Archive for the ‘Tunes’ Category

What comes after this momentary bliss?

Written by

Beach House – Myth

Swag is a particular performance of masculinity, a style of cockiness that can be traced back to the classic, white masculine swagger of someone like John Wayne. In modern times however, swag is more associated with the dominant pose of urban black men, who, through hip-hop and other cultural forms, have influenced expressions of masculinity amongst non-blacks as well. Swag, in other words, is the product of a deeply American merry-go-round of racial posturing and borrowing.

It’s also a defining but contested attribute of the modern NBA. When the league enforces dress codes amongst the players or when fans complain about “too many tattoos” on the court, these are essentially reactions to swag, which is to say, reactions to the perception of an excess of blackness. When columnists like The Daily Beast’s Buzz Bissinger discussed the NBA’s “race problem,” this is what they used to mean… at least B.L. (Before Lin).

For Asian American men, the fact that Lin exhibits swag is important because it validates a desire to lay claim to the conventional masculinity that many feel has long been denied them. Emasculation is a long-standing, dominant trope in pop culture representations of Asian and Asian American men; suffice to say, it is a tricky and conflicted subject, something that could — and has — filled books. Therefore, for those Asian American men who feel like masculinity is a club that everyone else has membership to, someone like Lin is a godsend, not just because he’s performed well in the NBA — one of the grand stages of contemporary American masculinity — but because he’s done so with swag. Those displays, such as wagging a blue Gatorade-tinged tongue after hitting a big three vs. the Jazz, confirms he’s “one of us,” not the kind of emotionless, inscrutable figure seen in so many Orientalist caricatures. This is an irrational fear anyway; Lin grew up in the Asian American Mecca of the Bay Area, he’s told interviewers his favorite player growing up was Latrell Spreewell, and even if his favorite groups are mostly Christian rap and rock artists, at least he likes hip-hop. But it’s not just enough for him to tell people this; swag is showing it.

[LA Review Of Books / Bloom.]

I’m alive, except for the inside

Written by

Craig Finn – No Future

I find realization through coitus. Through [the] conjugal I am angelic somehow.

The only problem is the navigation of two vastly different psychological states — the pre-ejaculatory male psychology and the post-ejaculatory male psychology. I’m a different person after I’ve cum.

Before I cum, I’m kind of saucy, filthy, dirty, animal-man thing. I’ll do it out. ‘Yeah, let’s get lost together; let’s become one. We are the flesh! Try the sewing machine, the anaconda, and introducing: the matrix. They’re all there. I’m going to make you hear color. I’m going to make you see sound. We’re going to die tonight!’

Then after I cum it’s like, ‘Oh my god what have I done?’ A sense of profound existential angst. A sense of loss. The idea that somehow I’ve let my mum down.

And that is why I’m baffled by the British phenomena of seagulling. Seagulling is a craze — if we can call it such — in British schools where post-(evidently)-adolescent boys, post-pubescent boys masturbate and then ejaculate into their own cupped hand, go up to a school friend or a teacher, and say “SEAGULLING.” [*Makes flicking/flinging motion with hand*]

Now I’ll be the first to admit that that is bad manners.

But that is not what intrigues me. I am intrigued by their ability to navigate these undulating psychological states. How can a schoolboy get from the pre-ejaculatory psychology to the post — such a tumultuous, undulating, unsure terrain? I can’t cope with it [and] I’m a man; he’s just a boy. How do they do that? How can they cope with that profound journey. How can a boy — a boy! — be masturbating and think ‘fucking hell, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, oh fuck me, ungh, I’m gonna fucking cum, *orgasm sounds*’, [pause] ‘one day I will die’, [pause] ‘SEAGULLING’?

[Russell Brand / Clear Heart Full Eyes.]

Fill your pockets up with earth

Written by

Tom Waits – Singapore

Somewhere in Singapore, lost forever, likely crumpled and vomit encrusted in some cranny of an overpriced hostel one stop along the purple MRT line away from Dhoby Ghaut, is my best shirt. [Rain Dogs.]

I’ve got to be strong

Written by

Retribution Gospel Choir – I’m a Man

My tongue burns easier than most. I consider this a deficiency.

