Alex Tedesco - I Don’t Want To [mp3]
Tallboy tender, tellingly tethered until the cold caved into my hands. The rotational pull of escaping air from a puncture the size of a thumbtack. En route for tacos on a Tuesday, we encountered a flattened wheel flattening and embarked to walk the remaining distance between the site of the incident and the site of fifty cent taco shells full of sopping wet beans slopping from their crevice onto a paper plate too thin to conceal the moisture from the table and we’ll use plastic forks to scrape up those lost toppings, peeling imperceptibly the bleached cardboard fibers and maybe scraping all the way through just slightly to the unwashed surface below, consuming from our forks whatever substances happen to happen upon the tines. She walked with the injured bicycle, her limp mimicking the lopsided reeling in the front and her forearm tensed at having to lift the frame slightly away from the pavement so as to prevent any damage to the rim. There was a slant in her words delivered at the angle of one who cares deeply about challenging the notions of “setback” or “inconvenience” as we considered the probability of having to journey homeward from the bar exactly as we arrived.
She asked, “Precisely how much beer does one need to drink to be OK with walking a crippled bike three miles through the cold night?” We settled on four and once arrived, we secured our bikes to whatever signposts were available in the vicinity and actually the sidewalk was far more free of bicycles than in times past on account of the nearing snow above in the sky, and downstairs in the basement bar the seats were far more free of people than in times past on account of the nearing snow above in the streets, and at the bar we received service far more free of pretension and disdain than in times past but probably that had nothing to do with the snow. Tacos and beer were consumed in a predictable fashion and as the time neared to depart, the snow began to fall.
For as long as I could remember she would walk with her bike in one hand and a can of beer in the other, silhouetted against an array of sordid soaking fabrics falling through the hot bright streetlights of Main Street. The snow left wonder racing through our minds at such a tropical locale being visited upon by the solid moisture mainstays of our long forgotten motherland. It sat awkwardly on the palm trees before sliding from the leaves onto our bodies and we rolled walking in the sheets of foam melting into our clothing. The four beers fell short of warming our souls for the three mile jaunt and we soon found ourselves on the outer periphery of downtown, tallboys in hand. The snapping crack echoed through the menacingly manicured welcome rug which sat at the foot of the only skyscraper in town causing the both of us to laugh presumptively at our brazen display of public intoxication. Her hands were home to superior circulation and I found myself soon unable to contain what little warmth remained in my fingertips. The can was abandoned at the corner and for the remainder of the walk, she cackled wildly at her perspective by incongruity, at the settling sun in my heart, at the sheer abuse endured to do something just a little different that night and once upon the porch smoking a parting cigarette, we agreed that it were quite alright to do stupid things sometimes.
Alex Tedesco is a rhythm and blues band from Michigan. The featured song is from the album Future Strains. Purchase the music at Bandcamp.
The Raincoats - Red Shoes [mp3]
The computer could only run Windows 95 but he thought it would adequately serve his purposes. He sat on the floor considering geographic options. The table had the advantage of being a table near the window, but that was the only surface available for eating his meals. He drew his gaze from the logical solution and cast his sight across each wall. The room lacked a desk, it should be noted, is why it wasn’t installed in the default location. It should also be noted that the room was the full extent of the apartment. The southwest corner was unoccupied except for a pile of cigarette boxes he was saving for an indeterminate art project. He wasn’t an artist though and he wasn’t feeling particularly charmed so he had already determined to dispose of the boxes to make room for the computer should he decide on that corner. As suddenly as he made that determination, he decided against that location for mysterious reasons. Probably the charm returned to him. The closet was strangely large for an efficiency apartment, possessed an inexplicable window and was largely unused on account of his lack of style. However, he was not at a point in his life where he could feel comfortable writing poetry on an ancient computer in a closet. Later in his life, after years of travel and countless lovers, he would spring at such an opportunity were it to arise simply for the novelty. Girls love novelty and think so much higher of a person if he possesses quirky habits. The kind of girls he preferred especially. That left the southwest corner.
