the tinyblog

On the University of Washington campus grounds, there is a work of art known as "The Department of Forensic Morphology Annex". The work basically looks like a large sheet metal igloo, and where an entryway would be, there is a complex latticework skeleton of interlocking circles. Through these holes, semi-retarded university students toss empty bottles of Mountain Dew and discarded roaches.

I've always loved the work, and one day, while bored and stoned, walking around with Jessetastic, I began hitting the sculpture with the palm of my hand. It made a variety of sounds, and before long I was feverishly playing a little musical composition with my heels and hands.

I got a little dream in my heart that I would invite people I knew in the spring, and play a whole concert at the piece, and it never left me. I didn't know the name of the piece and couldn't find it mentioned on any description of the campus' public art.

Eventually I contacted the campus and found Kurt Kiefer, the director of public art on campus, and he was incredibly nice. I put together a letter for Kurt. Sadly, I got the following response:

Hi Daniel,

Well, it appears that Cris Bruch is very much opposed to this because of the possibility of damage to the work. I think I need to go with his wishes and not allow the concert. Thanks for asking.

Kurt

Posted by tiny daniel at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Actually it's a little pathetic when I pour some of my coke on the ground and say it's for my dead homies. Cause... I don't have that many dead homies.

Ross is one of them though. I was friends with Lauren Beth Yockey for awhile before I met Ross Yockey. She had told me about her parents, and then abrubtly they moved to Seattle and I got to know them. Joanne with her quiet southern dignity, and Ross with his enthusiastic lust for life, and intense curiousity.

I was a writer and so we gravitated together. His curiousity was insatiable and he would always ask a million questions of me. He could not be satisfied by shallow answers,

When I wrote a book of poetry as an elaborate Christmas card, and gave it to people as a Christmas gift, he stopped there in Beth's living room and read it, in its entirety. He looked at me with a devilish look and read a poem aloud for me, as if it were an imperative.

One time, when I was talking to him about marraige. (I was engaged and asking for advice.) He told me, "It's best to just do whatever your wife wants. It works out better that way." I chuckled at him, but he was right. Joanne said, "You just have to keep talking."

Ross has been on the way out for awhile. The last 3 parties I saw him at, he had a tank of O2 in tow, and it hurt me to see him, swollen and dying. I asked Beth if I should call Joanne, and she said I should call Ross and see him. But I fucked up. I missed my chance to spend a moment with him, and soak up what he had to say one last time. Or provide a moment of comfort to him. Whichever.

Shit. Now I have someone to pour out Chardonnay for. Ross, thanks man, you raised up a good woman, and you left two good women behind. I miss you so much already.

Posted by tiny daniel at 10:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I gave a friend at work some music. I said I regretted I couldn't give her a little reference to everything I handed her, so I opened up an excel spreadsheet of an export of the albums I gave her, and wrote quick mini-reviews of all the albums I gave her. It only took me about a half an hour off and on, but I liked the result:

Posted by tiny daniel at 11:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This sat on my hard drive for quite some time, since the first 30 seconds of it really turned me off. Seriously, I was like, "What kind of emo crap is this?" But, you know, pitchfork gave it a really good review and I'm a sucker for that. Good thing I am, though, because this album is truly beautiful. Even that first emo song.

The Stage Names sets the stage in that first song by comparing life to a movie. Not a brand new theme, right? Life is not a movie, or perhaps, right? I wasn't too impressed.

But then, in the second song, Okkervil River makes it clear how they're gonna roll:

What gives this mess some grace unless it's kicks, man
Unless it's fiction
Unless it's sweat or it's songs

What hits against this chest unless it's a sick man's hand
From some midlevel band
He's been driving too long

Then, he hits his stride for real in Plus Ones, where he talks about the limits to numbered things like tears, luftballoons, and ways to leave your lover:

No one wants to hear about your 97th tear
So dry your eyes or let it go uncried, my dear
I am all out of love to mouth and to your ear
And not above letting a love song disappear before it's written

Let fall your soft and swaying skirt
Let fall your shoes
Let fall your shirt
I'm not the ladykilling sort
Enough to hurt
A girl in port

There's something special about this one... it's been probably since Iron and Wine dropped Shepherd's Dog that I've heard something so lyrically rich and sincere. The music's not bad either. ;)

Posted by tiny daniel at 10:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Now that I'm in the stride of Vampire Weekend's debut album: Vampire Weekend, I can listen to it almost ceaselessly, kind of like many people can Paul Simon's Graceland, which is practically this album's spiritual father.

In Graceland, though, Paul Simon hired a bunch of African musicians to accompany his band. Vampire Weekend's percussionist, Chris Tomson, does a great job of African pop drumming all by himself.

It's not really African music though, any more than The Police was really reggae music. (Vampire Weekend's song "The Kids Don't Stand a Chance" could easily be a Police song, if The Police could write such smart, snappy lyrics.)

It is good though, if all pop music were like this, I would listen to more pop music. I almost wanted to dislike it, since I got the impression it was some kind of teeny bopper sensation. It's pretty difficult to dislike, though. Even though I figured it was going to be arrogant college kids overstating the importance of their own worldview, eventually I realized that they make fun of it as much as they explain it.

Can you really hate a band that writes a song ("I Stand Corrected") about sincerely admitting a mistake? When it all comes down, it's just a sweet, smart album with fine musicianship that makes you want to just leave it in the CD player again after it's done.

