I didn't know what this was when I picked it up. The jacket offers no band name or album title. Kind of like the Park Tavern on West Side Avenue in Jersey City; there's no way of knowing it's the Park Tavern unless you walk in, and once you're in, you never really want to leave.
It seems like forever ago that I became interested in Santogold's music. In fact, however, it's only been four months. What made that time so hard to stand was that I couldn't listen to her music as much as I wanted to, in the way that I wanted to. Sure, I could listen online. And I did. But that wasn't enough.
Vivian Girls's third full-length release, Share the Joy, will be available on April 12th, but you can pre-order it now. Get the LP with a free MP3 download for just $14; or get the LP on limited-edition teal vinyl with a free MP3 download for just $16; or get the LP, free download, and “I Heard You Say” seven-inch for $18; or get all of that, plus a cool American Apparel t-shirt and Vivian Girls button for $36.
This ravishing yet reticent redhead claims to have been in love on at least three occasions. Though fiery at the start, each romance fizzled with time, unable to live up to Stephen's ideals. She says, "I have no regrets. I would rather be lonely than sorry…"
At around 1pm on July 10, 1964almost exactly 45 years agopercussionist Sunny Murray, bassist Gary Peacock, and saxophonist Albert Ayler met at the Variety Arts Recording Studio just off of Times Square to record what would become the first jazz release for Benard Stollman's ESP-Disk. The studio was tiny and cramped and its walls were covered with Latin album covers and its doors were open so that the musicians could breathe. Can you imagine how hot it must have been?
What're they all about, these so-called Products of the Year? Why do we put so much time and energy into the voting? Why compile a list of all the products we've reported on in Stereophile over the last 12 months, putting little checkmarks and stars and numbers and other irreverent doodles and dashes beside their already silly names? Certainly all this hullabaloo isn't for our health. It's not even fun. It doesn't promote that strange, weird, and wonderful tingling feeling way down in the toes. It doesn't taste good. And chicks don't really dig it. So: Why?
This Is The Perfect Time—the time of year we love most. Madison Avenue's confounding street signs are suddenly dressed in green and red wreaths, the city's weary scaffolding blinks happily with golden light, the ordinary clamor of traffic and jackhammers is magically transformed into jingle bells and drummer boys. There is music everywhere and nothing to get in our way: A look down the avenue in either direction throws open a window to all that is past and all that is to come.
Well, ladies and gents, it's been a long year. As I write this, on an unusually humid and hazy October morning, I'm still feeling the lingering effects of my beloved Mets' sudden and tragic collapse from the top of the National League East. I sat there, at Flushing Meadows' Shea Stadium, covered in peanut shells and with tears in my hazel eyes as the scoreboard went cruelly blank and Coldplay's "The Scientist" wept over the stadium loudspeakers. It was brutal.