Pardon my absense recently on BDRIB. I work at Georgetown University, and nothing compares to the slogginess of turning over semesters. We have an thirteen year old exchange student from Peru in the house via my daughter's school. A cat is dying, relatively comfortably, slowly. DC United released Dema Kovalenko, a necessary but necessarily sad move. Our government, dishonest in its run-up to a unwarranted war, is preparing its dishonesty for a run-up to what may or may not prove to be a warranted war, though how will we know and who can we believe. Vandals smashed the rear window of my Matrix.
So. I've read there was a generally civil dust-up catalyzed by a posting on Rufus Wainwright, a musician whose music I admire more the earlier it was released. I don't Want Three. Since I don't presume to write about the theory behind the music that interests me to professional musicians and composers, I denied myself the pleasure of indulging in haloscanning - well, not totally, this addict admits - and pondered whether, behind the very real cover of real life's insistent demands for my attention, to continue here. Ultimately, I ask myself, am I having fun? On I go.
Some quick news and items:
Built to Spill and !!! Sonic Youth !!! have albums scheduled for release this year according to Pitchfork.
David Little and his band, The Motion Sick, is Spin's Band of the Day. Check out the Spin link before they change it. Free listens at the band's homepage. Good stuff.
An interesting article in today's New York Times about one Scott Storch, who makes $80,000 to $90,000 per song producing music for the Beyonces and - soon to come - Paris Hiltons of the world. Perhaps some don't need reminding of how that aspect of the business works, but I find it ickily fascinating. There's no mention in the article if Scott is the son of Larry Storch from F-Troop.
I've got tickets to see Chuck Prophet in February, the Royal Philharmonic play Britten and Khatchaturian and Tchaikovsky in March, and I've an offer to see Cyro Baptista with Beat the Donkey. I'd have to rearrange something of relative (pun intended) importance. Worth the grief?
And, a song by South Ambulance, whose sound reminds me of Ride and Kitchens of Distinction walloped upside the head with the harmonies stick of The Beach Boys. No more serious than fun.