Posted by tiny daniel at 8:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Of course people have been lauding this album for a dozen years, dirty is long dead, and there's a rap on the new Wu-Tang album lamenting his death (shoulda taken it easy on the Tramadol and coke, dirty), but for me it's a sudden revelation.

For those who have no idea who Russell Tyrone Jones aka. Ol' Dirty Bastard aka. Ol' Dirty Doggie aka. Dirt McGirt aka. Sweet Baby Jesus aka. Freeloading Rusty aka. a bunch of other things even is, he is one of the rappers of the famous Wu-Tang Clan, one of the most famous rap groups of all kinds.

I've heard him rap before, on Wu Tang albums, but it wasn't until I really started listening to Return to the 36 Chambers that I really got the idea of the explosion of madness he really creates.

Method Man, another Wu Tang rapper, once said that Dirty's style had "no father", but I have to disagree. There is a clear father to his style in the crazy howling and singing of Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Even if you're not familiar with Hawkins you've probably at least heard his insane version of "I Put A Spell on You". He sings the standard and deconstructs it into a raw series of howls and growls.

Dirty keeps this tradition, but adds his own strange rapping into the mix. His subject matter is often sexual or mildly, playfully violent, but more often is just his own strange free association on any topic. But no line is ever just spoken straightforwardly. Dirty keeps you guessing with sudden changes of tone, volume and delivery.

In any one song he alternately gurgles, growls, sings like a drunkard, howls in surprise as if the situation he's rapping about is totally new to him, shouts, whispers, makes up new words, does impromptu scat... in short... it's never boring.

That aside, the album itself is great. He sets the tone by pretending to introduce himself on stage, as Russell Jones trying to fauningly introduce Ol' Dirty Bastard, showering him with compliments, but then at the last second forgetting his name and instead introducing James Brown. Finally he remembers who he's introducing, and finally finishes with "I love that guy!"

Then, he takes the stage as ODB himself and begins what sounds like it's going to be a touching ballad with a confessional gone wrong, talking about a girl who gave him gonorrhea twice that he knew for ten minutes. He begins to sing his horrible crooner song about oral sex, and then finally says, "Just kidding, listen to the album, because it's bangin'"

And it is bangin'. RZA is the producer and does it in a simple, amazingly mellow way. ODB clowns and sings in a way that sounds accidental, but with a few repeat listens it's clear that his strange patter and singing is pretty crafted.

Such a strange, confusing, beautiful album. If you ever liked it, give it another listen.

Posted by tiny daniel at 9:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by tiny daniel at 1:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I know, I know what you're thinking. What kind of fabulous photos have you been taking Daniel... if you don't show me, I'll die.

Don't worry... I wouldn't let you die like that. Here's some little sets:

Georgetown in Ruins
Couch Colleen... approved photos only!
Shelley Price, the big trouble.
Oh Strudel, my love.
Boys Night Drinking
Miscelleny in February

Posted by tiny daniel at 3:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Wasn't I just bitching that there wasn't any real Joanna Newsom cover from her Ys album? Well, there you go... somebody actually did a real produced recording of a Newsom cover, of the song Emily.

Pretty good, I must say... although I wish he would have kept more of the song's natural quirkiness in. He makes it almost as close to like a regular indie rock song as he possibly can, which is kind of cool, but sometimes he misses out on some easy opportunities to bring up the intensity a notch in the way Joanna does so effortlessly.

It's still an amazing song, and I hope some people can listen to it and vibe with it in a way that they wouldn't otherwise be able to because they just can't get over Newsom's voice.

Posted by tiny daniel at 4:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

God knows I've gingerly put Joanna Newsom's unreal masterpiece of an album into the hands of many. A couple have totally felt it, but many more have not. Its often the sound of her voice that's the challenge. It's challenging, to be sure, and there's no use talking about it anymore.

I almost hoped that someone would do a magnificent cover of a Ys song I could use to demonstrate the astoundingness of her storytelling and wordplay, but alas, when people cover her, they generally attack the shorter, more coverable songs on Milk-Eyed Mender: Some guy does a pretty good job of The Sprout and the Bean, Some guy does a passable and kinda sweet job of Sadie, and the band Final Fantasy does a cool electronic / violin version of Peach, Plum, Pear.

I pulled out the album the other day and just dove in right at its middle act, at Sawdust and Diamonds. It's such a pleasurable part of the album, and it occurred to me that maybe new or reluctant listeners should try this, skipping the enthusiastic Emily and the over played and over discussed Monkey and Bear.

The story that begins with Sawdust and ends with the final howls of Cosmia is a story all its own. And people... oh ye of little patience, it's not like she's writing music for Mensa members only. Sure there's the little Shakespeare reference here and there, but this is not James Joyce.

It is genuinely sweet and funny, and as you listen to it a few times, just let its little phrases, jokes and turns of phrase come to you in tiny bits. It's more accessible than it first appears. C'mon... Give Joanna Newsom another chance. She's worth it.

Note: I did found an aussie singing this kind of sweet Emily and this somewhat more talented performer doing a fairly impressive cover of Sawdust and Diamonds. These really illustrate how difficult it is to adapt and perform these songs.

Posted by tiny daniel at 12:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)