite and member of Electric Jellyfish, he is currently based out of San Francisco and is making beautiful Liddiard-esque stories with a little more fuzz in parts.

Really, really beautiful stuff with nice builds and strong vocals. Go and buy a copy from bandcamp for a steal. 

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Speaking of, I just bought Gareth Liddiard's solo offering Strange Tourist. I don't think I need to tell anyone that this man knows how to write a song. 

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Enough hobnobbing for now. You, reader, and your profane hobnobbery... I hobnob in your general direction. Hobnob-day to you sir.

Awaiting another voice

For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice. - T.S. Eliot

I always enjoy the first few days of the year. Much like the childhood joy of receiving your new school books for the year, untouched, unlearned and unmarked, the joy for me lies in the opportunities presented. As I get older, it become more difficult to shake off the ghostly reminders of mistakes made and chances not taken, and yet somehow, the blank slate that comes with the turning of the calender page removes the regret associated and allows us to begin anew.

I do not want to write one more top ten/best of 2011/highlights blogs to add to the already unreadable pile. I think the writing of said blogs is not for the reader, but for the writer, to punctuate their years work and to give a form of finality in an anonymous and perpetually cyclical digital world. We need markers as humans, something to tether ourselves to, to give us a sense of meaning. For many, we grab too greedily for these markers, not fully comprehending what they mean, whether they are right for us, blinded by the need to define our identities. I am guilty of this. Endlessly trying on different ideas as if they were costumes, trying to find one, sole answer.

So here is my resolution. I am not afraid to tread water. Treading water is a consequence of open water swimming and is hard, tiring and can let you easily lose track of the horizon. You feel like you are going nowhere, and guess what? You aren't, not really. Yet it is a skill, when mastered, that can keep your head above water, let you properly explore the depths below and above, let you catch your breath and give you strength to go confidently in the direction of your proverbial dreams. Fear of the unknown, of the horizon, of your lack of courage or swimming ability can lead you to grasping at any passing floating salvation, even though it may be at odds with your inner monologue.

Therefore I am dispensing with fear and am going to keep my legs moving. I am not afraid to be wrong, but I will choose carefully what I buy into. I will take my time and develop my own thoughts instead of lazily adopting others'. I am going to write more, play more, see more, hear more (a lot more), read everything thing I can get my little hands on (they are ridiculously small) and try my best to become a learned deep water swimmer. I don't know what island I'm heading for, what is on the horizon or if there is a friendly tall ship coming to get me, and honestly, I don't care.

Here is to a rock and roll 2012.

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(Thanks for allowing my slight, on-topic digression. Music tidbits and hobnobs next. Happy new ears everybody, and to all a good book.)

Women of melodies

Dearest,

It has been much too long, and yet no time at all. I have missed your glowing face and your lilting, musical tones. The way you are wise beyond your years, yet fresh and laughing, anew, with each rise and fall of the sun.

Oh, Internet, let us never part again.

Yours,

Rachel.

.... Yes, I am on the line once more. No more work computer reliance or eye dysfunctions from using my telephone. And as a gift, here are some pretty darn beautiful melodies that I am rejoicing in of late.


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Laura Jean



Beautiful 2011 album that shows the continuous bloom that is Miss Laura Jean and her brilliant band. Putting together a haunting yet strong album, A Fool Who'll is melancholic folk with a backbone, with crescendos in all the right places.

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Lizzie Huffman

 Lizzie Huffman - Pretty Old Soul Streaming Player by Suburban Home Records

A new friend put me onto Lizzie. Seattle based, I think the name of her latest offering says it all. She does sound like an old soul. One to watch, i'll keep you posted.

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Jen Buxton



This. Album. I can't actually stop playing it. She has an earthy, infectious quality to her voice and an ability to tell a story. If you buy one album for a person for Christmas, make it this one. Available through Poison City Records.

 You And I Are Past Our Dancing Days by dearbennichols

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Tonight is female songstress evening it seems.

Waxing lyrical.

Good evening non-existent audience.

This week has been one of auspicious dates, suspicious clouds, tremendous plans and wondrous songwriters.

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I finally saw Mr Conor Oberst in Bright Eyes form at The Hifi last Thursday eve. Although (not surprisingly) a little disappointing in festival format at Harvest on Saturday, he delivered a pretty stellar 2.5 hour set that got all the indie kids nostalgic for 2004. Some new, some old, the time passed all-too-quickly but all left with a sense that you had seen someone who had a proper grip of the poetry of songwriting. Yes, I even enjoyed the new songs! Believe it friends! The reoccurring themes of death, self-deprecation, love and loneliness were present as ever, but he somehow still knows how to captivate and keep the interest of a packed house.

Although, as a suave-hatted harvest festival attendee observed, where does one go once you are too successful to authentically write the angsty songs that ironically made you famous?

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This evening saw a different crowd and a completely different venue, but still featured an acclaimed songwriter and the theme of death and ressurection.

Nick Drake, one of the many incredible musicians who never saw fame within their lifetime, has produced 3 of the most influential and sweetly heart-haunting records to ever come out of the English folk scene. No, England. His songs endure as classics, and I will count them among my favourites forevermore. And so, how fortunate that I had the pleasure of seeing THESE artists present his music in the Melbourne Recital Centre. It actually made me cry a little when they played Rider on the Wheel (shut it, I am a sissy, ok?).

The take home points are:

1. Listen to Nick Drake. Now. Go.

2. Look up an amazing lady named Krystle Warren.

3. Buy yourself Luluc's new album. I did, and it is beautiful. (On a side note, I saw them whilst on travels to NYC... oh the chances!)

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I think that is all I have time for. The internet is running low, and sleep should come eventually.

PS. The Flaming Lips. That is all.

Oh hello.

Hello Internets. How have you been? Sorry I haven't called, I've just been really busy with, you know, things. It sure isn't you, I promise. You're looking nice by the way.

Thought I would review a few of the albums that have been making my ears happy of late.

No one gets lost anymore - The Smith St Band

Welcome to my favourite Melbourne band of the moment. A well-oiled machine that has the mind of an old backyard bard, a sturdy heartbeat of punk rock and the soul of Melbourne as the sun comes up over the eclectic northern suburbs. This also has the privilege of being the last album to be recorded at the our beloved Arthouse, and it pays perfect homage to all those that went before. Stand-out tracks include Sigourney Weaver (...something inside of me, trying to get out..!), When I was a boy I thought I was a fish and Get High, See Mice.

They created a frenzy at the Tote for last weekend's Poison City Weekender (three of the best days in recent memory)... and if you weren't there, I HIGHLY recommend not missing them next time.

The Riptide - Beirut

I wasn't sure quite where to start with Beirut. I'm sure I don't need to hammer home what a unique and beautiful talent they are, and this album is no different. Complex yet whimsical, the juxtaposition of upbeat horns with sparse haunting vocals, it is an album of hopeful change. In the best way my words can put it, it is one of those albums that my heartbeat slows and quickens to stay in time. Enjoyed most in headphones and contemplation, give it a spin and let me know what you think.

And if you like it, purchase it. The packaging feels amazing! Odd compliment yes, but just trust me til you lay your hands on.

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More to follow including my thoughts on the new Chuck Ragan, Felice Brothers, Bridge & Tunnel as well as all the beautiful fun happenings around town of recent times.

Don't make it so long next time, Internets. I missed you.