He thought the computer tower looked neat standing freely away from the wall as its own wall boxing the monitor, keyboard, mouse and speakers into the corner and so that is how he arranged the equipment on the floor. He powered on the computer and watched the Windows 95 boot process. He was hunched over the peripherals with legs crossed, his left elbow jabbing into his inner knee and his right elbow pivoted to provide the optimal angle for which to maneuver the mouse. Windows 95 was taking a long time to start and his back had already begun to hurt, particularly along the lower spine. He hadn’t owned a computer before and it didn’t seem so absurd to set up the machine on the floor. Now though, he wondered if maybe that wouldn’t really work. Years later, he’d spend hours at a time in a position similar to that required of his first computer, in its first configuration. It was something of a protest and it did wonders for his concentration. He thought for a moment and decided it wouldn’t be so bad to have to move the keyboard out of the way to utilize the table for eating.
The boot process completed, he shut down the computer. He disconnected the components and relocated the computer to the table. The boot process took a very long time once he had reconnected the components and pressed the power button again, but it didn’t take any longer than it had the first time. It’s just, that whole process took a notably long time. He crossed his legs and looked out the window at the gravel alleyway. There was a dark stain in the dirt that was roughly the shape of the state of Georgia. Years later, that stain would remain and he’d imagine while walking across concurrent parking blocks in the lot beside with a feeling of supreme accomplishment at such a feat of continuous balance that the Georgia shaped stain would be his demise one day, that one day it would burst into flames as he passed over it in his car. He would accelerate as the first flames leapt beyond the hood of the car, driving into the street at the end of the alley without first looking to ensure the absence of cross traffic as he turned left toward First Avenue where a car would strike the drivers side window as it raced to make it through a yellow light. Even if it didn’t happen, it would make for an interesting story he thought as the Windows 95 welcome chime rang over the speakers. Of course, he wouldn’t recall that what he imagined later in balance was one of the first stories written on that ancient computer because he couldn’t imagine then the danger a computer placed so near the window faced or how comprehensively his memory would be erased as he placed more and more information into the machine.
The Raincoats are a rhythm and blues band from London. The featured song is from the album Odyshape. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.
Beach House - Gila [mp3]
It was on a bike again that my tethered, leathered thought felt free to feel forever again like this was going to become a butterfly in commotion fitted to flitting in flits of fits, tits for tats fighting for space in the air we breathed sucking kisses against the battered batted wings barging into our face and daring our nose to inhale, exhale, impale such fragile fabled fabric fleeing to fly freeing our eyes to an abundance of audacious beauty. And remember when I said that we bleed love in puddles down the drainage pipe? From the porch each cigarette we smoked was an accord, a treaty of peace and together we leaned against the banister staring at the mattress below, discarded and discovered, one after another, each ash flicked and it floated flights of stairs invisibly descending step-by-step into the sopping wet disgrace. Upon each landing there was a crumble, a spattering of crumbs crammed into the corners to cover up a congealing of the head strong wondering, “Will I make it through to the other side again?” I could smell the nearby swamp water with all of my senses delighting at their newfound surroundings, uncovering with a delicacy best dealt to a man with the winning hand and in my eyes I could see an embrace of those butterflies circling the trail left by you in layers on the paved road, a wormhole dropped in front of my eyes to crawl into slowly and I abide, I leveled my body perpendicular to the butterflies and I looked deep into something unknown. I went searching for something unknown. I found something unknown and we decided it something unknown. I made it through to the other side and once again netted your surprise, in a criss-crossed white halo protecting us from the bugs, you looked toward me with the waning light of the day in your gaze and against the satin clouds clearing the forestry, a single spider spun a web spanning the distance from the earth to the stars, an elongation began in the morning only to find the strand destroyed once again, the nightfall befell our savory arachnid’s best paid silk and finest wine, we drunk in the curious forgivings and misgivings, presented without comment and colluded against for many months. On that night, the spider forgave the universe it’s trappings and told the tale another day of a boy and a girl, tied together by a single shoelace, dangling from a mobile circling the sun, constantly in chase of their sunken hearts.
Beach House are a rhythm and blues band from Baltimore. The featured song is from the album Devotion. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.
