<a href="http://twitoaster.com/country-us/btrandolph/" _mce_href="http://twitoaster.com/country-us/btrandolph/">Btrandolph (Todd Randolph) Twitter conversations: recent returnee (er?) to non-profit world - run&#8230;</a>
On paper, Alex Ebert (a.k.a. Edward Sharpe) and the 11-12 musicians comprising the Magnetic Zeros sound a lot like those obnoxious dudes down the street who think it's 1969, especially if your street is located in Williamsburg, Echo Park, or some other hip crossroads of irony and earnestness. Ebert ties his hair into a makeshift crown while performing. The band drives around in a converted school bus. Said bus is driven by a guy named "Cornfed." The whole operation sounds like an exercise in empty nostalgia, but as "40 Day Dream" indicates, there's nothing affected about Ebert's songwriting chops.
Like its obvious Motown antecedents, "40 Day Dream"'s keening strings and Ebert's theatrical delivery make the song sound like a man at the end of his tether, when in fact he's just really happy to be in love-- "the magical mystery kind," lest you think the Magnetic Zeros are all honesty and no postmodernity. Punchy percussion is "40 Days"' most captivating and crucial feature; it helps the song maintain buoyance through two lengthy breakdowns, and neutralizes some of the melodrama endemic to lyrics concerning new love. Ultimately, the song unfolds and evolves beautifully, letting the listener bask in layers of ebullient analog sound, handclaps, and an infectious chorus. These techniques might smack of hollow revivalism, but the overall effect is utterly sincere
— Susannah Young, July 1, 2009
via pitchfork.com
When Marvin Gaye found out his girl was ditching him on his version of "Heard It Through the Grapevine", all he could do was pine after her. The same goes for Motown heroes the Temptations on songs like "(I Know) I'm Losing You" or even the Supremes on "Stop! In the Name of Love". But even though they were wallowing, an indignant stubbornness came across; away from the microphone, they might chew an ex out more bluntly. A few decades on, Cee-Lo does just that, exploding with an instrumental steeped in 1960s pop while taking supreme joy in flipping some golddigger the bird.
Even in our cuss-addled times, calling a song "Fuck You" will get an automatic novelty spin. But while Cee-Lo modernizes the language, he's sure to make the song craft as timeless, efficient, and repeatable as any number of golden oldies. Like "Hey Ya" before it, "Fuck You" gets by on a generation-spanning simplicity, and, coming from Cee-Lo's mouth, the title phrase actually isn't illicit at all. It's beyond happy. Cathartic. It could be the new "Sesame Street" theme. It could play at a wedding, and your grandmother would hobble to it. It's post-censorship. The radio version replaces "fuck" with "forget," and it may as well not exist.
[from the forthcoming full-length The Ladykiller; also from the "Fuck You" single, available 10/04/10 via Elektra]
— Ryan Dombal, August 23, 2010
via pitchfork.com
What is it like to live every day on a bicycle for 16,000 miles? "Spinning Southward" is a documentary film following three bicyclists who traveled from the far northern shores of Prudhoe Bay, Alaska through 13 countries to Ushuaia, Argentina in support of the National Brain Tumor Society. The riders, brothers John and Mike Logsdon and filmmaker, Nateon Ajello, were inspired by the memory of their mothers, Jean Logsdon and Fran Ajello, who both were affected by brain tumors. By the end of their journey in September 2006, the cyclists had raised more than $75,000 for the National Brain Tumor Society and had reached out to thousands of families both personally and through media along the way. The film documents the hardship, wonder, challenge, people, and all elements that come with living every day on a bicycle. It also incorporates mapping, animation and original music that bring the story to life.
via youtube.com
when I heard about this dock and its HUGE price difference with the others out there, I was psyched. I was less psyched when I realized I couldn't actually order one - they just had a vapor-ish "give us an email address and we'll be in touch."
yesterday, I got the email, basically saying "you have been deemed worthy." soon, I will be the proud owner of not just one, but two of these bad boys...
via hengedocks.com
enter prince hal
henry blodget was kind of a big deal the first time the web was going to save the world. an internet analyst at merrill lynch, he was an early and vocal cheerleader for the likes of amazon.com et al. later, not so much. when the music stopped, henry was left without a seat - and the sec made him pay $4mm anyway! well, he wound up co-founding a news service of sorts called businessinsider.com.
a recent pair of posts from the erstwhile seer of silicon alley had me scratching my head. they concerned tweetdeck, a popular twitter client with versions for a variety of platforms. last week, blodget declared tweetdeck dead, a victim of twitter's moves to control its channel.
roll the tape...
junior miss and I spent labor day weekend down east, which is confusing localese for up north in maine. we were meeting my parents, who were themselves coming from yet down and easter in nova scotia. we snored our way through the gentle shower that was an embarassed former hurricane earl scurrying north and enjoyed some fun times on the beach and in the pool (junior miss) and in the local walk-in urgent care (me, after a banged up knee chose to get seriously infected my only beach weekend of the freaking summer). but I digress.
the point of this quickie post is to celebrate a breakfast I enjoyed this morning. now, I'm the kind of guy who will happily order the same thing every time I go to a restaurant. the mexican joint across the street doesn't even bother with a menu anymore - the waitress just calls back "it's the enchiladas poblanas guy again" to the kitchen when she sees me walk in. at least I think that's what she says, because that's what emerges shortly thereafter. back to my breakfast.
as I said, I tend toward the conservative in my ordering habits. in a diner, if I see sausage gravy on the menu, that's what I order. this despite decades of disappointment in greasy spoons across the nation. it is as if some miscreant food service professional started a trend: "hey, lets make some white gravy, but instead of putting actual sausage in, we just use a sausage to stir the gravy and then pepper the crap out of it so people think the lumps of flour and lard are sausage." and so the word spread across the land - the chains went first, but one by one, the old time diners followed. oh, I still eat it, because I don't mind the occasional repast of spicy lard bits, but I kept hoping for more.
I am delighted to report the maine diner does not adhere to this bastardized definition of sausage gravy. the plate arrived more grey than white, with only the height of the steaming mounds indicating the presence of the gravy's biscuit foundation. and its lumpiness was not evidence of an impatient chef with no time to do the job right. no, these were lumps of sausage. I regret that I failed to take a picture of it before devouring it. although, truth be told, it probably would not look very appetizing to someone who was NOT a sausage gravy lover.
on our way home, junior miss inquired whether the maine diner was named for the state "or the other main, the one that's important." I explained the difference in spelling, but acknowledged to her that a diner as good as the maine diner could probably justify a claim to being the main diner. it was that good.
via picplz.com
wicked cool. a group of fans shot and edited video with flip cams; band authorized and provided audio masters from the show.
via youtube.com
via facebook.com
the main floor. first day on imovie, so cut me some slack.
music: sufjan stevens, the do
upstairs
music: world atlas
from the outside