Peter Bjorn and John
Second Chance (2011)
I like it. It sounds like really good power pop, circa 1981. Or like “Sign of the Gypsy Queen” by April Wine–which may or may not qualify as really good power pop, circa 1981. And no, I’m not entirely sure why I’m associating these two songs…
A year ago I was in San Diego. I can’t believe it’s been that long and I honestly can’t figure out what happened to the past twelve months. If anyone finds them, please let me know. I’d like them back.
Actually, I’d just settle for a bit of vacation. I’m kind of exhausted.
I spent a good chunk of my Canada Day weekend throwing out more crap from my two houses, but I took a break Saturday night to do the town with my friend Jeff.
I really should get out more. We had a great time at College Hill and Westerwood, where there were interesting people and passably good music. Then we hit what is apparently Greensboro’s newest queer bar. I don’t know how new it is in terms of opening date but I can assure you there’s nothing else new about it, including the exorbitant cover charge. The crowd consisted of the same thirty or forty homos who have inhabited every Greensboro queer bar since time began, all of them wearing the same cologne and dancing to the same shitty music they were dancing to twenty or thirty years ago. For good measure, some guy I was a little embarrassed to have slept with almost thirty years ago hit on me. Suffice to say I declined his advances. If I were looking for a new hangout in Greensboro, it would be one of the two former bars, not the latter.
Today, I dealt with some stuff for Mom, took care of some things in Winston, had lunch at Cagney’s, and came home to watch the rain–there have been lots of opportunities for that this summer–while pondering my Fourth of July road trip. It’s looking like DC right now. I’m trying to decide between the cheaper hotel that’s not as nice and is farther from transit but is closer to Old Town Alexandria, and the slightly more expensive one that’s really nice and is right next to the Metro station but is more of a hike to anything local.
There was also German food in Durham on Friday and shawarma on Saturday.
Joseph Edgar
Pont McKay (2013)
Jellyfish
That Is Why (1990)
I was working on a really long and repetitive metadata project so I was pretty much under the headphones listening to music all day. It would be an understatement to say that the iTunes shuffle was very 1984-centric. I mean unrelentingly 1984, including obscure stuff that never seems to pop up otherwise. It’s like there was some sort of conspiracy to make sure I left work completely and thoroughly depressed…and no matter how often I re-shuffled, it just kept coming and coming. Right now, I’m getting “Cold Kid” by Glass Moon, which came immediately on the heels of “One Small Day” by Ultravox. Seriously. All day long it’s been music from the year that was–until 2011, at least–the gold standard of miserable, depressing years for me. I should be ready to stick my head in the oven by now.
But I’m not. Which is rather a nice feeling.
That said, I don’t think I’ll be opting for First Wave on the way home tonight. Not that I ever do anyway. Interestingly enough, I can barely stand to listen to early 1980s alt-pop these days…unless it’s in French. I had a conversation about this with a friend (one with whom I spent much of the 1980s) the other night. In retrospect, the 1990s were much more suited to my personality than the 1980s were and I liked them much better; the music was better, the boys were cuter, and I got laid a lot more. Further, I’m actually sort of off the whole “living in the past musically” thing of late anyway. Unless it’s the really long past…like before I was born…
Anyway, I’m off to DC next weekend. If anyone else will be there as well, I’m up for dinner at my new favorite Lebanese place in Alexandria. Or at the Roy Rogers of your choice.
With that, I’ll say “Happy Canada Day’ and be on my way home.
The claim on the bench may be a bit of a stretch but I really do love Baltimore. Like Pittsburgh, it’s not an easy place to understand. That may be why I like it do much–that and the fact that it’s so damned photogenic (photos to follow).
Exploring DC tomorrow. I will try to avoid the bookstore at the National Building Museum. It will not be easy.
Stuff for a Wednesday night spent recuperating from a long-delayed root canal:
I was reminded of this by a friend’s Facebook posting today. A damp time was had by all, and I don’t mean “damp” in the sense that was often used at other South of Market venues of the era.
The King Sisters
Bewitched (1965)
It’s not the definitive version–that honor would fall to Steve Lawrence or Peggy Lee–but it is most definitely the most surreal version.