The Revolution EP, free:

Go drink beer with the guys

Written by

Beyonce Knowles – If I Were A Boy

Brazilian Ramalho spent three days in bed after swallowing a pill he had been prescribed for a dental infection. It was a suppository.

Milan Rapaic missed the start of the 1995-96 season for Hajduk Split. He jabbed his eye with a boarding pass at the airport. Norway defender Svein Grondalen ran into a moose jogging near his house. Bryan Robson lifted a bed Paul Gascoigne was in and dropped it on his toe, missing the 1990 World Cup with the subsequent injury.

Both Thierry Henry and Marco Tardelli injured themselves when the corner flag bounced back and hit their faces. Manchester City’s Shaun Goater kicked an advertising board to celebrate a goal by Nicholas Anelka and hurt his foot. Arsenal reserve Perry Groves jumped up to celebrate a goal and knocked himself unconscious by hitting his head in the dugout.

David James, Carlo Cudicini and David Seaman (and Robbie Keane) have all suffered reaching-for-the-remote-knack. On separate fishing trips, James and Seaman were both injured reeling in large catches. (Make your own surname or catching-ability pun.) Cudicini’s obligatory animal-related injury came while walking his dog.

A sheepdog ended the career of Brentford goalkeeper Chic Brodie. In October 1970 he shattered a kneecap when he ran into the furry pitch-invader. “The dog might have been a small one, but it just happened to be a solid one,” he said.

Boys. [Goal.com / I Am . . . Sasha Fierce.]

So tell me why can’t it be

Written by

The forecast is more favorable for Wonder Girls, who mirror Pink Lady’s appropriateness for the time, as their new American single “The DJ Is Mine” features several dubstep-aping portions. Although watching the trailer for their movie can prompt cringes, their TeenNick flick shows that the folks marketing the group know how to zero in on a demographic. Whereas Utada and BoA just showed up in America and presumed being big in Asia would equal sales abroad, Wonder Girls is being introduced—or, for those who saw them open for The Jonas Brothers, further developed—specifically for the teen and tween markets. Given the music industry’s hyper-segmentation, it’s a smart move to focus on the same audience that turned artists like Miley Cyrus and Demi Lovato into household names.
[The Atlantic / Nobody.]

Are there really people like that?

Written by

David Bazan – Gas and Matches

For all its bravura, John Fairfax’s seafaring almost pales beside his earlier ventures. Footloose and handsome, he was a flesh-and-blood character out of Graham Greene, with more than a dash of Hemingway and Ian Fleming shaken in.

At 9, he settled a dispute with a pistol. At 13, he lit out for the Amazon jungle.

At 20, he attempted suicide-by-jaguar. Afterward he was apprenticed to a pirate. To please his mother, who did not take kindly to his being a pirate, he briefly managed a mink farm, one of the few truly dull entries on his otherwise crackling résumé, which lately included a career as a professional gambler.

. . .

Aboard [his rowboat in which he crossed the Atlantic] were provisions (Spam, oatmeal, brandy); water; and a temperamental radio. There was no support boat and no chase plane — only Mr. Fairfax and the sea. He caught fish and sometimes boarded passing ships to cadge food, water and showers.

Mr. Fairfax was often asked why he chose a rowboat to beard two roiling oceans. “Almost anybody with a little bit of know-how can sail,” he said. “I’m after a battle with nature, primitive and raw.”

[NYTimes / DeerBazan.]

You looked so beautiful then and you look so beautiful now

Written by

Moonface – Teary Eyes And Bloody Lips

The last several pickup lines used (unsuccessfully) on Maya, an attractive German lady currently staying at my house, during her travels across the hostels and guesthouses of Southeast Asia:

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“You have dirty fingernails.” “Yeah, I know.” “I can cut them for you if you want.”

“Do you want to drink a beer with me? No? Well do you want to be my girlfriend for tonight?”

“I decided I want to have sex with you.”

(Clarifying note because apparently Britt thinks I’m a disgusting slimeball of impressive testicular fortitude: I used, and can imagine thinking up, none of these lines.)

[Heartbreaking Bravery.]

