It is about as impossible to describe the sensation of not being depressed to a depressed person as it is describing depression to someone who has never been depressed. To people with depression like mine, where it’s a constant presence for years,…
You are eight years old. Your aunt has given you a biscuit tin full of antique costume jewelry: there are Venetian glass beads and gold filigree things and tiny little snuff boxes set with enamel flowers. Even the tin itself is beautiful, covered…
Everyone should read this thing that Clem wrote. It’s incredibly brave and really rather beautiful
“Roshi said something nice to me one time. He said that the older you get, the lonelier you become, and the deeper the love you need. Which means that this hero that you’re trying to maintain as the central figure in the drama of your life—this hero is not enjoying the life of a hero. You’re exerting a tremendous maintenance to keep this heroic stance available to you, and the hero is suffering defeat after defeat. And they’re not heroic defeats; they’re ignoble defeats. Finally, one day you say, ‘Let him die—I can’t invest any more in this heroic position.’ From there, you just live your life as if it’s real—as if you have to make decisions even though you have absolutely no guarantee of any of the consequences of your decisions.”—
(assuming this is also where the “You live your life as if it’s real” line in “A Thousand Kisses Deep” comes from, which makes perfect sense given how it ties into Buddhist ideas of reality as an illusion)
“[…] Violator just stands as a moving, solid, record, a classic for the archives of popular music; it doesn’t so much carry a lot of the things that made Depeche Mode feel so much themselves. With 1987’s Music for the Masses, that stuff is all there— which makes the music both harder to ‘get’, from today’s perspective, and also more interesting. The Depeche Mode of this album is the one that brought together a rabid audience of trendy coastal kids and middle-American teens who got beat up over stuff like this— all of whom saw them not only as the peak of style, but as something positively revelatory, something speaking only to them (even in a crowded stadium), something alien and cool, disorientingly kinky, and entrancingly strange. For many, this was probably one of the first dance-pop acts they’d heard that didn’t seem to be entirely about being cool and having a good time; their music had been dark, clattery, and full of S&M hints and blasphemy, and on this record it reached a level of Baroque pseudo-classical grandness (see depressed-teenager shout-out ‘Little Fifteen’) that lived up to those kids’ inflated visions of the group.”—
I wanted to re-blog this again to point something out: if you’re starting out writing music criticism, study this. This is what you should be doing. Think about how music works, how it’s being received and what it means to people. This passage says a great deal about the music of Depeche Mode by having insight into how it functioned for their fans. It says nothing about what Martin Gore was going through when he wrote these songs; it doesn’t try to dissect the lyrics and de-code them, it doesn’t list what synths were used. It gets inside the music and figures out what it does, which is very hard but ultimately very rewarding. Because getting at that requires a great deal of empathy—you need to be able to stand in the shoes of the people who heard this music.
“Sleep is still most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is shared with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.”—D. H. Lawrence (via blackestdespondency)
"We take no joy in this," said American Apparel co-chairman Allan Mayer yesterday of the company’s decision to fire its founder, CEO, and card-carrying asshole Dov Charney. Mayer’s pretty much the …
this article’s pretty sick, and also it’s called twilight of the assholes, which in another life, could have been the best album title ever. damn.
i’ve noticed the word hipster, which was kind of resisted as a meaningful designation for a while (adbusters ahoy), has come back into common parlance lately among pretty much everybody (including those who vetoed its use). i don’t know what that means, but it probably means something. maybe just the light at the end of the tunnel.
but yeah the reality that this particular strain of “hip” - the vice/aa/hro status quo - was always this kind of grotesquely conservative, decadent thing that was also invented almost purely to be leveraged to sate the sexual appetites of a different strain of bro has been a topic of convo for many years, neatly summarized by the above writing and the week’s events
describing what ‘hipness’ looks like outside of the readily discernible quantum of mainline 00’s hipness is becoming increasingly difficult but at least it mostly doesn’t look like this. so bring on the future and fuck being cool, just do everything you possibly can to love yourself
What he said! ^^
And yes I was very happy with Twilight of the Assholes :)
“For me, the issue of feminism is just not an interesting concept. I’m more interested in, you know, SpaceX and Tesla, what’s going to happen with our intergalactic possibilities. Whenever people bring up feminism, I’m like, god. I’m just not really that interested.”—Lana Del Rey to The Fader. Well this is going to go down like a sack of shit, eh, Tumblr?
When I was a freshman, my sister was in eighth grade. There was a boy in two of her periods who would ask her out every single day. (Third and seventh period, if I remember correctly.) All day during third and seventh she would repeatedly tell him no. She didn’t beat around the bush, she didn’t lie and say she was taken—she just said no.
One day, in third period, after being rejected several times, he said; “I have a gun in my locker. If you don’t say yes, I am going to shoot you in seventh.”
Day 240: Wolfbike Yoyoyo- Jacob showed up tonight at my house tonight, so we made a Wandy song. We went into this hoping to make “Bog Pop”, but we decided that what came out is actually Horrorgaze, thus making Horrorgaze the official genre of Wandy. This song is mostly SK-1 played by Jacob (the “butts” part, the drums, and the terrible baby noises). Jacob also improvised vocals on this one, which- as best as we can tell- are about a homeless woman. I did all the productions and played fretless bass in there.
We Are The New Music. Justice McYouAreWelcome
comments i’ve heard about this so far include “this is fucking terrifying,” “uh oh,” ”i am deeply unsettled by this,” and “i will listen when this hangover abates somewhat.” i’m really proud of it.
