The One Who Got Away (Or: Pictures of You)

Pictory Mag

This is a really lovely photography site worth taking a look at.

And this particular series is photos by people of someone that they loved who for one reason or another is no longer in their life. Under the photo is a caption explaining the story behind the photo/relationship. The photography is really beautiful and some of the captions quite poignant.

This topic has been on my mind a bit lately. Partly because McNutty is heading back to Australia indefinitely (for my part, I am focusing on winning the New York City Lottery so niggley things like "money" and "employment" cease to be a cause for separation). And partly because for the past couple of weeks on my way to work, I walk past a poster for a new television show on here called First Love, Second Chance.

The premise is that two people who were once both a couple but are now single get reunited on television. Perhaps if it was set up so the couple are unknowingly both at a party or somewhere a bit candle-lit and romantic and their eyes meet across a room... but no. They are thrown into a house together for two weeks under the glare of multiple television cameras, a massive crew and no doubt several producers feeding them dialogue, constructing situations and then editing the whole thing together in the most tabloid way possible. I bet it's frisson city in that house. Nothing like being documented by a film crew 24/7 to rekindle that old flame.

Have you had one that slipped away? Would you want to be reunited with them if you had the chance?

I guess it depends on the circumstances under which they slipped away from you. If somehow you were separated beyond your control or maybe the timing just wasn't right then, sure, it's understandable that you might like a second shot at it. If, however, after years of pain, your lover dumped you because you could never replace his/her ex then immediately shacked up with another bird/bloke (who presumably could replace the ex), leaving you with nothing but an STD, 5 years worth of therapy bills and the self-esteem of an acne-ridden 15 year old*... what if that person appeared back into your life and claimed you were the one for them and that they're totes different now?

Would you immediately hand them your battered little heart and a tome of bad teenage poetry you penned in their absence (and go on a b-grade reality television show together)? Or would you take a leaf out of Stephin Merritt's book and tell them this:

I swear this will be the last Magnetic Fields reference. It really is getting out of control but their gig was wonderful. He is wonderful. I am sure in years to come wandering the snow-covered streets of Manhattan listening to them on Podley will be one of my fondest memories of 2010. That and winning the lottery.

*Amendment (21.02.10):

McNutty just read my blog (as he always does once I've nagged sufficiently) and asked "You have an STD??". Um.... no. Thought I should probably clarify. This blog is only partially autobiographical. I have been dumped once or twice and I do currently have an unhealthy obsession with Stephin Merritt. But I don't write bad teenage poetry. Only prose.

Yeasayer (Or: the Best Band to come out of 1986)*

Ducky. Pretty in Pink. 1986.

The thing about a lot of music (and, more disturbingly, fashion) today is that it is a rehash of the 80s which in itself, at least in terms of fashion, was a rehash of the 50s. The more it repeats, the further it is removed from its original referent. Style without meaning.

The most obvious downside is the proliferation of hideous 80s frocks and slacks. I wonder if the whole movement is the result of a conspiracy by the second-hand clothing industry to finally rid itself of its excess stock of revolting clothing. Once the pretty 50s cocktail numbers, cute 60s summer shifts and snappy three-piece suits for the gents were gone, this is what was left.

Brooklyn is overrun with pretty girls in ugly dresses. Not even dresses. That, my friend, is a sack tied with your mum's brown leather belt. And while we're on the topic - tights are not pants. Please put on some pants. And no, buddy, stone-washed skinny leg jeans are not amusing. Or remotely sexual. They never were.

The upside, however, is that when music today nods towards the 80s New Wave but aspires to be more than Soft Cell or The Human League, it can actually be pretty interesting. Particularly if its creators are clearly massive Brian Eno and David Byrne fans.

But what really makes this New-Millennium-New-Wave-Revival come into its own is that fact that back in the 80s, people like Ducky (pictured above) had no choice but to sit alone in their bedrooms, broodily listening to The Smiths. Today, however, Ducky would get to bring all that music knowledge he'd gleaned from hours of lonely listening to being the frontman of a cool indie "Brooklyn" band. And that brings me to Yeasayer.

These guys came to my attention via the Dark was the Night compilation of 2009 with their standout track, "Tightrope"...

(I know, any excuse to include a Vincent Moon film, right? Apparently he was at the gig last night too.)

