As soon as I saw “Shanice” in the title of one of the results, it all came together, and I think my blood pressure dropped twenty-five points in an instant. I couldn’t remember her name, but I had been certain the song came out in 1991 (and I was correct—I’ve long suspected that I have an extremely limited savantism for the release dates of shitty pop songs). If this worthless institution gave me online journal access to, say, the weekly Billboard Hot 100 charts, I could have saved myself a lot of mental and emotional anguish (and it was anguish).
That song rules. Particularly the glockenspiel refrain through the spoken word breakdown.
Ooh, Laura Barrett. You must think you’re real cute with your thumb piano and your Wierd-Al covers. But Laura Barrett, your gimmick has been done before, and it’s been done by someone with whom I would not mess, were I in your position.
but I probably need to make at least one painting of Gloria Estefan performing Coming out of the Dark* at the 1991 AMAs** before I can make good on that promise.
—
* I had a brief moment of panic over the “out” in that song title, but “out of” is indeed a prepositional phrase, so the “out” is not capitalized. It took me, like, thirty seconds and some Googling to convince myself that it wasn’t an adverb. This is a new personal low for me. (North Americans, as a lot, seem pathologically unable to get it through their heads that prepositions aren’t capitalized in titles. Let’s not even start about people who don’t capitalize “it.” It’s a fucking pronoun, people; were you raised by wolves?)
** That was her first public performance after nearly a year of physical therapy following a horrific bus accident, of course, hence the tears and the standing ovation. It was inspirational. I am neither joking nor drunk, it’s worth pointing out.
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Cat Power – In This Hole (from The Covers Record)
One could, with relative ease, gauge my base-level anxiety on any given week based on my iTunes play-count for this song. Lots and lots and lots of things to do, most of them terrifying to greater and lesser degrees. But they’ll probably get done somehow. Things have a way of doing that. Or, rather, I have a way of doing them.
to choruses of small children singing sentimenal Björk songs. Particularly not today.
Midday, I got an email from Dad letting John and I know that our cat Bubba had to be put down (acute kidney failure, which happens; Bubba was fifteen; he’d seen three houses and had actually been FIV positive, when we adopted him). That’s what that last post was about. It came right before the Open Corridor thing was getting ready to start, and I had to ditch out on the whole affair (I can’t deal with opening crowds under the best of circumstances), which I don’t feel too good about.
I did get downtown to take photos of the finished installation. Photos to come. Tomorrow I guess I’ll get back to the email-responding and review-writing that had been planned for today.
You’ll have to forgive me for being a couple months behind the curve, here. When this was all taking place, I was mounting a thesis or something. I don’t remember. Anyway. MEN—formerly a DJ collaboration between JD Samson and Johanna Fateman (ex-Le Tigre), now a band comprising Samson, Ginger Brooks Takahashi (who recorded an album with Mirah some years back) and Michael O’Neill (Ladybug Transistor? I think? This is getting complicated). Know them. You can download their 3-song demo at I Heart Comix.
Also know Dominique Young Unique (Tampa!). Jessica Hopper is not incorrect in suggesting that she “makes Santigold sound like the teacher from Peanuts.”
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In other news: purchasing seitan veggie sausages is still easier and largely preferable to making them at home.
Edited to add: I realize that, of the admittedly limited number of people who read this thing, I am likely the only one who listens to Erykah Badu. And that, friends, acquaintances, and random Internet persons, is why I write the blog and you do not.
