There are trees in Westminster Abbey! (Some guests likely had “diabolical view” written on their invitation.)
Elton John looks as awkward singing in church as the rest of us.
My husband knows all the words to “Jerusalem.”
Kate’s gonna stick with that full circle liquid eyeliner, isn’t she?
The Queen does not have someone hold her mints and tissues and mace and whatnot for her. If I were the Queen, I would totally have someone do that so I wouldn’t have to carry a handbag.
Did anyone else notice the riderless horse galloping wild? Was that symbolic of the wild pagan spirit of the British commoners, the unwillingness to be bridled by the pageantry of a Christian kingdom? I’m sure somewhere some anti-royalist will be scribbling a poem to that effect.
OF COURSE Princess Michael of Kent is wearing the biggest hat.
Today’s addition to this list: Ann Coulter.
Am I a bad person if I say I pushed a little harder in the hopes that the door might clip the back of her heel?
Laura Nyro - The First Songs
Laura Nyro - New York Tendaberry
Heavy Metal: Music From The Motion Picture
The Virtuoso Oboe Vol. 3
Tom Verlaine - S/T
April Wine - Stand Back
The Move - Shazam
“Where would your Betty Davis be?” I clutch a dusty Best of Sam & Dave and wonder if it’s better than other best ofs.
“I assume you don’t mean the actress?”
“Not the actress.”
“Funk & Soul.”
I find no Betty Davis, but plenty of Laura Nyro and others. I bring my stack to the register.
“Huh.” Here it comes. I used to fear the assessment of my collected albums from record store staff. But I’ve been shopping here long enough to know to expect and welcome a little nugget of musical knowledge in place of judgment from the man behind the register. My mind flips open its stenopad. “You know, when Blood, Sweat & Tears were looking to change their sound they nearly asked Laura Nyro to be their singer. She auditioned and everything. This was before David Clayton-Thomas. Then she did something to alienate the rock journalists. I still can’t figure out what it was.”
I think it must be pretty easy to alienate rock journalists.
“Do you ever get any King Crimson in here?”
“Sometimes. We had a nice copy of In the Wake of Poseidon recently. If you like King Crimson you should seek out Giles, Giles & Fripp. I know it sounds like a law firm but…”
“You close?” says a man with an accent browsing soundtracks on a stepladder.
“Five more minutes.” In those five minutes he digs through the Ms to find an album by The Move — remembering that I’d previously asked about ELO — and promises with a shake of the hand that I’ll find something on there I like.
With a ding of the bell, I’m on the street again. Hours later: he was right.
(Previously: Albums Purchased One Hot Weekend, Record Haul, Record Haul No. 2, Record Haul No. 3, Record Haul No. 4, Record Haul No. 5, Record Haul No. 6, Record Haul No. 7, Record Haul No. 8, Record Haul No. 9)
Tracie: WAIT HOLD ON DID YOU SEE THAT HANSON COVERED “HELLO IT’S ME” ON DANCING WITH THE STARS LAST NIGHT?
Me: Oh my god I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
Tracie: Time out, false alarm. It was the Lionel Richie song. I need to finish investigating these things before I fired up the all caps.
Me: Hahahha okay. That makes more sense. Also, I saw nothing about it on the forums, which was perplexing. Usually they’re on top of every mention of Todd ever. I love that it came out with such vigor and urgency. You DO care about me.
Tracie: Yeah, I just heard “Hello” and was like ZANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN. Those of us with inexplicable obsessions gotta stay together, man. Especially since I seem to be developing a new one that involves Edward James Olmos.
Me: Edward James Olmos WHO SANG BACKUP ON TODD RUNDGREN’S SONG “SLUT” I am not even kidding.
Tracie: WHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTT? I feel the overwhelming need to sprint to the Q train and ride to Ditmas. I feel like “Slut” has to be one of the horcruxes that combine to create magical vortex to a new world where our dreams come true, right?
Me: Uh, yes, considering it’s the very song that Alex Chilton and Big Star played that mystical November that prompted me to ask “who is this Todd Rundgren fellow?”
Tracie: Sigh. This is a nice way to spend a small part of my Tuesday.
Jim Bob, Fruit Bat, and I all have a surprise for you. We’re moving in together. I know it’s sudden, but we’re expecting company in a few hours. The house is lovely, although it’s an apartment, rather a flat in the center of Birmingham. The Wonder Stuff all know us too. Miles is a particularly good friend of ol’ JIm. Then Pop Will Eat Itself and Ned’s Atomic Dustbin will all come over and Robert Smith and Mary will pop in. They’ve come for my popcorn and to borrow a cup of sugar. I gladly lend them some. Ride is coming over later when it’s time for them to bring the beers. Polly Harvey couldn’t make it, but she’s sending Joe Strummer in her place. Her aunt died, I think. Such a sad thing, it is. Kurt Cobain is in town and wanted to stop by, but I knew that Eddie Vedder was here too and might come over later. Those two tried to make amends, but it didn’t work. I believe this time it was about hair color.
Anyway, Eddie just walked in, and I believe he’s brought us some pansies, Jim. How lovely. Come on in, Eddie! It’s wonderful to see you! You know Jim, don’t you? I thought so. Everyone, this is Eddie. He’s a bloody American, but what a lover! Ha, ha. Oh, get up, you don’t need to kiss my hand. Please, not so close. Jim will see us. Oh Miles, don’t you be jealous too. You’re all my very good friends and I love you in that very same way. We’re like the best of friends, don’t joke around. I’m nothing compared to what’s out there for all of you.
Take a look? Can I even be compared to any of them? Mary knows what I mean. Robert and she are perfect, but we both struggled through college with men. Now we have many male friends, but you are all in escence my “lovers.” Don’t fight, you’ll tear the carpet. Look now, the quiche is done. I’ll serve it.
We all sit down peacefully and it’s a lovely meal. The pansies make a magnificent centerpiece and the table is filled with wonderful food. The dessert is a bit burnt, but that’s just the way Miles likes it. Silly fellow.
I put on some music, none of yours, obviously, and we all dance together. It’s quite a jungle of musicians, but Mel Gibson couldn’t make it. Ha, ha. That’s a little joke Jim, Miles and I like to share. Quite a tizzy. We turn our living room into a dance floor when we throw colored cloths over the lamps. The music blurs as we spin and run into each other. Then we all fall down into a pile and go to sleep. I love you all.
I truly love you all.
(The overly domestic anglophilic journaled fantasies of a teenage girl, or the New Yorker piece on Gwyneth Paltrow’s cookbook? You decide.)
On first read I thought this article was plagiarized from the journal entry I wrote in high school where Jim Bob, Fruitbat — because of course I lived with BOTH members of Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine — and I were throwing a party whose guestlist included Eddie Vedder, Michael Stipe, Kurt Cobain, and Robert & Mary Smith, among others. Eddie, too, arrived cranky. (via Maura)
I currently made the transition from an office to a cube for the first time in about six or seven years. I am compiling a list of the music that blocks out the phone conversations, the clickety-clack of neighboring keyboards, the loud chewing of gum, and general hush of malaise that has fallen over my workspace.
Sugar - File Under: Easy Listening
Foo Fighters - Wasting Light
Television - Marquee Moon
Anything by PJ Harvey
Queens of the Stone Age - Songs for the Deaf
Nirvana - “TERRITORIAL PISSINGS” TURNED ALL THE WAY UP OH GOD I CAN STILL HEAR THE TYPING
(Do all people who work in cubicles become metal fans by default? Seriously, Joni Mitchell is just not going to cut it.)