lorem ipsum

So. Passion Pit. Manners. I’m embarrassed that it took me so long to give these guys a listen, but over the last month or so, I haven’t been able to quit this album. And frankly, I shouldn’t want to.

This song, which I blipped yesterday, is one of my favorites on the album. Why am I posting it here? Well, it played as Taters, Lady Taters, Volyu and myself drove through a sunny Saturday morning (to what would be a delicious brunch), and it perfectly framed the satisfaction I felt in that moment, how completely right things are.

My face blew up at such a casual sight,
The smattered colors of ecstatic fright,
The rush above me to oblivion
Outlining wet sidewalks in halogen.

Have you ever felt so goddamned strong?
How come it takes some people so damn long?
He turned to squeeze the lemon juice to rain,
The citrus drawing out the scene in stains…

If you know me (and you probably do), you know how much I enjoy the recent renaissance of Saturday Night Live. The Lonely Island’s “Digital Shorts” are a big reason for that; they are almost always hilariously profane, and are consistently among the best bits of each episode. And although I experienced last night’s short in less-than-ideal circumstances, its jaw-dropping ridiculousness and vulgarity once again makes it one of the highlights of my week.

Normally, when linking a Digital Short, I’d quote some lyrics — or give some backstory — to explain exactly what amuses me about the joke. But this video, the sequel to an inarguable classic, chronicles the world’s two most thoughtful gift-givers…this time, as they plan for Mother’s Day.

Is any further explanation really necessary?

Every so often, just about everyone will find an “ear worm”, a particular song that bores its way so completely into whatever bits of your brain are responsible for storing and collating tunes that it takes days — sometimes weeks — to work its way back out again.

Sometimes, a one of these ear worms sticks around so long that it comes to define a period of your life, tying itself directly or obliquely into handfuls of memories and recollections from that particular time. Sargasso Trio’s “Heels on Fire” did this for me, last spring…and for a number of reasons.

First, story. I mean, the history of this band is great. They met, of all places, in a village brass band, in Norwich, England. Not just any kind of brass band, though…a samba brass band. And this origin definitely — and deliciously — makes itself known in the sound of this song.

Next, tone. I love danceable, catchy music that has both a toe-tapping beat, and a sense of joy, whimsy, and energy. “Heels on Fire” has all of those things, in spades. You often hear it said, and in this case it’s completely true: if you can listen to this song and not in some way dance (or at least move semi-rhythmically), you are dead. Also, I don’t want to know you.

Last (and this is more of a footnote than anything else), it has a kind of adorable video. While I’m sure some people may find it offensive, I will simply let the YouTube poster’s brief description do the talking: “Man freaks out to ‘Heels On Fire’, leaving beautiful shapes and colours wherever he goes.”

And really, how can you not love a song whose video can be so described?

I watch you shake it ’round the room,
Out the window, to the moon.
Everyone here would like a piece of you;
I’m just interested in the way you move.

Sometimes it takes a little push
To get some movement in your tush.
But it’s all worth it when the crowd applauds,
And you just shake your ass and thank the Lord!

Some would call it “ambitious”, others “pretentious”, but The Decemberists’ new album, a “rock opera” by the name of The Hazards of Love, is a pretty striking project, no matter how you look at it. I’ve heard it described as a “a musical, yes, albeit a very twee musical”, and I can’t really argue that. Still, this number, “The Wanting Comes In Waves / Repaid”, is already a favorite of mine. Overwrought lyrics? Check. Ethereal female chorusing? Got it. Harpsichord? Hell yes.

And you delivered me from danger, then.
Tore my cradle from the reedy glen,
Swore save me from the world of men.
Still, the wanting comes in waves… in waves… and waves!

(Ooo!) And the wanting comes in waves!
(Ooo!) And the wanting comes in waves!
(Ooo!) And I want this night!
And I want this night! Ohhh!

Perhaps it’s appropriate for a musical, but — at least to me — the lurching musical arrangement of “The Wanting Comes In Waves / Repaid” seems perfectly suited to a song invoking the image and symbolism of waves. Quite beyond the suitability of the instrumentation and such, I guess suppose I’m in a place that is pretty receptive to a song about duty, conflict, and the uncertain — yet powerful — nature of desire.

Below, you’ll find another punishingly long private post, packed with all manner of painful logorrhea.

