Author: J T. Ramsay

Mak­ing no com­mit­ments at the All-Star break. [The sin­gles that keep me teth­ered to real­i­ty as well as ratio­nal­iza­tions, news & notes forth­com­ing. Odd­i­ties and reis­sues also, with mp3s as evidence.] Liars — Drum’s Not Dead Boris — Pink Booka Shade — Movements Espers — II Her­bert — Scale Mat­mos — The Rose Has Teeth in the Mouth of…

Sick­est mid­field­er ever? Maybe. After all, Pelé calls him “Mae­stro”. [Post-match edit: I just call him “bone­head”: Porquoi!? Porquoi!?] [Post-post-match nation­al­ism alert: Alle­ga­tions that Mat­er­azzi called Zidane a “dirty terrorist”.] [Con­tro­ver­sial post press con­fer­ence edit: His moth­er and sis­ter? I’m not buy­ing it.] [See also: The Life Chaot­ic with Team Zizou]

It’s peri­od­ic updates, tips, hints, clues like this that I’d avoid­ed so dili­gent­ly up until this after­noon, when it dawned on me that unlike con­di­tions in Lang’s Metrop­o­lis, that me vis-a-vis my com­put­er, the inter­net and any­thing per­tain­ing there­in is with­in my con­trol, rather than vice ver­sa. Thus I entered the won­der­ful and fright­en­ing world…

EYE 001, orig­i­nal­ly uploaded by Black­mail Is My Life. Two turnta­bles, three drum­mers. The­atri­cal­i­ty and mag­ic. Ethe­re­al beau­ty. Light and heat. [See also: more pho­tos]

So it was­n’t rev­e­la­to­ry or awe-inspir­ing. It was curi­ous, just curi­ous. The video above comes from Fiery Fur­naces most recent tour. Their lat­est incar­na­tion? An ear­ly nineties, post-hard­core indie rock act, with caveats galore. They’re sharp­er and more musi­cal­ly adept than the style­fuck their ham­mer­ing on, and maybe too glam for the pas­tiche — Eleanor’s…