February 20, 2009
My coworker and I had a singalong of this song today, and ever since it’s been stuck in my head.
I love Patti Smith in general, and I’ve loved this song specifically for about as long as I can remember. Such a perfect thing to have in the back of my head as I go through my day.
February 4, 2009
Even though I’ve been listening to Miles Davis all day, and am about to go see Rigoletto at the Met (yay! First time going to the opera in two years!) this ends up being today’s earworm. It’s been stuck in my head since yesterday. I was convinced it was an Animal Collective song, since I’ve been listening to Merriweather Pavilion on repeat, and was going mad looking for it.
Hurray for Architecture in Helsinki, though. One of my very favourite band names.
Without further ado:
To be perfectly honest, I’m only quite so madly in love with the first few chords of the song, but those resonate enough with me to make it all work.
February 4, 2009
French 60’s pop is notorious for appropriating and translating popular chart-topping American songs. Years of listening to oldies radio stations in both countries have procured me many instances of delight and befuddlement as I recognized melodies sung in different languages, never knowing which was the original. I always wondered, for example, which came first, the yellow polka dot bikini or Dalida’s bikini rouge et jaune a petits pois. This was the pre-wikipedia age mind you, so such questions could happily be left unanswered from one summer to the next. Tangentially, I continue to be amused by the Dutch one hit wonder David Alexander Winter, who sang with an American accent and made little French hearts swoon with his bold, brassy swagger a la Tom Jones. I digress.
Here is a song by eurovision SLC pop idol France Gall I adore at the moment. I found the clip tonight while playing musical mind association games beginning with Josephine Baker’s “J’ai Deux Amours, Mon Pays et Paris” (in honor of my impending citizenship interview and chronic nostalgia).
I leave you to compare with the April March version showcased in Quentin Tarantino’s untoppably cool grindhouse B-movie/ almost chick flick, Death Proof:
Quick post, as I procrastinate from other doings. I love this song. Well, I loved the original, and let’s face it, who doesn’t have a girl-crush on Feist? No Broken Social Scene concert or iPod commercial can quite be complete without her. How I came to hear this version was equally charming. Enjoy!
January 30, 2009
I can’t find my headphones, so I think my coworkers might kill me. I’m trying to alternate it with other stuff enough that I can pull off playing this a ton without incurring any wrath. But I love this song today.
I’m not sure why it is I love it so much. I certainly have never been in the situation described in the song, so I’m not undergoing some deep mystical identification with that, but I’m digging the emotion. And her voice. I’m usually not enthralled by the cutesy-voiced girls genre [whenever I listen to Joanna Newsom I have to suppress the urge to hunt her down and smack her soundly for being so odious] but hers is acceptable.
Also on rotation (and to force you to listen to Lykke Li 🙂 ):
January 29, 2009
I love George Michael. Unabashedly. I also miss the days when supermodels were actually gorgeous, instead of looking vaguely diseased. How better to start a morning when I get to lounge blissfully around than by revisiting these old classics?
(And how amazing is the motorcycle corset in the one below? Thierry Mugler is an insane, insane genius.)
Actually, I’m not sure if these videos are more of a testament to my love for George Michael or my love for Linda Evangelista’s general status as a goddess. So why don’t I give you some George all on his own. Shall I?
Ahh…. perfect, leisurely way to wake up. Perfect sunny morning, time enough for breakfast, and George Michael. Bliss.
(Now if I only lived on my own… but that’s something to be worked on for a later day.)
January 28, 2009
Popped into my head today, and I couldn’t resist putting this up, in honour of myself aged 15-20. Maybe it’s time for me to have it as my ringtone again.
December 29, 2008
I’m just back from a lovely Christmas break in Hong Kong at my Dad’s, where much bonding was had and much French was spoken (le sigh). As I am absolutely knackered, I thought printing here tiny poems that I love would be appropriate. I’ve been making R. learn about English-language literature, as these topics somehow tend not to come up in engineering classes, and I though these would be appropriate for the amount of time at his disposal.
First, my favourite. “Fog” by Carl Sandburg. I have early memories of this poem, and used to draw little pictures of a sea of kitties, all engaged in conveying the fog to its proper place.
|THE fog comes|
|on little cat feet.|
|It sits looking|
|over harbor and city|
|on silent haunches||5|
|and then moves on.|
Then, evoking a similar but entirely disassociated mood, “The Red Wheelbarrow” by William Carlos Williams. (I love the failed WASP-iness of his name.)
so much depends
a red wheel
glazed with rain
beside the white
And that is that. It is late, I have successfully beaten my jet lag. I watched The Holiday while trying to say up. It was, as predicted, mediocre, and I was kind of annoyed that Kate Winslet and Jack Black are considered to be in similar leagues, looks-wise. Regardless, watching it frees up a Netflix spot.
I leave you with the song I’m listening to before bed.
December 9, 2008
Apparently this is the blog where I post good songs that help me through the day. Today I’ve mainly been listening to Nina Simone et al., but I decided to make a little detour into Sonic Youth:
I feel like later it’s going to be a Fleetwood Mac kind of day… it’s dark now, and I’m overtired and dreamy, the way I like to be when I listen to them. Some days, they’re the remedy for most ills.
Long, long, painfully long day at work today. It’s hard when I have to work so late (I got home just half an hour ago) because I then become so desperate for a life of my own that I end up staying up even later. It’s a horrible habit, but I’m not sure what to do about it. Clearly, late-night blogging isn’t the answer, but I felt the urge to stop by and check in.
A few things kept me sane today. Firstly, stuck in my head all day was this song:
Which then turned into this as the day wore on, the workload grew more ridiculously impossible, and my coworkers and I started having hysterical manic laughing fits all over the office:
(I love David Byrne’s grandpa shoes and chicken neck in this video. What a stud.)
(As a further side note… this is one of the songs I remember most clearly from my childhood. Obvi the “fa fa-fa fa fa fa” part is fun, but still my knowledge of it as a small child is equal parts vaguely creepy and a testament to my parents having awesome taste in music.)
I also managed, on my subway ride to work and during the FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES I grabbed to scarf down a sandwich from Pret a Manger, to finish the book I was reading, Better by Atul Gawande. Among his many, many many other distinctions, Dr. Gawande was almost the surgeon who removed my thyroid. In the end, I opted for his partner, the wonderful Dr. Chip Moore, who proved to be an artist with his scalpel, but Gawande’s name stuck with me, and so I felt compelled to pick up his book when I saw it in the bookstore. I’m also a sucker for books about medicine– my secret childhood dream for aaaaaaages was to be a neurosurgeon. Reaading about decision-making, medical ethics and the path towards medical advances is simply fascinating, particularly in the wake of reading Mountains Beyond Mountains. The two books touch on similar subjects, though one is a biography and the other is a reflection, but I quite enjoyed seeing the questions pulled into the greater dimension of their application to daily goings-on in first world life. The contrast was unexpected, but worked perfectly.
Anyway, those’re all the vague thoughts for the night. It is late, and I must get to sleep. I have big plans for curling up in my bed and starting in on Going After Cacciato. After my foray onto writings about the world of medicine, now I find myself gong into war fiction. I wonder if my reading choices speak of some deep underlying mental process I’m undergoing. The other option considered was Open Letters, political essays. A pretty far cry from my ordinary trashy scifi, hopeless Anglophilia, and love for mysteries. Interesting.
And a superficial note? my hands are so dry and full of papercuts that i feel like a manual laborer. Sigh.
Favourite word (or historical group) today: Merovingian. Swirls around the bottom of mouth delightfuly. Ok, yawning. Bed bed!