Deastro - The Shaded Forests [mp3]
They had just crossed the Missouri border when he said, “We’re out of cigarettes.” OJ doubted that conclusion. He glanced at the dashboard clock, noting the hours that had passed. He said, “It’s been hours since the explosion.”
Earlier: A motorcycle passes on the right. OJ is lighting a cigarette and Scott is sucking hard on a little glass mushroom when it happened. They each drop their wares at the sound and the lit cigarette starts to burn OJ’s leg, causing him to veer into the right lane. The motorcycle is gone around the corner a mile ahead before a discussion can be had. It passed on the right, as OJ drove far above the speed limit in the left. Scott could not feel his heart beating for a moment and even after the moment had passed, he continued to feel his chest for the familiar rhythm. It was faster when he found it.
Returning now: “If you think this is a game, well, you’re wrong.” OJ listened with interest to Scott’s pleadings. OJ didn’t know what Scott was talking about though and he forgot even the sentences exchanged just a moment before. His mind seemed to be playing tricks and he wanted to ask Scott if he had ever been betrayed unknowingly. But then, if he knew, it wouldn’t be a mystery. He was thinking about the motorcycle again, as it angled around the bend. He was thinking about the rush of wind and he felt it again. “What are we talking about again?” OJ asked. Scott stared ahead with a blooming in his eyes, the pupils dilated to their previous highs in the darkness of the passenger seat. Scott said, “There, it is.” OJ laughed at the odd sentence construction and they exited the highway.
Earlier again: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” Scott asked. OJ said, “WHAT THE FUCK! FUCK MY LEG!” They veered into the right lane and Scott worried that maybe they’d fall into a groove left in the road by the motorcycle. But OJ quickly recovered both the control of the vehicle and the cigarette. The hair on his leg was singed lightly. Scott stared stupidly at the snarled, blackened hair and he seemed to be on the point of caressing OJ’s leg when OJ said, “I think it was a motorcycle driving really fast.”
Now later: Scott struck a match and held it to the fuse. The firework started to crackle and they took a few steps back. The explosion brought them back once more to the scene on the highway, the motorcycle passing on the right at a speed in excess of their wildest dreams. The firework ascended into the sky and then all around, there were lights twinkling and reflected in the Iowa River. OJ asked Scott, “Have you ever been unknowingly betrayed?” Scott thought for a moment, thinking that maybe he had but how would he know. OJ told him, “You have, you just don’t know it yet.”
Deastro is a rhythm and blues band from Detroit. The featured song is from the album Keeper’s. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.
Learning Music Monthly - Short Tempered [mp3]
Along the lime green pillar hangs a clock that tells the time and at the time, it told the man living inside underneath the hands swaying in a clock-wise direction, with clock-like wisdom chock full of whimsy, that it was time. And so at this now appointed time, with almost no time to prepare and with little time to consider, the man lifted his body up and out through the face of the clock. Inside of the clock, the man was two-dimensional and only his face and shoulders were visible. It seemed reasonable to think that maybe the man had nothing more to his body but then, here was now and there it was, the rest of his body. Brought into the third-dimension at the instruction of the third-dimension, the man stood for a time until such a time came that the sensation of standing wasn’t a frightening sensation. The weight of gravity upon his shoulders and the reactive force of the floor on his feet are the sort of things that one doesn’t find inside of a clock. All around him were people dining and drinking and reading political blogs and discussing the snow storm. The man turned on his heel, gazing for a short time at each person his eyes ventured across and thinking to himself all the time, “The addition of another dimension is a complex and wonderful thing.” After a time, he faced a window. He continued to turn for a time, peering with perplex at the snow falling from the sky at the time. If the man knew what a snow globe was, he might have remarked that the scene outside, as seen through the large windows, had the effect of making one feel like they were trapped inside of a snow globe. Except in this snow globe, there were no Christmas trees or NYC landmarks. Instead there were eager to please, hard working, fun loving, blindly idealistic (or relentless jaded) world changers and political wonks. There were laptops on every table and many patrons chose to frequent the cafe uncompanioned in a physical sense, but quite happy to be accompanied by Internet. The tables were large and strangers mingled, knowing that they could ignore the person beside or across by simply staring intently at their computer screen and listening loudly to their iPod tethered ear buds. But the man had never seen a snow globe from his limited vantage point inside of a clock hanging from a trendy cafe wall. In fact, no metaphors occurred to him as he stared. The snow fell in a soggy blanket, thick with moisture and destructive intent. Outside, people walked with umbrellas and cars traversed barely the roads saturated with white. The city was shut down that day in advance of the storm so that the citizenry would not have to danger tending to the issues facing our country. Or else, errands. The man lost track of the time as he stood retching his mind, attempting to contort his feelings and beliefs in a manner that could justify the growing expanse outside. And then, a large dog and a small dog passed each other for a time on the sidewalk in front of the window. The large dog scarcely noticed the small dog shuffling through the 8-inch layer of snow and the small dog understood this advantage. It lunged bravely, but briefly, at the large dog’s front paw with incredible violence. The man wondered how such a small animal could possess such an intense look in his eye, even if only for a brief period of time before being dragged away. The man decided that his time here was sufficient and that he needn’t see anymore of this multi-faced world. The man looked at the clock and asked, “Do you have the time?” The clock responded, “It is time.”
