A eunuch is on the gravel. Ceramic stalls on one side, clotheshorses on the other. The Eunuch sucks on a honey-lathered Filbert paintbrush. Aristocrats pass on his lefts and rights, mulling over chiffon ball gowns and Armani waistcoats. Softly, he mumbles into the backs of aristocratic knees, the kind made from freeze-dried couscous, “You asked me to stay, but I have a few reasons to leave.”
Download fixtapes, number one. (DropBox).
“I’m sorry that I fell so far and I hope that you still love me,” he mumbled. “Let’s just smoke cigarettes and pretend we’re not upset.” Burning embers lit the dried butts in the ashtray, flickered, went out. He recalled the days they wasted on love (love love!), how they faded from the winter onwards. Hoping their affections would maybe sprout wings, passing afternoons hiding in the forests, imagining that the songbirds’ calls were their own. Nerves normal, breath normal, speaking of love and life and other things they knew nothing about. Laughing as they yelled jumbled phrases they thought were funny: “I THINK ABOUT TAKING CARE OF YOU SOMETIMES!” “NOW THAT I’M OLDER, I FEEL DIFFERENT ABOUT THINGS!” “QUETZALCOATL EATS PLUMS!” She loved The Mountain Goats. He recalled the first time he saw the ocean. Her father offered to drive them to it, took a day off work to indulge in the frivolities of childish romance. Gazing outwards, he offered an aphorism: “This is where God does his laundry,” as the whitewash cuddled the sand.
She stood from her seat cross-legged on the ocher patio, ignoring the brunt of his recollections. She muttered, disdainfully, about how he was obsessed with Lost Memories and Things Being Their Thing and how tiring that was – a mental drain – for her. Turning, she offered her parting words – “it’s over” – and left.
I’m Sorry That I Fell So Far & I Hope That You Still Love Me – contron.
Let’s Just Smoke Cigarettes & Pretend We’re Not Upset – contron.
Burning Embers – Lou Reed.
The Days – French Club.
Love Love Love – Of Monsters & Men.
Faded From The Winter Onwards – Iron & Wine.
Maybe Sprout Wings – The Mountain Goats.
Passing Afternoons – Iron & Wine.
Nerves Normal, Breath Normal – Wintersleep.
Now That I’m Older – Sufjan Stevens.
Quetzalcoatl Eats Plums – The Mountain Goats.
Where God Does His Laundry – Spanish Prisoners.
Lost Memory – Lexie Roth.
Our Thing – Elliott Smith.
It’s Over – Tom Waits.
Download fixtapes, number one. (DropBox).
[free download: Stupid.]
The Eggs are a Brooklyn-based quintet comprised of Mike Britt (bass), Alex Cohen (drums, percussion), Roshan Reddy (guitar), Emma Sky (violin, viola) and Cynthia Wennstrom (vocals). I will make two claims related to this lovely batch of musicians: (i) their songs are aural patchwork quilts knit fresh from warm, loving hands, and (ii) they have no problem poking fun at themselves or giving confusing answers to questions. If you’re the kind of person that requires evidence for even lighthearted claims – fuck you, pedant! – well, read on!
Have you ever been in a fight?
RR: With Rihanna . . . (disclaimer: I’m a horrible person).
AC: Just with myself.
What is your favorite swear?
The Eggs: In no particular order: motherdamnit, shit-tits, cuntfish, Mitt Romney, poopie, Godfuckit, fuckethead, assmunch, slunt, clut.
If possible, which musician or band would you open for?
MB: Well I’m not sure, but I definitely think Metallica should open for us.
RR: Have you ever heard of this duo called Buke and Gase? They’re my favorite new band and the first project I’ve been excited by in a long time. I guess you could call them a noise-pop duo, but that would hardly do them justice.
CW: I think the Dirty Projectors would be a lot of fun to open for!
AC: Napalm Death. Easy.
Other honorable mentions include: Deerhoof, Battles.
What would you say to your first girlfriend/boyfriend?
RR: Thanks for introducing me to your wife.
MB: Do you still have that thirty bucks you owe me?
AC: I’m only half sorry for every dead baby joke I told.
