Noise in the house

I'm a folk girl.  I consider myself to have a diverse musical palette, and some would go so far as to call me a snob.  But boy, do I love folk.  It's my go to genre.  In an effort to avoid listening to any Ryan Adams through the winter (Sorry Ryan, but you can quickly become a daily dose of S.A.D.),  I became obsessed with two albums I think deserve big nods:


The Fresh and Onlys, Play It Strange


Brief synopsis of the first:  Do you like Guided by Voices and The Byrds?  Then this album is a huge duh. Play It Strange, with it's garage pop and anthemic undertones, sounds best behind closed, thin walls so you can hear every echo and throw your body around, but it makes me want to pack up une bebe and tell Matthew to take the week off work so we can road trip it to San Fran with the windows down.  It all sounds effortlessly cool, somewhat familiar and just plain clever.  Tim Cohen has that aloof voice that makes you want to really listen to what he's saying, and what he's saying is deceptive and playful.  So, listen to it, and "tell me what are you fascinated by?" Oh, and this album came out last year, so expect their new E.P. soon!

The Head and the Heart, The Head and the Heart


I can name five albums that I can listen to over and over again, and the songs still hold the same sentiment each time.  I feel the same twinges and tingles from start to finish.  My reactions never morph into nostalgia for the times when those albums were most prominent in my life because they remain prominent in my life.  I have a feeling this album will make number six.  The funny thing is, it's just so listenable.  I challenge you to not like this band.  There just isn't a bad song--and I'm always looking for the weakest link.  Matthew and I can't quit blasting it everywhere we go.  This is an album about creating, destroying, maintaining--the everyday of most artists.  And the message is clear: "Don't follow your head; follow your heart."  So, I'll save the five album game for another day; but I'll tell you what I feel during each song on this album:
1. We're broke...it sucks but sometimes it's funny
2. I'm mourning my youth.
3. It'll all be over one day.  And that's ok.
4. I want simplicity.
5. I'm sorry.
6. I make things too complicated.
7. I'm not ready to move on.
8. I'm ready to move on.  Thank you.
9. We're broke...it sucks, but what we're doing is beautiful.

Al Salam.

I Read Out Loud: Books I like this week.

Books: 

These are all great Christmas presents given to me by friends who know me too well.

Secret Lives of Great Authors, Robert Schnakenberg: with a name like Schnakenberg, I guess it's easier to write nonfiction about great fiction writers.  Either way, this book is ceaselessly entertaining! I found out H.G. Wells was an anti-semite and Mark Twain once delivered an entire speech about farting to a royal audience. 

The Book Thief, Marcus Zuzak:  This is one of the most surprisingly poignant contemporary pieces of literature I have read to date...and it's a young adult novel! When I first read this book a year ago (this will be my third time reading it), I was hesitant to read something written from the omniscient perspective of "Death."  I figured that the idea of writing from Death's perspective had probably been toyed around with by many, many talented authors, and they all decided it was contrived.  Zuzak's narrator, however, speaks in boldfaced lists, short outbursts of poetry, and a benevolent, sympathetic tone for the protagonists of his plot.  And rarely is a novel started with such a lovely preface.  The first three pages of this book are so poetic and organic, it was exciting to open it up again.

Wild Ducks Flying Backwards, Tom Robbins: Dear Mr. Robbins, thank you for helping me to decide to take my honeymoon to the Selous.  You alone could make the danger of the tsetse fly seem so incredibly romantic!  This is a collection of short articles, observations, et. all by one of the masters of the quirky word.  It's a travelogue that offers revelry and escape--great faculties for the mind and soul during the god-forsaken gray of January.