UPDATED creepy yet extremely interesting:

So of course none of the following songs/bands that I am going to mention, were created in the year 2013.. they are old news already, but you know me, always and forever out-of-time! However, I did discover them in 2013, therefore they made it onto my 2o13 creep-out list! NUMBER 1 - Salem: Jack Donoghue, Heather Marlatt, John Holland (isn't there a porn star named, Holland?). (doom, witch-house, sludge) I don't remember exactly how I came across Salem's stuff. I think it was one of those, start-out-on-the-main-highway but somehow ended up on a dark, unmarked, pot-holed, one-lane, dirt road. Lost. Alone & Frightened! My introduction to Salem came by a video called Tair. I was instantly intrigued.. "witch-house".. wow. I didn't even know there was such a genre! So I drove-clicked, around, with an actual purpose in mind - to find pics of the band, and when I saw them, I became even more intrigued. Two guys and one chic, looking all drug addiction like, plus all the unsavory things that go along with that lifestyle. I don't feel as though this vibe is, all gimmick. Unlike Ben Ratliff from The New York Times who says in this 2010 article, "Salem - making shrewd and naïve into the same thing." or something to that effect. And then I searched and found that tell-all interview in Butt Magazine. AND OMG! LOOK WHAT I JUST FOUND! what a ..... ( her, not him, he is cute, lol) gosh I didn't mean to turn this into a gossip post, but there is more ---> " #pray4jack " stuff.. what the hell?! I don't think this band has put anything out since 2011.. No wonder. Something definitely has a strong grip on him. Alcohol and drugs .. the devil's tools. oh and have you ever heard the term, "rapegaze"? and next we have # 2 - even more than creepy - everything about these fat ass bozo dicks make me sick. can you imagine stumbling across this video and seeing your daughter deep-throating that huge dildo? So disturbing.

My favorite music finds in 2013:

Foxygen - I think I am almost over my Foxygen crush. I discovered them on Spotify.com while putting together a set of folksy 60's sounding songs. All because of a song called, Blue by First Aid Kit. Which lead me to, No Distruction by Foxygen. For some reason that song just stuck in my head, I think I just like the Dylan vibe that I get from it. So I ended up watching my first Foxygen video on youtube and fell in love with the recycled freshness of that band. Theirs was the first music I actually paid for, in over 7 years! And thanks to all these social media sites, I instantly got caught up in Sam (Jim Morrison's secret grandson) and Elizabeth's, big, break-up drama! It was my favorite online love/hate story for a solid 2 months, if not longer. I think Elizabeth should play Stevie Nicks if anyone ever makes a movie about Fleetwood Mac! Okay .. moving on ... *sigh* Number 2 - Jason Abraham Roberts - I first spotted him in a Norah Jones vid. He is the guy playing the guitar next to Norah. Is he not a doll?! Besides being in a couple of bands, he teaches guitar in NYC. Yeah.. I found his page on one of those job listing sites. He exudes such sweet naivete & energy. I'd do him. In 2013, I fell in love with a live version (The studio version is not as powerful.) of this song - The Observatory - by a band called, Filligar. I find their, all-americana, wholesomeness, very attractive. They would be perfect for a, Ford s-150 commercial, or something along those lines. : ) I mean that in a positive way. Comedian - Superwoman! She reminds me of a nurse I used to work with. Jerry-Lewis's-granddaughter, comedy (I mean that in a good way). and .... LiL' DEBBiE! LOL.. that her with DollaBillGates, she collaborated with RiFF RAFF too. . Favorite "U-Know-U-Made-It-When-Yer-On-the-Letterman-show" group: Die Antwoord (feel the ZEF!) I'll be back with some dark 'likes', and to see what you guys found in 2013! Where is everyone? come out and play, even if you just hate on my likes, lol!

The Reluctant Fundamentalist (review by Brian d'Eon)

At a key point in this political thriller a young woman, reflecting on the very recent terrorist attack on New York’s twin towers, asks her Pakistani boyfriend, “What could make them do such a thing?”  Her Pakistani boyfriend replies in irritation,  “How should I know?”

