currently reading girls to the front by sara marcus. it’s about the riot grrrl scene and is, so far, nearly as good as our band could be your life (aka the best book about music i have ever read). it’s possible that i have a lot of misplaced nostalgia for the late 80s-early 90s indie scenes and movements that i would have loved to have been a part of. i feel pretty good about the music movements i’m a part of now, but goddamn, what i wouldn’t have given to be a fly on the wall when k records was just starting out.
ANYWAY, i was checking out some of the bands they mention, and am now sad for my 18 year old self. 18 year old me would have been head over heels for bratmobile! 26 year old me will just have to rock out on her behalf, i guess.
“Fake Empire” by Lotte Kestner // Originally by The National
Now covering The National is a difficult proposition, but it can be done without totally botching the job. Here, Lotte Kestner holds her own with one of the most familiar tracks by The National and thought it loses some of the dark, brooding intensity of the original, it holds up really well. A nice somber little thing to lead out the Sunday night.
last year i went on this whole “punk cabaret” kick with the accordions, but this year my focus (in life, really) is on folk punk bands. i didn’t even realize this was a term other people used (my roommate and i have been describing damion suomi & the minor prophets as folk punk for ages) until i stumbled upon this blog. but apparently there is a whole folk punk scene out there, just waiting for the rest of us to find them and fall in love.
this tumblr found me in my time of need (read: while i was sobbing over the book thief) and continues to post excellent content all the time. and by “excellent content” i of course mean “a fuckton of accordions.” SAME DIFFERENCE. this blog basically qualifies as porn.
“It’s like I’ve eaten spam a few times from a few popular brands and in a few serving suggestions, and found I’m not really keen on spam, ‘cos it’s salty and slimy and looks like something you might find in the alien queen’s litter box. But I’ve found myself in a world that’s completely obsessed with spam. People spend their entire lives in pursuit of spam. Every single advert on TV sells their product by placing it alongside spam. Movies have to work in at least one spam scene to reach the broadest audience. People break up and get divorced because they don’t exchange enough spam. Soldiers are given time out to go have some spam. Low-risk prisoners are given spam visiting rights. People die for spam. Entire economies have been based around spam. Selling spam is the world’s oldest profession. The lack of spam has been linked to mental disorders. The only thing getting teenagers through difficult puberty is the thought of one day getting to have spam of their very own. It’s just tinned meat, guys.”—
It’s a well-known story — the one where European conquerors ravaged the New World with disease in the 15th century. That story repeated itself, in a very different way, in the early part of the 20th century in Texas.
Only it wasn’t illness that German and Czech settlers were spreading to unsuspecting Hispanics, Creoles and Cajuns. This time, it was a musical instrument from which they would not recover.