A lazy bastard living in a suit

Written by

Leonard Cohen – Going Home

I love to speak with Leonard
He’s a sportsman and a shepherd
He’s a lazy bastard
Living in a suit

But he does say what I tell him
Even though it isn’t welcome
He will never have the freedom
To refuse

He will speak these words of wisdom
Like a sage, a man of vision
Though he knows he’s really nothing
But the brief elaboration of a tube

Going home
Without my sorrow
Going home
Sometime tomorrow
To where it’s better
Than before

Going home
Without my burden
Going home
Behind the curtain
Going home
Without the costume
That I wore

He wants to write a love song
An anthem of forgiving
A manual for living with defeat

A cry above the suffering
A sacrifice recovering
But that isn’t what I want him to complete

I want to make him certain
That he doesn’t have a burden
That he doesn’t need a vision

That he only has permission
To do my instant bidding
That is to SAY what I have told him
To repeat

Going home
Without my sorrow
Going home
Sometime tomorrow
Going home
To where it’s better
Than before

Going home
Without my burden
Going home
Behind the curtain
Going home
Without the costume
That I wore

I love to speak with Leonard
He’s a sportsman and a shepherd
He’s a lazy bastard
Living in a suit

[New Yorker / Old Ideas.]

The electric charge of a change in the weather

Written by

Shearwater – You As You Were

Fun facts gleaned from 20 total hours spread over two layovers spent in the Guangzhou International Airport:

  •   It’s winter in China. “Well, duh,” you are muttering, but I live in Malaysia and was visiting California. In my head, winter exists exclusive in movies and memories. I own exactly one pair of pants and zero coats. “So cold ah?” the lady behind me said as she rubbed my bare arm when we disembarked. I agreed. I’m fairly certain they don’t heat the airport.
  •   The Chinese do spacial courtesy differently. Indonesia is a physical, touch-heavy country, but this isn’t that. Personal bubbles are not respected — everyone keeps bumping into and crowding you. Attractive women press up against you in line until you feel you should at least buy them a drink first. The lady might have felt comfortable rubbing my arm because I helped her daughter put on her pink Dora the Explorer backpack or, more likely, because we were already shoved up against each other waiting to exit the plane.
  •   People don’t wait for the current inhabitants to exit an elevator when the doors open. Instead, they stream in and expect anyone who wants off to elbow his or her way out.
  •   There are no money changers in the airport.
  •   There are no drinking fountains.
  •   If you want to buy a bottle of water, it will cost you U.S. $5, roughly three times the price quoted in yuan (13). The cashier will hold your 10-dollar bill up to the light, presumably to make sure it isn’t a fake.
  •   Your other thirst-quenching option is to wade through the dense haze to the back of the smoking room. There, you can procure a paper cup the size of a shot glass and fill it with tepid water. Just a helpful tip: If you spend several hours battling the lingering smoke fog for those precious shots of warm water, your eyes will probably start to burn and tear up by the time you board your flight.
  •   It takes 7 minutes, 15 seconds to pad from one end of the international terminal to the other, and 9 minutes, 25 seconds if you go backwards, against the grain of the horizontalators. (The padding is due to my moccasins, which saved me from shivering and sure frostbite.)
  •   Along that 16:40 round-trip stretch there is exactly one bookstore. Sometime between Jan. 17 and Feb. 8, that book store sold exactly both its copies of Outliers: The Story of Success, by Malcolm Gladwell.
  •   If, just as a for-instance, you happened to stand around reading the introduction to The Shack, trying and failing to get past William Paul Young’s nauseating simple-man schtick because both copies of Outliers are gone, and two ladies in uniform walk up and ask where you’re flying, you’ll never ever figure out why they wanted to know or why they looked sheepish and apologized when you told them, “Penang.”
  •   Joseph was right; in mainland China they pronounce the number two ‘Arrr’ as in pirates and not ‘Ur’ as in the Biblical location.
  •   Many signs advertise (in English) free WiFi, but it’s only half true. You must have a Chinese phone number to log on (I do not). However, if you overturn the small black rectangles on each table in Blenz Coffee, you will find a nine-digit numerical password for WiFi that works a considerable distance away.
  •   Both the front and back wheels of the complimentary mini-carts rotate, meaning you can push your bags sideways or whatever tilted manner you choose. I prefer to use a diagonal approach, because facing life straight on overwhelms me.

[Animal Joy.]