“Intolerance” by Brad Paisley feat. Lionel Richie, Darius Rucker, Cowboy Troy & Cornel West
In undergrad, when someone asked me about my post-graduation plans
Shit I liked this week
- Hilary Mantel: Bring Up the Bodies: More vivid than Wolf Hall: There’s a reason there have been so many bad movies about the events in this book. Like a Godfather II in that it raises the moral stakes to such a level that it’s no surprise just about everyone misplays.
- Margaret Berger: “I Feed You My Love”: I’m glad Norway respects Eurovision’s audience enough to enter something that could conceivably be played in a club. A dimly lit club with vampires and the Argento family lurking in the corners, but I presume they have many of those in Norway.
- Bomba Estereo: Elegancia Tropical/“Ponte Bomb”: Rumours that Colombia’s ranking electrocumbia crew had grown up have thankfully proven unfounded. Still, I like their Levi’s-ad cover of “Pump Up the Jam” better than anything on a very danceable album, if only for Li Saumet’s Ya Kid K-biting pronunciation of “jam”.
- Spencer Finch: “Following Nature”: The Indianapolis Museum of Art’s plan is to have a strong post-impressionist collection, and hope that brings in numbers for the contemporary stuff. We didn’t even get to the contemporary floor, but admired that the coloured windows in the entranceway had the kind of middlebrow elegance you hope for in a museum that displays its Rockwell with deserved lack of irony.
- Spice Nation, Indianapolis: I know that that omnivores going on about vegetarian food are the worst, but: South Indian vegetarian buffets are the best, especially when they bring you dosas and naan from the kitchen and there are enough customers to keep the fried stuff turning over quickly.
- Sunny Hill: “The Grasshopper Song”: The ant/grasshopper fable is less black and white than the Victorians would have you believe: In La Fontaine’s telling, it’s clear the ant is an asshole. The Hill are pro-grasshopper with saying fuck the ant, but fuck the ant.
- Real Madrid vs Manchester United: The Bernabeu is the only host ground that leaves Man U as the lesser of two evils, so I should be happy that they came away with a draw and an away goal. Cristiano Ronaldo’s equaliser though, that was sick. If you were to make him Pope it would improve both football and Catholicism.
- My Bloody Valentine: m b v: I mean it’s pretty good.
Shit I liked last week
- Tegan and Sara: Heartthrob: Carly Rae comparisons aren’t satisfying you’re always aware there are two of them. I’d c.f. Shakespears Sister — Tegan-I-believe even drops a background “please stay” to counterpoint the “go if you want to” in “Now I’m All Messed Up,” just like the background “I want you close” in “Closer” refutes the Police’s “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”. With these recombinant genes, all they need to crack Europe is a Sophie Muller drunk video.
- Beyonce Bowl XLVII: Ravens, can you handle this? Niners, can you handle this? Superdome, can you handle this? I don’t think they handled it, especially without a boof boof in sight. As for the game, if you want your comeback to be successful then maybe don’t fall behind by 22 points.
- Oslo, August 31st (Joachim Trier): Still thinking through the ending, similar in form to that of fellow city porn Before Sunrise, but different in tone. Until then, Anders Danielsen Lie gives a measured lead, and Trier does a bravura job of opening him up, notably in a piece of people-watching at a cafe.
- Lindstrom & Todd Terje: “Lanzarote”: Though it won’t convert attendees of the Scandinavian Electrodisco Demolition Derby, it makes the Canary Islands seem the winter’s coziest tax haven to set up an online analogue synth shop in. Having no demons, in late August I’d rather be in Oslo.
- Claudia Rankine: from “That Were Once Beautiful Children”:
This is what it looks like. You know this
is wrong. This is not what it looks like.
You need to be quiet. This is wrong. You
need to close your mouth now. This is
what it looks like. Why are you talking
if you haven’t done anything wrong?
And you are not the guy but still you fit
the description because there is only one guy
who is always the guy fitting the description.
Shit I liked and/or was confused by this week
- Sheila Heti: How Should a Person Be?
- The Marx Brothers: Animal Crackers
- Marc Ribot: Silent Movies
- Macklemore & Ryan Lewis ft. Wanz: “Thrift Shop”
- ASAP Rocky/Drake/2 Chainz/Kendrick Lamar: “Fuckin’ Problems”
Angsting over ethics, power, and macklemoremacklemore under the cut.
Shit I liked this week
Life Without Principle (Johnnie To): It crushes Tower Heist, duh. To and his writers have nailed an era in which even the triads have succumbed to austerity. Going financial, no matter how Moneyball you are, doesn’t change the fact that at the casino, the only sure winner is the house. So if the government ain’t gonna regulate the banks, you gotta do it yourself.
Dawn Richard: Goldenheart: Complaining about her super-seriousness is like complaining about 2003 Karen O’s. Both appropriate martial imagery, though Richard dons armor to protect against a wider range of threats than just Williamsburg douchebags — Dawn’s riot is against the business, the system, the gods. Her most affecting song is “In Your Eyes”, which raises the possibility of battlefield alliance, if not love.
49ers @ Falcons: Kudos to the Falcons for working out, too late, that bearing down on Kaepernick didn’t help if he was just going to hand off. With the Ravens having an actually good red zone defence, it’ll be the most tactically interesting Super Bowl in years — something I’ll repeat to myself while avoiding press about what a wonderful teammate Ray Lewis is.
Princesa: “Pa Ke Mueva”: Add her to the long list of rappers who would have made for better Skrillex collaborations than ASAP Rocky. Really what I want from my dance rappers is some juice in their vocals — not necessarily smile-for-the-cameras enthusiasm, but the commitment to the rhythm Princesa displays here.
William Faulkner: Absalom, Absalom!: Just beginning a sentence is an adventure as if I were in a marching band, only instead of playing a drum I was beating time by slapping a watch, eking out a few more seconds before its physical existence disintegrates, against my wrist, walking toward that intersection where years ago Grandfather, General Lee, and a blind widow wearing the dress her mother was buried in ack I am bad at parody make it stop