Essentially this movie is an exploration of this question, which I’m sure has rattled around in the heads of many North Americans for the last decade.  The story is old largely from the P.O.V. of the Pakistani boyfriend Changez (hard ‘g’) played brilliantly by Riz Ahmed.                        .

Changez grows up  in Pakistan in an educated family. His father is a well known, published poet.  Like many young Pakistanis of his generation, the dream of going to America, where one can make anything of one’s life, looms large in Changez’s imagination.  He wins a scholarship. He graduates from Princeton.  Soon after, he is hired by one of Wall Street’s finest, played by Kiefer Sutherland who—to his credit—plays an uncharacteristically unsympathetic role in this movie

On Wall St. Changez’s sharp analytical skills are used to help companies “increase their value” which is largely code for firing large numbers of employees.

Changez is very good at his job; he is well on his way to being a poster child for the American dream.  Then 9/11 happens.  Suddenly it no longer matters that Changez is brilliant,  or that he works on Wall St.,  or that he is married to the idea of unbridled capitalism as much as anyone.  Returning from a business meeting, security guards at the airport pull him aside and strip-search him.  Clients at work become hesitant to use his services.  He is judged by his skin colour and facial features, not by his beliefs or actions.

---

Changez’s moral crisis comes to a head when he sent to Istanbul with the task of dismembering a centuries-old publishing company which has been losing money. Changez confesses to the publisher that his own father is a poet.  The publisher, with sad, dark eyes, looks up and says to Changez,  “You should be ashamed…”

Within twenty-four hours Changez quits his job and quits America.  Back in Lahore, he begins teaching at a university and quickly (and quite unfairly) is painted as a dangerous radical, in some way implicated in a recent kidnapping of an American academic (who we finally learn is actually and intelligence agent.)

Besides the extraordinary acting of the movie’s principal,  Liev Schreiber turns in a very convincing performance as Bobby, the man drafted by American intelligence to confront Changez.  The close-ups of Schreiber and Ahmed discussing life-and-death issues in a Lahore tea shop are riveting.

Kudos to the movie’s director, Mira Nair.  This is a very thoughtful script, dealing with big issues and told in a most engaging way.  In part it is a plea for dialogue, civility, even love.  “I am a lover of America,” our protagonist states; there is more than irony in this statement.  And later when talking earnestly to the Schreiber character, he says, “Remember, looks can be deceiving.  I ask only one thing of you, Bobby.  First listen to my whole story.”

This movie is an American-Pakistan co-production.  Bravo.  Despite Rotten Tomatoes inexplicably low rating for this movie, I believe it is a must-see flick for anyone seeking a deeper understanding of the Muslim world, fundamentalism, and the West’s sometimes unwitting aggravation of international tensions.  I hear the book is pretty good too!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Reluctant_Fundamentalist

movie trailer

http://youtu.be/xfC45oq_drU

review by Brain d'Eon, Lunatic Writer

she's a magneto

i just ate at carraba's because they sent me a buy one get one entree coupon. they haven't been on my go to list since last xmas when they took my last favorite item off the ensalata menu. but they still had the crab cakes. or so i thought. i looked even though i had  the bogo to navigate. attention:THERE ARE NO CRAB CAKES.. travesty

we both got pasta. alla vodka for him, i dunno how they managed to take the flavor out of everything leaving shrimp and scallops mere advertisement for seafood.

i got lobster mac n cheese and while the lobster was canned, it wasn't as wrong as the curly noodle or the watery cheese sauce. they said there was some sort of bacon but i saw no sign. i ate and paid for it, brought the leftovers home. mine was the better of the two.

there are two things they do pretty good: drinks , bread, deserts. ok that's three. and i'm sure i could think of others if i were forced to but honestly i don't think i'll do that online survey for a free ap-etizer or a quartino of house wine. i don't like house wine and THERE ARE NO CRAB CAKES.


because the drinks and bread were good, i rate them one designer doggy bag. o that's right. they got rid of that too.

