This weather is pointless. Pointless! What's the use of all this snow and ice? Don't tell me it looks pretty. I'm just not fit for this sort of cold. It's days like today after windy winter nights like last, when the temperatures plunge into the single digits and my apartment's old pipes freeze, that I wish I had an entire fleet of fiery amps to keep me warm.
My first record cleaning purchases: A Hunt EDA carbon fiber brush for dry-cleaning (footnote 1), a MoFi brush for wet-cleaning, a couple bottles of MoFi fluid (Super Deep Cleaner for the really nasty records, and Super Record Wash for the plain old dirty ones), 100 Polyline inner sleeves (because of all the different options these were the least expensive per sleeve, but, at some point, I'd like to try the MoFi rice paper sleeves), and 100 4-mil outer sleeves (because 4-mil seemed just thick enough, and because I liked the packaging).
Michael Lavorgna reports on Philip Jeck and Ted Riederer’s performance, last night, at Our Lady of Lebanon Cathedral, in Brooklyn. Jeck sat at a table, with access to a small keyboard and a few simple turntables. Meanwhile, Riederer played guitar and sang, sending his signals through various effects pedals, looping them and transferring them directly to lathe-cut vinyl. Upon the completion of a side, Riederer would hand the newly created record to an unsuspecting Jeck. In turn, Jeck, with a smile, would place the record upon a turntable and play along. It continued like that for some time.
Like ML, I was captivated by the total experience: the dim lighting, the attentive crowd, the lulling sounds, the rich scents, the soft feel of old floorboards and torn carpetingit all worked to transfix and transport.
Sorry about that. Kelli and I flew off to Maine. We spent most of our time on Mt. Desert Island. "Desert," in this case, is pronounced "dessert" (with a French accent, if you like). It was good and quiet. We drove along the coast in our pathetic PT Cruiser (Touring Edition), from Portland to Bar Harbor, listening to the new TV on the Radio. It starts off like a Sonic Youth song, but the drums change it all. And then the vocals change it more. Of the words I could make out: Hey hey, my baby / Won't you lay your hands on me / Mirror my malady / Transfer my tragedy. We decided that he really does sound like Peter Gabriel.
"Do you want a ride to work?"
"Are you going to Manhattan?"
"Do you want a ride to work?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've got my car over there. I'm going to 58th Street, but you need four people in a car to be allowed to drive into the City. You wanna ride?"
"Nah, man. You're a stranger. Good luck with that, though."
For a time, I had my gear sitting on top of my new Ikea Expedit bookcase. An identical bookcase sat along the front wall and held a ton of books, but proved visually distracting when listening to music; it also weakened my system's soundstaging abilities.
You know how it is when you hear a strange new word for the first time, and then, all of a sudden, you start hearing that strange new word everywhere? Where had that word been for the previous twenty-eight years of your life and why is it surrounding you now?
If you're interested in a really special look at some of the best albums of 2006, you can visit The Tris McCall Report. You'll find that Tris has just begun to unveil the results of his annual Critics Poll. Today, he shares his thoughts on the voting results for the year's top albums. If you like what you read, check back each day this week for further commentary.