I guess I’ll start now. My name is Philip Cosores and I am a writer and photographer in Buena Park, California. It’s bright and early and cool out right now. If you don’t know Buena Park, it is a suburban town that borders Anaheim on one side and Los Angeles County on the other. I can hear the Disneyland fireworks at night and be in Downtown L.A. in 30 minutes without traffic. From here I freelance for all kinds of wonderful publications (The LA/OC Register, Paste, Wondering Sound, AV Club, Pigeons and Planes, The 405, Radio.com, Noisey, Myspace, others) and help out at Consequence of Sound by directing Aux.Out.
Photoshop, the belief goes, takes a true record of a moment and turns it into an oppressive lie.
But fuck Photoshop. Photos are already lies.
I’m a former model and current artist. I’ve learned this every second I’ve stared into the camera’s insect eye.
Anyone who’s been at a photo shoot knows that even untouched photos bear only the scantest resemblance to a subject. A photo is frozen. A model sweats and bloats, ages, and dies. Framing is a lie. Lighting is a lie. Cropping is a lie. When you suck in your stomach, or turn your head so the light washes out your laugh lines, you’re lying as much as any liquefy tool. Untruth is baked into the process: Photographer Syreeta McFadden writes how the chemical makeup of some films is biased against dark skin tones. Even snapshots often don’t look like you, because you are not static. You are a three-dimensional being, torn by time. Photos are pixel ghosts.
When I was in the seventh grade, I read Louise Voss’ book To Be Someone. It’s about a radio DJ who destroys her face in an accident. After English tabloids humiliate her, she decides to commit suicide live on the radio. Her final playlist consists of the songs that have soundtracked her life’s…
“Privacy is a construct of our age. As a tradition in law, it is young. When Louis D. Brandeis issued his famous opinion in 1928 that privacy is ‘the right to be let alone — the most comprehensive of rights, and the right most valued by civilized men,’ he was looking to the future, because he was dissenting; the Supreme Court’s majority was upholding the right of the police to tap telephone lines without warrants.
‘In the beginning, there was no such thing as private life, no refuge from the public gaze and its ceaseless criticism,’ writes Theodore Zeldin, a social historian, in An Intimate History of Humanity. He adds, ‘Then the middle classes began cultivating secrets.’ In villages and small towns, the secret life was rare. The neighbors knew far more about one’s intimacies, from breakfast habits to clandestine affairs, than in any city of the 20th century. One’s shield, if a shield was needed, was a formal civility: rules of discourse that discouraged questions about money or sex. The pathological case of the private person was the hermit — hermits, by and large, have disappeared. The word is quaint. In a crowd, we can all be hermits now.
‘Privacy means seeing only people whom one chooses to see,’ writes Zeldin. ‘The rest do not exist, except as ghosts or gods on television, the great protector of privacy.’”—Big Brother is Us, by James Gleick. New York Times, 29 September 1996 (via dynamofire)
This week Sky Ferreira released the video for “I Blame Myself” off her debut album Night Time, My Time. You might want to head over to the SSENSE page to check it out if you haven’t already. The clip features Sky mugging around what looks to be Compton and meeting up with a bunch of…
Revolutionary concept: when it comes to thorny issues of race and gender, ask the people who might be offended for their opinion, instead of rushing in to be MORTALLY OUTRAGED on their part. (Cf. Knowles, B.)
I’m constantly surprised by the fact that other countries don’t have nicknames for absolutely everything: Arvo, Maccas, ute, brissy, chockas, barbie, avos, bikkies, bottle-o, bundy, cab sav, chockie, brekkie, compo, metho, sanger, snag, spag bol, ciggie, footy, garbo, goon, kindie, pash, polly, pokies, rego, servo, sickie, smoko, stubby, tinny, trackies, vee-dub, veggo, u-ey…
Translated (for Jacob): afternoon, McDonalds, utility (kinda like a pick-up truck), Brisbane, full (short for chock-a-block, which sort of means crammed to capacity), barbecue, avocados, biscuits (or ecstasy pills haha), bottle shop (ie. liquor store), Bundaberg rum, cabernet sauvignon, chocolate, breakfast, compensation (for an accident etc), methylated spirits, sandwich, sausage, spaghetti bolognese, cigarette, football (specifically AFL), garbage collector, cheap wine that’s sold in boxes, kindergarten, make out, politician, poker machines (ie. slot machines), registration, service station (ie. gas station), sick day, smoke break, bottle of beer, can of beer, tracksuit pants (ie. sweat pants), Volkswagen, u-turn
Does sci-fi have a race problem? If you’re The Atlantic, the answer is yes - yesterday, the magazine’s website ran this piece, wherein writer Noah Berlatsky argues that there are essentially four ways in which sci-fi handles race: metaphor, tokenism, diversity, and explicit narrative. It’s ambitious to try to construct a definitive thesis about an entire genre’s handling of race, especially a genre as diverse as sci-fi, and judging by the article’s mammoth comment section, which is basically like 500-plus comments by Roman DeBeers, Berlatsky has touched a nerve. I don’t want to tear him down here, but I do want to note one fundamental flaw in his thesis: it works from the assumption that all sci-fi starts from an essentially white male point of view and then either does or doesn’t address race. The problem with this approach is that it perpetuates the marginalization of sci-fi that doesn’t come from that point of view.
“It’s so important what you’re doing in your life. It’s tremendously important to the work, and no aesthetic theories take that into account. I mean— it’s all about the work, the work, but I just went into a house for three years in the middle of nowhere, and talked to no one, and did nothing but the work, and it was a disaster for the work. I kind of think today that you’ve gotta mix it up with people, that—yeah, I’m sorry to say, but maybe the artist is the work of art, at least on some level, you know what i mean? I know I’m confusing some things here, by just putting it so crudely, but it was a disaster, to go with this romantic idea, that I’m going to go and get a house in the middle of nowhere and work on the work, and nothing else and just dedicate myself to that…you know, you need to be mixed up with people, maybe, who are doing inspirational things around you.”—