The Li'l Raskolnikov

"Don't follow me, I beseech you, I have somewhere else to go.... But you go at once and sit with mother. I entreat you to! It's my last request of you. Don't leave her at all; I left her in a state of anxiety, that she is not fit to bear;"














the guilt of carnivores with overdeveloped cerebral cortex signals is currently too much for the wet network to handle but there's new relays in development, a good thing for the maintenance of congealed consciousness, self-reflective flex-spasms, spittle-flecked self-defense, and the need to deflect facts like some kinds of protein taste better than others, just margin enough to deform markets into permanent scar tissue - the sum of carnivore guilt doubles thrice a decade, at pace with processor speed, but it's been there since ego fungaled over id - as quaint as guilt seems in the setting of dostoevsky's russia, it's real enough, contains the universe, god and the devil, and i commiserate

here napoleon is the go-to caricature for cutting edge assholery, but there's a certain base innocence implied when everyone pre-dates the coming desensitization - most of us in the age of information exist under armored leisure suits but folks got character in the K. bridge neighborhood, not just cause they're characters, but accurately drawn, i'll bet - the most outrageous proclamations of the utopian socialists still have the benefit of being untested, they couldn't know any better, cynicism hadn't been earned like an anti-merit badge and even the pale imperialists are downtrodden in historical context - even back then, there was root sickness, but how much the worse now? how much greater the necessity for removal from the real? acceleration, useless information, lumpen proletariat collective guilt, whitewash mandate from an elite reflexively elected, i guess, sort of, if you can call it an electoral system, if you call money free speech and corporations people

it's interesting to delve into some of the more psychologically astute fiction of the time, and feel like it's not so removed from my time, even if i am hopelessly a dude of my time, but not enough of a dude to be content with said time, safely meshed into the winning culture but a loser all the same - still amazes me to think that most adults bring in over thirty Gs a year in this geographically blessed culture, that's well below normal, but i can't imagine making that amount - and it amazes me so many of them can describe their wages and salaries in matter-of-fact figures without embarrassment, as if the numbers don't divide, can't cut - well, if you're cut out of the deal and subsist on charity, you're not supposed to know or care what thirty thousand dollars feels like, or that it's cheap, but that's gauche

maybe i'll get crucified for no good reason in my jesus year, rather than creep into the middle class - i never took that community college course in selling out for a stipend cause it seemed so boring and i was immersed in inertia - if i don't get crucified, i'll contrive a crucifixion to a coma theme in a compound primed to burn as the olympic torch of nihilism

not alone and afraid in a world you never made

Ever notice how things fall into patterns, stay in rote sequence, become routine, numb the mind, eventually strip the sheen off all the pre-existence magic? That's often my observation, anyway. Existence gets to feeling desolate. Sure, I'll take it anyway, what, I'm gonna opt out of the whole shebang cause I feel bored with it sometimes, even, well, most of the time? Cause it's easy to get wrapped up in little dramas that are culture-bound and seem to meaning nothing beyond a rarefied context. But how can this guy ever feel anything as mundane, given the amount of poetic prose that's so apropos in describing the fraction of what he knows about the fraction of what's known about the reality that gave rise to a universe that allowed his little moment of looking back at it? Maybe the ability to feel ennui is the greatest miracle there ever was.

So what is there outside the cultural cul-de-sac? Ultimately, the cosmos. It's a maddening puzzle how human inventions and conventions like numbers and their use in measurement and models allowed our understanding of so much of it. Still more amazing, the profound pointlessness of the Higgs boson, or stars, other than, of course, to have allowed for the processes that warmed this solar rock so I could reflect on it at some vantage sandwiched between a blog post and a cup of coffee. Overall, there's a feeling of isolation. My home, an accident of birth, can be a compelling distraction a lot of the time. I can become lost in many types of games, video games, money games, but with so many layers of synthetic structure, "home" is more a hostel in downtown crazy, lights-years from anything basic or primary, under the burden of human nature, itself bound to the cruel mechanics of the biosphere.

But it's true that some of those who are the most isolated in a personal sense are also the most connected to a kind of kinship with the universe that transcends the scope of social relationships, for instance, great scientific observers who spend large chunks of their lives in remote and lonely locations, underground tunnels built for accelerating sub-atomic particles, astronomical observatories on mountaintops, to study the extremes of nature - likewise, shamans and psychologists who explore dreams and inner-space. In this novella, Brian d'Eon tells a story of people at opposite ends of a cultural spectrum, against a backdrop of interstellar extremes. It's a compelling story, well worth an e-read.