I don't generally buy into this "Brooklyn Indie" music scene. I know we've talked about this before so need to rehash, but on the whole I am with Jonathan and his Hunting Season blog post of last year. Those GrizzlyDirtyDeerAnimal bands are generally derivative and fairly bland. So what's different about these guys then? Maybe nothing.

Yeasayer describe their sounds as "Middle Eastern-psych-snap-gospel" and like the other "Animal" bands, some of their songs do blur into an woozy psychadelic haze (occasionally in that irritating Grizzly Bear way). But at the gig last night, they played enough breakthrough tracks that hit you with some pure polyrhythmic pop bliss. Some of their beats sounded more Carribean than Middle Eastern to me but what do I know? (I'm more of a "Talking Heads" David Byrne fan than a "West African Rythms" Byrne fan). And they are very successful at transposing these traditional tribal beats onto electric and synthesized instruments - in a way that Eskimo "Inshalla" Joe could only hope to achieve.

What is potentially exciting is that where Eno and David Byrne evolved to this polyharmonic/polyrhythmic music inspired by different tribal and ethnic cultures, for Yeasayer this is their starting block. I, for one, am pretty interested to see if they are going to take it anywhere.

Yeasayer: Williamsburg Hall of Music 9th Feb 2010.

Copyright McNutty 2010

*Appropriated from a twitter update I read

The Sound of Settling (Or: An NYC Progress Report)

Your weekly dose of NYC.

This is the corner of our street in Brooklyn.

I wonder if music can be a pretty good indicator of how settled you are in a place? For instance, when I first got to NYC I remember feeling this mild but constant panic that there was so much to see/hear/watch and how could I possibly get to all of it? I knew I was missing things and no matter how many blogs/twitter feeds/pitchfork updates you follow, you won't hear about everything and you can't possibly get to it all.

It only took a couple of months (and about ten gigs) for me to chill the heck out. Luckily December/January is a relatively quiet time music-wise and it coincided with two months of poverty-induced hermitry on our part. The thing is, now bands are returning to NY and I have an income I can feel the anxiety occasionally rise again.

For instance, the other day McNutty thought he saw Justin Vernon (Bon Iver) riding up our street. Turns out a couple of nights later St Vincent played a gig in our hood and was supported by Justin Vernon, THE NATIONAL and DAVID BYRNE!

"Disappointed" doesn't cover how I felt upon making that little discovery the next morning.

In other signs of "music panic" I bought tickets to The National in Philadelphia because I was so worried I would miss out on tix to their NY gig at Radio City Music hall (curse you, Ticketek, and your American Express presales. What have you got against Visa cards?) So now I am going to both and contemplating buying some to their just-announced Brooklyn outdoor concert. That would be excessive right? The Magnetic Fields have also announced additional shows but I am being restrained.

The thing about this country is there is so much of everything and they want you to have as much of it as you can take. Time to embrace moderation.

The first sign I knew I was settling was when I started to wear my ipod while wandering the streets. I didn't need to absorb every piece of Manhattan ambience anymore. Then when I skipped a John Cassavetes screening at MoMA in favour of staying home with a glass of wine and a terrible Cameron Diaz movie on television, I knew I was getting a bit comfy.

But it takes longer than 4 months to settle into a place. I still never know which exit to take at a subway station and when I do exit I unfailingly walk off in the wrong direction. When I cross a street I have to think which way to look for oncoming traffic and darned if I know which side on a taxi to get in. And conversations are still punctuated with occasional blank stares or confusion as people try to decode whatever 'Australianism' I just dropped.

So the downside to living in the city where everything is happening is that you just can't get to it all. But the truth is, I don't even mind anymore. I just like being here.

And speaking of wandering the streets with Podley, here is a song that has been getting an obsessive amount of ipod rotation on the Podster. I don't know what it is about this city but I can't get enough Stephin Merritt these days. Nice of him to oblige with a new Magnetic Fields album.

(I'm really sorry about the vision, it must have featured in "Queer as Folk". Maybe just look at the Brooklyn photo and compose your own internal mental montage while you listen?)

*photo courtesy of McNutty. You can check out his photos on his professional flickr blog (I'll spare you the happy snaps on our personal flickr)