ES: I’m Barack Obama and I approve this message.
What’s your most neurotic habit?
AC: Theft and arson.
ES: It’s probably the fact that if I don’t do yoga everyday I’ll explode.
RR: I . . . I see . . . dead people.
CW: Sometimes I stare off into the distance and imagine I’m riding Falcor from The NeverEnding Story and we solve mysteries together . . . then I snap back to reality and realize I left the oven on and smoke is now filling my apartment.
What’s your worst experience from high school?
MB: I got suspended for self-defense once. Totally lame.
CW: I accidentally peed on myself during school. It was as horrible as everyone imagines it is, but in hindsight it’s pretty funny.
RR: This one only feels bad now that I’m a little bit older and have some perspective, but it was the few times where I watched or participated in making fun of someone who didn’t deserve it at all. I definitely feel like a chode for that.
Since starting in music, what has been your most frustrating moment?
MB: I find sympathy clapping and stiff audiences pretty frustrating.
AC: Heavy gear and being billed with other acts that don’t fit with the band I’m playing in that night definitely tend to be my main pet peeves.
RR: Watching artists succeed by producing trite and unoriginal garbage.
In the same vein, what has been the high point?
CW: Recording in a real studio for the first time when I was nineteen.
RR: Performing for over, or at least close to, a thousand people one time.
ES: I organized a benefit concert that raised a bunch of money for cancer research, which was an amazing experience for me.
Favorite emotion?
RR: What’s that?
CW: That weird feeling you get when you bump into someone on the street and you guys keep choosing the same direction to go and never get around each other . . . yeah, that’s the stuff.
ES: Does sweating count?
AC: Well, since I don’t have a soul I can’t really say . . .
What’s your earliest memory with or biggest impression of music from a young age?
MB: Knowing that music was a presence or a force, but that I couldn’t reach out and touch it [has] always baffled me. I guess that’s what hooked me as a kid and I’ve endeavored to figure out some way to perceive music visually ever since.
RR: Film music has always been a big source of inspiration for me and one of my earliest musical memories was me trying to squeak out the notes to the Jurassic Park theme song on my recorder. If it weren’t for the Star Wars or Jurassic Park soundtracks I don’t think I would be making music today. In other words: thank you, John Williams.
[Patterns EP.]
Majical Cloudz – Turns Turns Turns
I hear one thing: “I know.”
I hear one thing: “I know.”
I hear one thing: “I know.”
The thing is: “I don’t know. I have never known. I have pretended to know, grasped at the fingertips of women and men who I thought knew, cried and begged for knowing, adopted the crushed posturing of somebody who knows. I have told people what to know, how to know, what it is to know. Angrily, I pointed fingers and shouted aphorisms in the name of Knowing. I believed Knowing was Power. Then, I believed Knowing was Peace. Neither held clean after the dishwashing. In the villages, I lusted for people to watch me stroll about my business. They would be hushed, wary. Whispering amongst themselves, ‘The Man Who Knows was known to walk these chalky paths.’ I have wished, dearly wished, to know, but all I know is the more I have known, or thought to have known, the less I have known in truth and the more confused I have become. Forever turning, never still.”
Foxygen – Why Did I Get Married?
“I’m late, I know. Unfashionably. I was, like, five minutes away and I got lost so I kind of cruised, started checking out the houses in your neighbourhood. Bit posh. Wait – is that . . . did, did you put out cheese and crackers? What the fuck? Whatever. Just point me to the beer. How’s the party? Who showed up? Oh, seriously? She came? I wouldn’t have picked that. I guess that’s cool. You should put the moves on her, man. Like Mick Jagger, ha ha. Current Jagger, though. Like 69-year-old Jagger. Not Rolling-Stones-Can’t-Get-Enough-Satisfaction Jagger. What I’m trying to say is you move like a senile pensioner. Kinda look like one too, with that polo top. Since when do you wear polo tops? Polo tops are for golfers and/or Larry David. Yes. Yes, they are. Alright, whatever. Anyway, good luck, man. No, seriously. I was just joking! Relax. I’m pulling for you. She has a great set of tits.”