Patrick Mahoney, a parks and aboriginal affairs minister in the Australian Government, is faced with the horrifying scenario of having all that sweet sweet Ayer's Rock tourism revenue dry up in the event of a shut-down by locals. He sends James Cook, the department's token native-Australian, to find out what's going on while lending them PC-cred. On the bus to Alice Springs, James meets Pam, a journalist. She's also an anthropologist, it turns out, with the extraordinary distinction, for a white person, of being fluent in Pitjantajara.

Meanwhile, Frank Peterson and some fellow astronomers at the Mt. Stromlo observatory, have noticed that a nearby star, Eta Carinae, seems to have unexpectedly gone supernova. These events and worlds converge as James and Pam make contact with Billy, an aboriginal elder who claims to have dreamed of James before their meeting. He also has some independent insight into the exploding star that so surprised the scientific community. Here the story begins to take on apocalyptic suggestions as the implications of heavy particles arriving from such a relatively nearby celestial object are mulled over by the characters. The shut-down of the airport and entire park around Ayer's Rock that kicked off events at the political level is explained by the elder merely as preparation for "a coming change".

In the latter half of the story, opposing culture-rooted ways of thought collide with interesting results, and we see how shamans as well as scientists arrive at knowledge in different ways. Some indigenous traditions have survived despite the dominance of western culture. The story is immersive in its imagistic detail and sensitivity to local flavour. It ends with the sort of transcendent feel I get from my favourite science fiction writers, like Arthur C. Clarke, and Carl Sagan. It's a quick read, less verbose than my review, and highly recommended.

from the depths

giuseppe rosetti has twirled his moustache enough - the guy needs to get taken out, now - i can't take another poor lovable 1920s american rube getting violently murdered while pleading for his life - man, this season of boardwalk empire is getting harsh... but i can't look away... and it's pretty cartoonish, why am i letting it get to me? acting's really good, i guess

Ecstasy of Order: The Tetris Masters

I enjoyed King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters, but it might've been a frustrating movie for gamers. Although Donkey Kong and other classic arcade games clearly play a part in the film, the documentary is really focused on the personalities of two specific, eccentric people and some of their friends and colleagues. Ecstasy of Order: The Tetris Masters is much more focused on the game of Tetris and what makes it appealing, but the film boasts the same lighthearted, open atmosphere that made Kong so easy to enjoy and a cast of equally interesting participants... read the rest here

Tyler Foster

was gonna paste two paragraphs and hoped it qualified as fair use, but probably not... i dunno the laws and don't care to find out, but i wanted my reader, singular, to think, for a second, that i actually wrote a review of something! but thankfully, i have people to do that for me, i've subcontracted the universe - this is a good example of what i would like to do myself though, more often

rooted in the trees, Ella's bistro

 A converted warehouse on Nebraska Avenue houses an eclectic mix of retro, repurposed art and fine cuisine   best described as cracker urban. . The front deck , housed under a small grove of live oaks, is anageographic,  While traffic moves scant feet away on US Highway 41,  there is  an antediluvian hush under  the  canopy of  trees, centuries old. Inside  and out, Ellas's  is full of local artists,  from the sidewalk   decks and walls  to  the menu , the bar, and of course, the chef.   Art-deco  booths provide focus for the eye while providing    privacy. They  blend with   curated   art,   enchanting larger parties   seated in open dining downstairs. The  balcony , offices or storage in another life, hums with lively conversation.

