.the end of a vacation
Story Time:
“…so you see, in the web of life, every animal and every plant relies on other plants and animals to survive. The web of life isn’t a chain, and it’s not quite a circle. It’s an important connection between all life, and no one part of it is more important than another. All animals and plants in a sense work together to survive.”
So I did just pull that up from google like the interweb cheater that I am, BUT I think it might just sum up the genre blending of Montreal’s lovely Plants and Animals just perfectly.
I’m not going to pretend to be cool though and just admit that I actually just bought their t-shirt at hillside without seeing them because it had retarded cats and a nice colour scheme on it… but I fell in love with them later! Good intuition, I guess.
I am impressed by the bits of flute playing on the record which are actually quite good… and those pitchfork assholes even gave them an 8!
Plants and Animals - “Feedback in the Field”
“Mercy” has an African-driven beat that reminds me of Amadou & Mariam and also the Nina Simone song “Sinnerman”. But it also has childish shouting like The Go! Team… AND indie rock heavy guitar swings reminiscent of Broken Social Scene. figures.
I cannnnn’t even talk about this anymore because there are other songs that remind me of Neil Young and Tom Petty and even a bit of Shoegaze… so just get the godamn record yourself.
Strawberry rhubarb pie and BROKEN fucking SOCIAL SCENE.
I was prepared to be disappointed when seeing my favourite band since the age of 15 for the first time.
I was so, so wrong. Everything they say is true and it was one of those musical experiences where I was filled with nothing but love. Sans drugs, sans alcohol. Being front row probably didn’t hurt much either… but they have this crazy energy, especially when all the horns are on stage, that gets every single fucking person excited.
They also played three songs off of Brendan Canning’s new album, which most people obviously didn’t know the words to, but were obviously blown away by. I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it again - GET IT. It’s in stores now.
someone's niece
I’ve spent the majority of my weekend waking up on couches in friends’ parents’ houses when they’re not even there, proceeding to make a sandwich out of an unfamiliar fridge, listen to animal collective and wander around the city with my unused art supplies. I’ve walked and sat along College, McCaul, Queen West, Jarvis, Harbourfront, all thinking about oxford commas, fruit flies, swimming pools, jimmy choos, city planning.
I went to a party last night where I felt like I was 15 again, drinking shitty beers in a Rosedale park for part of the night, being amazed by the ignorance of an overprivileged and under-educated boy hitting on me, and watching someone’s utterly intoxicated mother in a silk slip hunting for dropped valium pills on the dark lawn.
I also sat beside a boy on the subway drawing sophisticated comics with some of the nicest linework I have ever seen. Completely uncharacteristically, and to the surprise of all the tired and middle-aged men around, a pretty girl in a dress introduced herself to the young bespectacled fellow beside her, and struck up a conversation about art. In the colloquy I may have lied a bit, and I may have wished I was someone I wasn’t, but I also was that person for a moment. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on a bench, smoking a joint, and seriously plannning a move to Paris in my head.
I’m going to leave this couch and cat now though, and head for a coffee with someone I think will give me a breath of normalcy in this city before I leave.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever talked about this with anybody, but I never really see the world in textured colour. I draw (or used to draw) the same way that I see the world: dominated by lines and space, only sometimes punctuated by a single hue. Mostly I appreciate the honesty and solidarity of a single, pure colour. At the very most in compositions, I tend to use it as an accent. It is an afterthought, an added touch, a luxury and a transparent emotion.
The feeling that a colour will sometimes evoke in me often comes as a surprise.
With art and all design, I sometimes feel that the use of colour is cheating. It is an act of borrowing rather than creation, and to me, a visual experience must have much more in the skeleton behind it.
Something tells me that the experience of psychedelic drugs might change that.
I think the reason I was reminded of this was seeing Animal Collective on Sunday. It was possibly one of the best performances I have ever been to and definitely the most respect I have ever felt for two musicians (the Geologist was absent). Watching Panda Bear go at the drums was mesmerizing and I’ve never seen two musicians so genuinely and deeply connected to their music and each other.
I think that even listening to their music a lot recently is changing the way I think about these things though… the sensations seeping in are allowing my mind to be more fluid and less sharp and absurdly rapid.
Sounds are drifting through my window of one of my neighbours playing the most lovely tune on the piano. It reminds me that there are other determined, genuine, and unique people out there in the world - or even through the window next to me - living their lives, singing to the sky, and dreaming of beauty.
It reminded me of one of my favourite artists and idols when I was younger - the late great Glenn Gould. Almost as eccentric as he was talented, the world was blown away by his technical proficiency and the indiosyncrasity of his beautiful sound. I remember being enraptured by his swaying and undulating in the first video recording of him I saw one night on CBC with my parents. Soon after I learned that he hummed while he played, only perform on a chair made by his father, and wore gloves and about three layers to many pretty much all the time. I was in love.
mmmmmmmmmmmm.
Tonight I rushed home to buy marshmallows for dinner to make one of my favourite comfort foods (which you ONLY get random cravings for) - mashed sweet potatoes with toasted mashmallows on top. Yep.
You bake them for about an hour or more in tinfoil, peel off the skins, and mash them with a little margarine, milk, salt, and tons of cinammon. Then you cover them with a soft pillowy layer of marshmallows, and bake again until toasted and gooey inside. SO DELICIOUS.
When fashion and street style becomes the stuff of classic cinema.
Milan, via The Sartorialist.
These are my summer shoes.
Birkentocks which have been turned a thousand shades of mud slip, dog bite, and beer splash - the sole of which has been worn and rounded so much that they roll under my feet when I walk.
Gross, I know. But mainly they remind me of the place where I accumulated most of those stains - my cottage. It is the only place that has truly felt like home to me since I was born despite the divorces, moving and other shit that’s happened over the years. I could never even dream of selling one of the most beautiful places in the world, and I will always return to it with my heart. It never ceases to instill the same level of calm in me, and for that reason it is the place where I feel closest to the world.
Early tomorrow I’ll be heading up there for the first time this year with my dad, brother, and dog. Sorry for being so sappy, but I’m ridiculously excited!!