In order to mitigate the suffering somewhat, I’m posting this here song, the end credits theme from Samurai Champloo, “Shiki no Uta”. The lyrics are apparently about the change of seasons, and seeing as we’re rapidly approaching Spring, I considered it an appropriate selection. Honestly though, I don’t like this song for its lyrics…I like it instead for its relaxed, “groovy” vibe. It almost feels like taking the bus through a crowded city, just as Spring lopes quietly past Winter.

Oh, and if you can’t see the private post, but you want to, you know the drill…

Sometimes, whether the thing in question is a gadget, musical act, or a “killer app”, I am an almost ostentatiously early adopter. I’ve been reading books on a PalmPilot since the late 90s, for example, and I’ve been downloading mp3s since the days of ratioed FTP servers. Other times, however, I am painfully late to the party. Case in point, Jonathan Coulton.

Now, I’m a bit baffled as to how I took so long to really give “JoCo” a listen. I’d heard his sublimely amusing “Still Alive” some time ago, and I’d been in close proximity to a couple of his shows, but my interest was never sparked. Odd!

Well, I’ve been in an increasingly great mood, lately. Things have just been falling into place extraordinarily well over the last week or two. Simultaneously, however, some friends have been going through some pretty rough patches. So, looking for music to either revive flagging spirits, or keep them up once high, I have found myself listening to some pretty silly stuff (see: Lonely Island). Enter our Mr Coulton.

This was the first song recommended to me, and in my opinion, there is no way to ruin a song that has lyrics about “ruining ponies”.

I made this half-pony, half-monkey monster to please you,
But I get the feeling that you don’t like it.
What’s with all the screaming?
You like monkeys, you like ponies…
Maybe you don’t like monsters so much?
Maybe I used too many monkeys?
Isn’t it enough to know that I ruined a pony, making a gift for you?

Directly underneath this post, you will find a private post of no short length. My apologies for its long, meandering nature, but I’m afraid that couldn’t be helped.

For those of you who’d like to read it, but don’t yet have PLATINUM READER STATUS (bling bling, y’all), make an account and leave a comment requesting access. If’n I know you, and I don’t think your tender heart will be wounded, or your delicately sensibilities offended by what you see, I will almost certainly give you an upgrade. Bribery optional.

For everyone else, and those folks I know who are feeling a little down lately, I post as consolation the following video, “Crazy Loop (Mm-Ma-Ma)”, by Crazy Loop…also known as Dan Bălan, the mad, manic Moldovan behind “Dragostea Din Tei” (and consequently, the ubiquitous “Numa Numa Song” internet meme). I defy anyone to watch this video — really watch it — and remain depressed.

So, I sent out a mess of emails this morning, of both the professional and personal varieties, and to date, not one has been answered.

I did get an unsolicited work email, however, and it was pretty cool. As it turns out, one of our antimicrobial studies has performed very well, and just received a $100 million Gates Foundation grant. Hooray for funding, both new and continued! (And also, you know, for curing AIDS.

Anyhow, I guess I’ll just have to let Pandora keep me company today. Any suggestions? My ragtime station, while satisfyingly well-focused, was perhaps poorly conceived.

Lately, I’ve been posting songs that — for some reason or another — I’ve identified with, or that have captured in some way some specific moment for me.

Not today, however.

With things this weekend being so very odd, unpredictable, and confusing, today’s song is a silly, stupid piece of fluff, a piece of Lonely Island confection, featuring Jack Black extolling the virtues of the legendary — and shy — “Sax Man”.

Well, he was the Sax Man,
From the state of Tennessee.
First sat in with the band
At the ripe old age of three…
Weeks old.

Although by the standards of its genre quite long in the tooth, I’ve been listening to The Decemberists’ lovely “The Legionnaire’s Lament” quite a lot lately. I have always loved The Decemberists’ style, vivid lyrics swaddled affectionately in the trappings of sea chanteys and concertina. But I digress. “The Legionnaire’s Lament”…

It speaks to former triumphs, past acclaim, and wistful remembrance thereof. Yet it manages to do this without being morose, and that is perhaps what makes it so charming.

Plus, it uses the word “fecundity”. How great is that?!

If only some rain would fall
On the houses and the boulevards,
And the sidewalk bagatelles. It’s like a dream,
With the roar of cars, and the lulling of the cafe bars,
The sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine.
Lord, I don’t know if I’ll ever be back again.

…

Medicating in the sun,
Pinched doses of laudanum,
Longing for the old fecundity of my homeland.
Curses to this mirage!
A bottle of ancient Shiraz…
A smattering of distant applause
Is ringing in my poor ears