Our server was knowlegeable, friendly, polite, prompt, non invasive. He sold us on the specials, although the menu   was tempting.  Homemade bread and butter started our meal,  a    crusty, full bodied mouth pleasing beginning. .The hummus artichoke appetizer , served with pita and veggies, was fresh, light and, as promised, emphasis on the garlic. We split the beet infused blue crab broccoli fettucini and wished we'd ordered two. Not because we needed more, but the taste was addictive. Our server's  description of desert, a deep fried pecan pie a la mode, drizzled with caramel, made us order even though we knew better. The sangria both red and white  are made with triple sec and cinammon,much  better than your average sangria, It comes in pitchers which I  recommend , you'll want more than one.

  return visit? 5 chances out 5

my life as a seth rogan movie

sometimes i do think i'm
walkling into an episode of jackass
when i come into the kitchen
and tj's got the gas mask
on his face.

it's a felony to own this
he says, as he dons it
and raises the bong
to the filter hole.

flash to the thirty cops
patrolling the streets between
indian rocks beach and the bayou.

well, just make sure you
keep it inside
so no one knows  you got it.



truuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
expelled with the skunky scent
of whaterver crack grade dro
is being peddaled tonite.

  hey
he queries, holds
his blue eyes rimmed in red
bright inside insectoid lenses.
do you think  i look like an elephant in this?

yeah man,
i answer
better watch your ass.
the RNC's in town


--wanted to write a review of the RNC & related  activities in tampa, but, meh, this is close enough.

nighttime driftoff thoughts and half a review

there's something sacred about the body, my body, even, for all that it plagues me - what an excruciating love-hate duality... supposedly sub-psychoactive doses of antihistamine ephedrine and dissociative cough suppressant knocking down a cold tonight, among other things - a far cry from what i used to inflict on my body - can't imagine where it would be today if i'd kept on that regimen - where we'd be... it gives me such pain and pleasure - a cage? inseparable from my mind? i dunno - it let me know, i guess, it couldn't take the recreational medication anymore - it let me know in a sneaky way, because the physical symptoms weren't enough, it let me know through my mind, it shut off the dopamine circuits

a tragedy about this new younger brother album though, "vaccine", it's so fucking great, except the vocals are horrible - oh my god, if i could just edit out the vocals - i guess this is what people like these days - no it doesn't sound like nick drake, nick drake doesn't make me want to smash things - this guy does, because it's so annoying and omnipresent it destroys every track - so sensitive... oh so sensitive, like a simulacrum of soul - so sensitive i want to numb it to oblivion through repeated blows to the head with blunt objects - shut up you stupid vocalist! oh why oh why is the music so good and the voice so bad? why can't they get that guy out of there? cause it's such perfect mood music for right now

i'm glad i'm not up on the trends, or in lockstep with the random history walk that says everything must sound like this now - a little scrap of pride not to be influenced by every damned thing

this is to go along with the words: funk & skewering heh

I sort of fell onto this video, again, today. Now don't get me wrong, I love Marc Bolin to death, he was/is one of my favorite song writers. . But this video cracks me up.. I don't know what is funnier, the way the back-up singers take over the song, the fat womam slapping the stage, or what I perceive to be, Marc having a James Brown moment!

if anything...

i'm even more into nevermore than i ever was a month ago, therefore, i will embed another one:



cause i'm rockin tha fuck out to this song right now! aaaaaaayaaaah! fuck, i know this sounds cheesy to some people, to me too actually, but it's also incredibly cool at the same time - the lyrics do have depth, and i'm not even feeling guilty for liking this, cause i'm too busy ROCKING! shamelessly - i'm going back to their album from '96, the "most progressive" according to wikipedia, and i'm loving it - yeah, no guilty pleasure, just pleasure - something about this music is invigorating me lately

at the same time, i'm not as into the new mars volta as i was a little while ago, i'm getting bored of that one - and missing their earlier work - i guess i miss the longer songs, and more elaborate arrangements and epic-ness - not saying that "nocturniquet" was bad, it was well done, they're going for more textural stuff, more studio stuff, more palettes i guess, but they're losing some musicality with that - it's good for what it is, but not quite as much my cup of tea - the songs i do like on that album are the more epic ones - that's why i still like the album

well, back to the nevermore, for ever more - maybe another month anyway

(kwûrk) E

i have always loved this quirky, one-hit wonder. i don't remember ever seeing this particular video before, but i am happy to say, i adore it! all of it, from the way it was shot, to the fish-net top and pink, shiny, silk scarf, to the boots, to the piano, to the bass, to the bottle blowing, the mutton chops and notSOperfect teeth! it just makes me happy! and wikipedia says that the band's name, Mungo Jerry was inspired by the poem Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer, from T. S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. now how cool is that?!

