My old army surplus bag, which has been everywhere with me, was stuffed with a week’s worth of clothes. Already, it was tugging down at my back painfully. Slung over my shoulder was my black tote bag, holding nothing but my favorite CDs: Sonic Youth’s Washing Machine, Smog’s A River Ain’t Too Much to Love, John Vanderslice’s Pixel Revolution, a couple of mix CDs compiled by friends, and about twenty others, including my band’s own self-titled debut (if there’s any album in this world I know intimately, it’s that one…
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Hi Mr. Andrews. You left this comment:
Atkinson, when are you going to figure it out? Readers don't give a rat's patootie for reading blogs (or article digressions, Sam Tellig...) on what you guys had for dinner, who you know in Europe, what art galleries you visit, etc. —or anything else that isn't directly related to the title of your magazine. Why do you keep this guy anyway? Because his already retro glasses make him seem smart?
I was going to leave your typos in, but I just couldn’t—for the sake of the prettiness of my blog, as well as to satisfy my…
I really love the comments tool, but I wish it would notify me of when new comments are left for old blog entries. Because it doesn’t, I have to scroll through each entry and check. This isn’t such a big deal, but it does mean that I’ll miss a few comments every now and then, or that it’ll take me a few days to get around to them. And that’s not cool because web-time flies.
So, I just noticed this awesome comment left by Josh Gladstone:
I bought Todd's At Work CD. I just received it at work (natch). I guess I'm completing the cycle by commenting on your post about the…
“Are these things on?”
I walked gingerly, so as not to trip over any speaker cables or kitty tales [sorry Huckleberry!], to the amp and preamp. They weren’t the Viola Audio pieces that I expected, but instead, the Krell KAV-280p and KAV-2250. On the former, I noticed a small blue-lit power light. “I guess it’s on. Do these things just stay on all the time?” I shrugged my shoulders. I also noticed a small red light marked “B-1” —I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if I need to know what it means.—and a red-lit number “25” beside a knob which I was too…
Eric Swanson, the man who makes our covers look so awesome, is visiting from Santa Fe, New Mexico. He’s in NYC to attend the PhotoPlus Expo at the Javits Center, but was able to drop by our office today and treat me to lunch. I’ve had the pleasure of working with Eric for about four years, but had never met him in person. We’d only communicated via e-mail and over the phone. I always thought, by the sound of his voice, that he’d be a kind and thoughtful person. I was right.
Towards the end of the meal, Eric offered me a present: a book called With a Measure of Grace&#…
At the show, there were—no kidding(!)—five people who came over and complimented me on this here blog. I was flattered. One was Josh Gladstone who said he was surprised to learn that he was the first to buy Todd’s At Work CD. And, patting his pant pocket, he added: “I’ve already got it in my iPod.” Another was Mike C., of Hoboken Rock City, who keeps a blog of his own and frequently sends out fun podcasts.
It was a pleasure to play with such talented and exciting bands—All Rattle & Dust and Overlord. “This is one show that I’m really happy to be a…
I was in bed for what felt like five minutes (it was actually five hours) when the little alarm clock let loose its hybrid buzz-chirp: 7am, time to wake up. I stumbled into the bathroom, my mind filled with thoughts of the previous night at Maxwell’s. The fluorescent white light above the cracked mirror blinked on and off for a couple of moments before steadying itself, reminding me of the camera bulbs that flashed while we were on stage. I heard myself think: “We’ll never play a bad show again. That’s all behind us now.”
By 8am, Bagheera was finally just dipping into her food…
So, I arrived at home (I mean, at Wes') one night, and decided to take John DeVore's advice about popping a CD into the hi-fi as simple background noise. My plan was to listen to Smog's A River Ain't Too Much to Love while feeding the cats in the kitchen.
Yeah right. Two seconds into the album and I was hooked, captivated. Sorry, Huckleberry, dinner's gonna have to wait.
This is an album that sounds good—really damn good—over the Magnavox boombox at home. I've been aware of just how good it sounds, and so, I've even invited people over, specifically just to…
Wes sends his "Hola!" from Barcelona:
Been reading the blog for news on the kitties. No mention yet of Huckleberry's teleportation trick. Has he calmed down? (Hah!)
Huckleberry does this thing where he sneaks up on you, wraps himself around your legs, and purrs. But, in the time it takes you to look down and say, "Aww, that’s cute," he's gone—swoooooooooosh—into the listening room, skidding across the tribal rug, flinging a hot pink plush mouse into the air, while Bagheera hides beneath the Ayre universal player and shuts her eyes, thus making herself completely…
On our way home last night, at your request, we found shelter from the relentless rain near a bit of dancing fire. White candles melted into soft wings and waves and fingertips, beckoning us closer. We sat at the fun table beneath so many beaded chandeliers, and ordered the best drinks in all of Manhattan—pineapple coconut mojitos and razzle dazzles—which were far too strong, but perfect, nontheless. The older woman in the strange hat offered us one of her piggyback dates—stuffed with almonds and wrapped in bacon, sprinkled with Cabrales bleu cheese—but we,…