herpes simplex

so, i was listening to the new daedelus album, exquisite corpse (crazy amount of reviews here) and was really struck by "welcome home," featuring mike ladd, but couldn't figure out why. then i realized it's like an american version of fennesz's "transit," with david sylvian, off of venice. both very specifically deal with their respective continents lyrically (ladd: "I watch South Park, clutch the sofa, quake and tremble, welcome home" /// sylvian: "all those names of ancestry, too gentle for the stones they bear / somewhere, someone wants to see you / someone's travelling towards us all"). and much more importantly, are just great songs.

check them out and decide if i'm crazy or not (get them now, they're on yousendit and will only be up for a week!)

daedelus -- welcome home (with mike ladd)

fennesz -- transit (with david sylvian)

kid kameleon's blog is well worth checking out, as is the mix he just did for mashit (some of whom were playing at the massart show nicole brendan and i went to).

"...and I hope I'm not being too tell all, I learned that at least one of the Matmos's holds down a full time job that is not dissimilar to my job. I've sort of been pondering this all week... I just assumed that Bjork wrote them a check every month and that was that, but no ... man, what kind of country do I live and make music in where Matmos have full time jobs to pay the bills ... C'mon, it's fucking Matmos! ... sigh)

he also came across this: Chocolypse Now, which is really a lot funnier than i thought it would be, i.e. "This is how the world ends / this is how the world ends / not with a truffle / but with a ding-dong." the guys who wrote it have another one called the dada detective, which tickles my fancy as well.

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katie taking photos of that U2 cover band* got me thinking: would anyone care to join me in my nirvana cover band, "mosquito libido"? i guarantee entertainment, and no musical experience is necessary--instead of "playing" "instruments" (how antique!) we will instead conduct listening sessions followed by moderated deconstructive critical/artistic discussion. this shall take place entirely on the internet, mind you. see? look how easy! no corporeal presence required!

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hot top 10 that will hopefully get me a job:

caribou -- the milk of human kindness
akron/family -- self-titled
13 & god -- self-titled
gang gang dance -- god's money
m.i.a. -- arular
the books -- lost and safe
autechre -- untilted
konono no. 1 -- congotronics
william basinski - melancholia
double leopards and wolf eyes -- breeding turbines vol. 1
scritti politti - early
six organs of admittance -- school of the flower
alva noto - transrapid
jaga jazzist -- what we must
charalambides -- our bed is green
daedelus -- exquisite corpse
les georges leningrad -- deux hot dogs moutade chou
edan -- beauty and the beat
the soft pink truth -- do you want new wave or do you want the soft pink truth?

how the hell am i supposed to narrow that down to ten? i can pick a few out, i guess. m.i.a., jaga jazzist, caribou. maybe edan and the double leopards/wolf eyes, but the rest of it... shit. i've always hated top 10 lists.

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zach, i need to hear that new vashti bunyan/animal collective ep. i really can't wait until you get here, it's just not possible. g-g-g-g-gmail* that shit to me? ethanawhite @. i'll love you forever.

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I'm gonna go watch andrei rublev. the weather is so miserable that only a three-plus russian epic about god is going to cheer me up.

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*i would link to the article but fuck the boston globe for not letting you look at stuff from a week ago without registering.
**i promise to never ever make a g-unit joke again, i just couldn't help it. so totally inappropriate i had to do it. i almost bought a pair of g-unit sneakers at the mall a couple weeks ago. then i decided it would be about as funny as that joke (i.e. not really, and certainly not for more than a day or two). then i thought they were just sneakers and i should just get them if i liked them. i paced around for a minute in extreme pop cultural panic and then decided i can't in my right mind give money to people who wear referee shirts. it was liberating. all this took place after getting a haircut and buying a rubbery thing for my ipod, so don't worry, i'm still a tool.

so, i asked my dad if he'd like to play some golf after we do the family thing on mother's day. shut up, all of you--if you can watch red sox games and the simple life, cultivate jane fonda obsessions and wear cut-off jeans with van halen t-shirts then i can spend an afternoon with the man who might potentially continue giving me money even though i'm graduating. anyway, i emailed him about it and the most ridiculous exchange occured.

his reply:

Okay, if this is some phishing email, I get it!!

I'd be thrilled to play as a matter of fact, I was planning on playing that day anyway, and nothing would be better than to play with my favorite son! I'll make the arrangements.

Talk to you soon.

Bill White

(yes, he really does sign all his emails 'Bill White')

i wrote:

excellent. looking forward to embarrassing you out on the links...

ps. phishing? are you calling me a hippy?

and his response:

Phishing: phony emails sent to acquire account info from unsuspecting old
men like me. When I saw golf, I immediately became suspect - only kidding.
This is the best Mothers Day gift I could have asked for.

Bill White

i had no idea this was some sort of internet vernacular that old folks know about but young little hip dudes like me haven't heard. am i the only one?

(PPPPS. le tigre are apparently writing a song for paris hilton? they can both rot in evil pink hell. geez.)

i just obsessively wrote down everything vito acconci says in the red tapes pt. 2. unfortunately, krasker's copy of surveying the first decade is a piece of shit (though not as bad as the one i watched at the video data bank). what's the deal, zach? i hold you personally responsible.

check out the video for the single off four tet's new album. reminds me of what 'no surprises' would've been like if thom yorke would lighten the fuck up a bit.

back to work. fucking hell.