this band is SO much better than i thought they were

i kind of liked them 8 years ago because they had a song about timothy leary, but then i didn't give them much thought for quite a spell - but upon revisiting, holy godDAMN they're good - the guitar solos, oh my god! all the wankiness you want from metal, but then they'll go into weird scales and arpreggiated permutations of the melodic motifs in every conceivable configuration - and you can actually hear what the singer is singing! yeah, it fuckin rocks, that's all i wanted to say - many others have written much better reviews - i'm tired of writing, and a lot of things, but i can listen to a good metal album alright, and fucking appreciate how much it fucking rocks! yeah, okay, a not-totally-contrived exclamation mark, but i've already exceeded my quota for today - sometimes i forget about music though, and then i remember again, for a moment 

The Mars Volta - Nocturniquet

Well here it is, or was, the latest iteration of The Mars Volta, still offically and unofficially, the only band I continue to be fannish about from year to year. I couldn't review their prior new album, "Octahedron"... why, I don't know. The new new one is named "Nocturniquet", naturally enough. It's pretty fuckin' good, I think. I'm still thinking, but man oh man am I enjoying seeing them play live again on youtube - been so long since I checked back on these guys, oh wow! Cedric with backup vocals, live! I really like that, even if it's Omar. Studio Cedric with three double tracks and three harmony tracks of himself in every octave of the human vocal register is just too damn much Cedric. They need more voice texture, that's been made obvious by this little taste of blending vocal timbres.

And speaking of texture... I guess this album is what they meant by "future punk". Maybe it's new new-wave. It seems they've got two synth players - one of them's got a big mac something or other in front of his keyboard the whole time. I miss Ikey Owens, the organ donor, but I guess there's a point to it, in this exploring new textures thing. And yet the music is "stripped down"! Well it is, for them, that's what I love about this band.

The new drummer Deatoni melds perfectly with the band. Cedric almost ruins things at times with his verse chorus verse pop sensibilities, but then he saves it by taking some fantastically cool turn: "In the time of the sixth flood!" Awwwyeah!

oh, good god, these guys make me realize there's so fucking much living to be done, still! and recording... i've barely even started my discography yet

HA HA HA! I AM LOVING IT!

officially, i like song better without the video

but it's kinda cute in realsy way with that retro mtv style goin on.

special bonus if you click on "too afraid to love you". i love how the layers of primitive beats and drone mingle with the lead singer's voice. i'm liking this band of brothers. thanks youtube.

Atlanta Rhythm Section - So Into You

somebody that i used to know - gotye

a friend referred me to this song today. not someone i normally get music suggestions from, and it turned out to be a pretty solid suggestion! also, one of those rare instances where i love the music AND the video. check it out!

horrible creation bestowed

i stopped watchin the daily show and colbert for a while around christmas. didn't like the feeling of addiction so i dropped it. easy to do when the boys take so many vacations it makes me jealous. but i'd do the same if i could get away with it. such a boomer.i find myself again depending on comedy to ease the pain of the current electoral seasons.

it's not just the ridiculous rightwing posturing of the contenders or the skeleton parade of ironic sins uncloseted by fellow sinners. all are sanitized by the congregation for lechery and betrayal while fiscal deviation into socialism and across the ailse cooperation remain deadly. no, those are easy comedy targets, jokes by existence. business as usual.we all expect our politicians to betray us.

I need me some comedy about the war on women. wtf man? feeling squeezed, mr parson? afraid the ladies auxillary's gettin too uppity? maybe they just need to have them a creation bestowed on them. you look like a good man for the job. tell me, have you stopped beatin your wife? cuz if you have, we might have to rethink the offer. john oliver does his analysis of "you'll have to carry your rape baby" with much more finesse.

i watch jon about a day or so behind. i just saw thurs feb 25. the whole week he's been watching the contraception debate . it's jaw dropping that we have to revisit this again, and i gotta say, i hope santorum is the nominee. if he is obama's a shoe in. ain't nuthing like a culture war to get the vote out. i'ma stay tuned, but i think jon's rootin for romney. dunno why, santorum would make better comedy fodder.