Learning Music Monthly is a rhythm and blues band from Los Angeles. The featured song is from the album This May Also Be It. Purchase the music at Cash Music.
Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea [mp3]
It was the saw that got my attention and he could tell. “That’s a musical saw he’s playing there.” Ben turned up the volume. Behind us, Cara, Dan and Allen stopped talking because the music was too loud. Instead, they looked forward at the back of our seats with blank expressions. Maybe they were thinking about nuclear weapons. In the front seats, Ben and I stared forward through the windshield at the traffic. The car on our right had Alaska plates and I wondered if they just drove into Des Moines today and why. Maybe they took it’s geographic location to mean that it was the spiritual center of the continental states. I started to think something else but the musical saw came ambling into my mind again. At least I assumed that the depressed warbling aloft underneath guitar fuzz and the depressed warbling voice of Jeff Magnum was a musical saw. I had never heard a musical saw before. I remember once while working on my Uncle’s pallet farm, dropping a standard non-musical saw from a short height and the sound it made was kind of nice and remembering it now, I thought, “That sounds kinda like the saw I dropped once.” Then I started to reminisce about the fort I built in the pallet stacks with my brother and we would watch the working men walking to their pallet posts through the spaces between each slat of wood, throwing rocks at the ones we didn’t like and making farm animal sounds at the ones that we did like when Ben started to shout.
“This is definitely one of those albums that you remember the first time you heard it. Where you were and who you were with. Last album I heard like that was OK Computer. It was Independence Day and I had my headphones on and I was laying on my back in the grass on a hill staring up at the fireworks exploding in the sky. Occasionally, I would forget what was happening and then my girlfriend’s face would come into my periphery as she neared in for a kiss. She would kiss me and behind her a firework would create a halo around her head.”
Ben had to yell his story and it annoyed me a little because I had to concentrate to understand his strained words over the music. I wanted to tell him that I don’t care about Radiohead right now. In the end though, I thought that the story Ben told was kind of charming and it made me want to listen to OK Computer. I had never listened to it before, I realized. Reflecting on what he said as the song came to an end, I wondered if I would remember all of this, as Ben suggested I might. I thought that I would but it depressed me to think that in several years time, I would listen to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea only to be returned to this dank van in Des Moines, en route for Dowling High School to compete in a debate tournament. I would remember that I spent one weekend in March discussing the policy implications of nuclear disarmament, or maybe a ban on nuclear testing, or else some strategic change in defense policy and that during that weekend, I was the victorious debater only twice in six tries. I might even begin to fret at the enormous threat posed by nuclear weapons the second I heard the opening chords.
I was worried and I was young. The rest of the album proceeded without much consideration for the impact my weekend might have on future listens. Instead, I thought about Cara and how I might come to have sex with her. And I forgot the fact that I should be depressed by my poor showing at Dowling in the future when I heard this album and so it was, until now.
Neutral Milk Hotel is a rhythm and blues band from Athens. The featured song is from the album In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Purchase the music at Amazon | Insound | eMusic.