Rufus Wainwright – In A Graveyard

The playfulness of the Smiths’ “Cemetry Gates” aside, the many homes of the dead sit rather uneasy amongst any three minute stationed pop song, yet, in weakening the mould, “In A Graveyard” proposes a truth and then a possibility, that in death we all belong and that within this are extremes of beauty to be unearthed (so to speak). However close to universal wishfulness this may thread upon, it’s Wainwright’s clarity of voice that devises and executes the certainty of existing beauty, however fragile its foundations may be as relates to the individual.

“I smiled in knowing we’d be back one day.” The discovery of a truth by the singular, but then a dilution, a showing of fragility in the grab and pull of future (or ‘momentarily, dear’) shared experience in the “we”. I wonder if Wainwright purposely ommitted “knowing I’d be back” in favour of “knowing we’d be back”. Shades of fear jolting in the beauty, possibly. Still the beauty persists; nowhere more prominent than throughout the song’s startling melodic perfection. Warring revolts to silent stars, black horizons dim to blue, and revolutionary smiles are born. It’s all quite simple, quite deliberate, quite, well, beautiful. It’s wish fulfillment fulfilled. So while two white horses follow Dylan, and Morrissey bemoans all those people, all those lives, “Where are they now?,” Rufus’s romantic scope breathes new and bright angles upon history’s great laments – such as Hardy’s “And strange-eyed constellations reign his stars eternally.” Strange-eyed constellations reign his stars eternally. How preposterously beautiful. [Download.]

M83 – You Appearing

The eerie emptiness of an apartment, freshly vacated by a soured roommate who spent the last two days of his tenure throwing an almighty temper-tantrum, the most passive-aggressive of strops – slamming doors at odd intervals, blaring Hindi Internet radio from his laptop speakers with the door open at 4 a.m., leaving a note about the smell of your sandals as pitifully childish revenge because a few months back you had to confront him about leaving sweaty socks in the living room – leaving behind not so much a lifting of the oppression but an uncertain, vacant quiet. [Saturdays = Youth.]

Wye Oak – Take It In

There’s one cigarette I miss above all. Months after quitting, I’m still bumping into smokes I miss: the drunk-at-2-a.m.-out-on-the-balcony cig, the fuck-my-job-end-of-shift cig, the I’m-feeling-emotionally-insecure-but-bet-a-cig-would-make-me-look-cool cig. But the return of MLS reminded me of my favorite: the I-filed-three-times-at-that-game cig. Brown-papered cloves would wait in the cup holder of my Civic. I would sit down at the steering wheel and sigh, exhausted but fulfilled. I liked to dangle the cig in my mouth for a few minutes, winding down, tasting the sugar-sweetness of the filter, staring into the dark mid-distance, resting my wrists on the wheel. Fingers that had so recently clanked away so many thousands of keystrokes would flick the lighter and crack the window. And then: inhale.

Goddam. Glorious.

I miss that. [The Knot.]

Twin Shadow – Forget

I was typing on Skype to someone I’ve met in person twice when the screen started to sway. Then the ground dragged my feet back and forth and the whole apartment was lurching.

I lived in California for a while so I’m used to earthquakes. I remember once letting a tame one rock me back to sleep during a sunny mid-afternoon nap.

But this one just kept going. On and on it rolled. My nocturnal roommates woke up, screamed “earthquake!” and filmed the fan shuddering back and forth. I walked out to the balcony and tried to see how much the building bent back and forth. Other families crowded out on their balconies, pointing and exclaiming. Many shuffled down the stairs to stare up at us from outside.

Later that day, after the vibrations eventually stilled, I took the elevator down to grab some grub. Some neighbors piled in. They asked me if I’d run outside. “No, I figured if the building collapsed I would die in the stairwell anyway,” I said and they laughed, half out of nervousness at the thought of the building falling on top of them and half at the idea of this white guy talking rapidly at them. One of the ladies in the elevator had run out without sandals, and they told me about it, laughing again. I chuckled and snuck glances at the daughter’s pale thighs.

The earthquake which prompted the tsunami in 2004 was a 9.1-magnitude. This one was an 8.7, with aftershocks as powerful as 8.2. But apparently there’s a difference between vertical and horizontal impact, and there was no tsunami.

I refreshed a liveblog news site on my phone and eventually didn’t make a run for it. But I had planned it all out inside of my head. I’d shove my laptop, headphones, mp3 player, phone, voice recorder, my passport, my grandfather’s ring, a copy of Denis Johnson’s Jesus Son, and two pairs of boxers in my backpack. I would take off on my bike up Penang Hill. Past the temple, I’d park at Ayer Hitam (Black Water) Dam – from there you can see the entirety of Georgetown.

Later I did the math and realized my placement on the far side of the island from the ‘quake meant my condo would have been safe in the first place. Still, I was morbidly excited by the thought of watching an entire city destroyed, safe with my only valuable possessions strapped to my back.

Later that night I filtered off to bed. Lying on my side, I stared open-eyed out the window, where silent bolts of lightning illuminated the entire room, Nature coldly reminding me it could destroy me in a blink.

I found this song a half hour ago. It’s now my life theme song.

Carey Mulligan – New York, New York

This game is cruel; but its cruelty is sensual and stirs George into hot excitement. He feels a thrill of pleasure to find the senses so eager in their response; too often, now, they seem sadly jaded. From his heart, he thanks these young animals for their beauty. And they will never know what they have done to make this moment marvellous to him, and life itself less hateful -

[Words / Art: Josh Henkins / Music.]