bright idea - mother mother

for us mother mother fans, their latest single.

please don't squeeze the

ahhhhhhh damn
too late!


the city of st petersburg, fla is host to one of the most extensive collections of dali art in the world. recently the museum moved all of their treasures into a much ballyhooed and fundraised new campus where the art will be protected from even category five hurricanes. this is important when you're on the waterfront in florida-- even if no hurricanes have hit the burg since 1930 something.   i'd google it but the point is, the odds must be narrowing so it's good they built this stormproof house for the works of the father of reality tv.   the plain  concrete square  bursts  into glass bubbles  that flow around the structure . on the  bay side  the bubble goes up  3  stories


the design is supposed to enhance the works of the mad pioneer of personality cults. still trying to decide if dali is  smiling  down from  the halucinogenic toreador or is turning in his grave. i think he'd like the marketing

the bubble is   the outside wall  of the groundfloor entrance admission/ gift/ coffee  shop. you must navigate the gift shop to pay .    both cheap and  expensive replicas of portions of dali's paintings are  marketed  along with local  pizza and coffee. the  rock, a nod to  dali's  catalan spain ,  is a fountain of  youth which was dry the day i visited. busted pipe or tease?

the mirrored glass adds a touch of surrealism when you walk by them.

round the corner and you encounter  the signature dali stache. the perspective  machine wasn't working .

portside facade.  this faces the st pete marina . note the peristence of memory  inspired melty bench in the  foreground. also, if you sit on the  bench carved  into the rock in the  background(a donator's plaque adds  the right sponsorship  note) you can see your   reflection  in the second story windows

 

and the view from the  top of the large bubble of the bay is classic.  this was taken on the third floor landing of the helical stairway  which leads  to the galleries. the  suspension struts are not so  intrusive in person. 

but about those galleries. i felt squeezed, overwhelmed, poked in the face with a surrealistic knob on a stick. the loss of the former house's two story vantage point over the gigantic halucinogenic toreador, Galacidalacidesoxiribunucleicacid and discovery of america is sorely felt. these gargantuans, formerly displayed together in a large viewing area where you could see them at different levels are now crowded into their own separate alcoves. the head of lincoln at twenty meters is almost lost in the crowds that stagger and shuffle for space between paintings packed like sardines on the walls. the main loss i feel in the new house is lack of white space. viewing so much dali at once requires time to contemplate the messages, colors and images . the former galleries had this space. you wandered from painting to painting, with the persistence of the last in your head until you encountered the next. no time or space for that in the new house. it's almost as if they purposely designed it for herding. it was hard for me to get lost in his paintings as i have previously been able to. in the final analysis for this viewer, too much attention was paid to the building and monetizing, not enough to the actual display of the art. an average experience. i don't think dali would have liked that characterization.

East of Empire - Into the Elephant

I was given a nine track EP of some local ragamuffins playing that music the hippie kids listen to these days. The man whose nephew or cousin or something plays in the band wanted to know what I thought of it. I feel like I'm allowed to slag it if I want to, because neither of us are doing the blind-cheerleader kerfuffle shuffle.

My first impression was, oh, another Arcade Fire wannabe, with an admittedly good band name - but as you might expect, I came to see value and originality as I went on. Not that the sliver-margin of originality allowed at this stage of the information age is wide enough to fairly use as a benchmark for artistic merit.

Arcade Fire bells are certainly ringing for me during the first track - in fact, they ring throughout the album, complete with relentless straight-eighth banging from all accompanying instruments. I could sound less ignorant if I criticized a band for being a wannabe of a sub genre or a sub-sub genre, rather than a whole genre that isn't even really a genre, the kids would say, fuck genres. But I don't care to investigate the wide world of maudlin-indie-folk (or whatever term would be more precise than my out-of-touch catch-all). I'd rather chalk it up or boil it down to the mostly-arbitrary categories I've come to rely on. I can't challenge my preconceived notions for the rest of my life! I obey the laws of thermodynamics, sad to say. I'm so very very tired.

