Strange Terrain

Sometimes I get too preoccupied trying to find new bands that I like, and I forget to keep up with those who already have an established place in my heart. And in some ways, a great record from an old favorite is better than a new favorite, because it feels like coming home. And when you’re coming home, it’s better late than never:

• Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra: Theater Is Evil
• Billy Talent: Dead Silence
• Cursive: I Am Gemini (I’m so late on this that it’s embarrassing, but it’s COMING HOME PEOPLE)
• Circa Survive:Violent Waves (I’ve had this for a while but am just really getting into it now)
• Frank Turner: Tape Deck Heart

Tape Deck Heart just came out recently but it’s the homiest, coziest, most heartwarming thing I’ve downloaded since the last Murder By Death record. And, since new can be nice too, here are some young fresh little additions to my iTunes that I am really enjoying:

• James Vincent McMorrow: Early In The Morning
• Gregory Alan Isakov: This Empty Northern Hemisphere
• HRVRD: From The Bird’s Cage
• Chuck Ragan: Covering Ground
• Metz: METZ
• O’Death: Outside

Have you ever noticed how unreasonably attractive men and women are in movies? Even when they’re supposed to be awkward, it’s always the endearing kind of awkward. Not the real-life kind of awkward. No one wants to watch real-life awkward, because that’s what real life is for. You want to feel good about every frame of every film you see; the violence, the horror, the tragedy. Especially the tragedy. I used to write about despair in composition notebooks, when all I really had in my pocket was a strong dose of teenage angst and an even stronger collection of sad music. Now I can see the damage of mental illness. Of crumbling marriages and shattering anger. 

I think maybe we’ve gotten lazy. I’ve been wanting to write this book, but the pages remain blank and the About The Author section becomes as clouded as the mist from the woods that coats my side-view mirror every morning. I keep having these visions of being on a stage or being splattered in paint, but then my head swims and I make doctors appointments instead. 

I remain firmly and unwaveringly in love with sound, and the rattling of glass from its power. I keep my face turned up to God and my mother on speed dial. There are still some songs I can’t listen to, or I’ll begin to cry. I’m telling you to find a passion and root it so deeply under your skin that it makes you constantly itchy. It’s the only way to guarantee that you’ll keep scratching.

I was breathless and choking on the sawdust in the air as I tearfully asked which aisle had the mattress bags. It’s the first bed I’ve ever payed for myself, and the first I’ve ever had to lock up and leave behind. When she wasn’t sure and reached into her orange apron to page for assistance, I clutched my palms so tightly that I drew a drop of blood, held back tears. “Just a mattress bag, please. That’s all I need. I just need a mattress bag.”

I bet it would have been prettier to watch in high-def. 

allyourlightcantsaveme:

so I’m listening to Juturna and I realized that no music made by anyone ever will be as fucking good.

getawayrecording:

Talent > Editing