As I listen on, I hear Wilco in the male lead voice, and then, holy shit, Sigor Ros! Is this the band I almost joined two years ago, that didn't have a name at the time, that responded to my "keyboard player available" ad in The Scope, that went on without me after I failed to show up to the second practice, who described themselves as Arcade Fire and Wilco-esque with a hint of Sigor Ros? Or are there just even more bands trying to sound like that than I'd thought?

Now let's look at the songs. Can't You Notice is all about the refrain. Can you guess what the refrain is? You'll hear it a lot. I like the arrangement. I like how the meter changes abruptly from four to three and back again. And I like how the bass drops down to a poignant-sounding pedal point.

Track 02 is where the goofy vox kick in. They sound drowned in reverb for some reason other than actually being drowned in reverb. There are annoying pop melodies with always quavering vocals. Is this trying to be "art-rock"? Okay, that was obnoxious, me putting art-rock in quotes, because I want to accuse them of trying to sound like something, but don't want to take ownership of that term, because it's stupid, but not entirely stupid. Maybe art-stupid. Maybe these songs are just a case of people who sound like that, sounding like that. Sometimes it strikes me as unique and homespun, the way the voices blend together, and then it starts to sound like Penny-Arcade Fire again. Halfway through, the drums break suddenly into a no-frills solo and the bass gallops into the backwards Four Tet stock jitter-samples to bring us out.

Piano Song begins with hollow Vegas chapel organ and kitchen drums. The insistently simple guitar riff gets in your head like a cultist's chant. Even without the organ, it sounds like a church camp sing-along Manson family acid jamboree - or a Moldy Peaches version of Neon Bible. They clearly haven't wasted a lot of time on making it sound good. It's better than it sounds though. It's gotta be setting the exact right mood for something, but I probably had to be there. Okay, what the hell are the words? What language is it? Is it made up? Maybe that's why I heard Sigor Ros.

I have affection for the guitar tone in Hunter, it's all mid-range, like it's been phoned in, which in this case is good. Reminds me of Bright Eyes B-sides and dissociative anesthesia. There's been no deviation in mood by so much as a micron, thank god the songs are short, I'd have trouble with over half an hour of this. Oh the consonance. There's a guitar that sounds like a plunky saloon piano. Or is it a piano that sounds like a guitar? Whatever it is, it fits.

Okay, a welcome bit of change in feel for track 5, Tired Game. Ironically, it's the most energetic song on the album. Not that it's energetic. But a little more rock and less shoegazing. Sounds like Velvet Underground. Oh, a shoegazey anthem for the chorus though, so now it's really velvet. So velvet I can't feel my legs. I hear a scratchy violin, so far away and yet so close. I like the way instruments stumble into each other with pleasing results, in a way that evokes organic chemistry rather than contrivance.

In Come Calling, a half-sentence, "forward to the brink", can be heard several times, and the rest is... uh. What? Wha language? Yes. Ol' Man Thunder on sad pills. Sounds important though. Really heavy and all emotional.

There's three more tracks, which is three too many for me, cause they're so similar to what's gone before, but the band sounds like it's having fun and playing with soul. Yes, playing with soul, like Mephistopheles on a monday. But I wish the rest had more of that track 5 flavour. Piece of My Mind has a female lead with a strong vocal timbre. The chorus pokes its head out of the mud and sounds poppy for a minute, then dives back into the swamp. Then there's a cool bridge where she sings: "my nerves jangle".

Last track, Waves, is their version of No Cars Go, or so I wanted to say, but the anthemic drums never kicked in, so I can't, which pisses me off. "When does it come in waves?" they ask. It suggests that deep thematic, maybe literary thinking went into this album, that I can't or won't penetrate. I don't know their stories, I'm not gonna cobble them together from four or five half-sentences in english and a background moan of made-up words. But I do suspect there's something to it. The sound is minimalist, yet crowded. I'm in the room with all those people on the back cover: a hobbit-sized third story jam livingroom above Lemarchant Street on a bleak January, taking refuge in body-heat. The music feels disturbed and biological, with enough technological detritus to keep things interestingly horrific in a post-apocalyptic sort of way. Hmmm... maybe it's "post-rock", whatever the hell that is. Maybe that's it.