I’m listening to Kveikur by Sigur Ros and there couldn’t be a better thing to be playing right now. Keep in mind this is my first time listening to this particular album. I’m drawn in initially by the pulsating bloodstream beat. The digital cords wash over and crash against the rocks as the vocals sail overhead in the open air above it all. The vocals swoop down then ride gracefully just above the waters glittery but stormy surface. It sinks and slowly dissolves into a fragment of a tune.
My alarm went off and I hit snooze. I’d meant for a little more sleep however the excitement of the day sprung upon me like a cup of hot coffee dropped in your lap. My blood was pumping with excitement it flowed static with kinetic energy. I couldn’t sit there a moment longer let alone sleep.
This article originally appeared Dayton City Paper
In a world of Music that seems to fit everything into cookie cutter genres Sound Rabbit isn’t afraid to think outside the box. Not only do they step outside that rock box, Sound Rabbit proceeds to dabble around with jazz, folk, and pop as well as a wide variety of other musical classifications. Synth meets steady guitar reminiscent of early Weezer on tracks like “Diminished Returns”. The very next track on Tree Trunk Airplanes, “Years Ago”, features a smooth strumming a tune more akin to Elliot Smith, while the track after that bubbles a bit like pop. All of this leads to some well varied albums which won’t wear out even after a dozen listens. Amongst my group of friends we have a term for bands who lack variety; same-y, and Sound Rabbit is anything but same-y.
This article originally appeared in Dayton City Paper
If you were to think about it, quite literally, Starving in the Belly of the Whale implies being eaten whole. It implies that you are trapped inside a cage of bone and blubber. There you are dying of need while another creature will slowly absorb your body into its own. You’re hungry while he eats. This fits well to the word irony as people use it now-a-days.
This article original appeared in Dayton City Paper
Spotlight center stage where a young woman is fighting for her right to the platform, her deserved moment in the warm heat of stage lighting. This is a musical about performers and oh does it perform. Dreamgirls tells the story of the Dreamettes a trio of girls trying to break into the music scene of 1962. The girls encounter much personal drama and many struggles in the cut throat entertainment business. Although successful they encounter many ups and downs as this story follows the girls for over a decade.
I have this thing I like to call Summer Fever. It’s this anxiety that sinks into your skin with the heat of the sun. It warms up your bloodstream to boiling which will cloud your vision and cause your brain to pulse in its skull shell. This fever is a need to get out, a need to be out, an undeniable craving for fun. Last summer this fever got the better of me and I got in some trouble. This year I’m trying to get a handle on it, but at least so far I’m not the only one infected.
I took pictures and enjoyed nature all by myself. I find it better for observing better for reflecting when you go all alone. This last month in Dayton for me is filled with silent goodbyes. I know I won’t be far and I know that I’ll be back, but I’d like to better appreciate and remember the places and people I’ve taken for granted.
It was sprinkling in a cooling summer haze as we drove home. Raindrops fat splatter on the ground far and few between. Quickly absorbed by the thirsty dry soil they leave no evidence behind.
“You like this place because you love chaos,” Swanky says to me. I readily agree with her on that.
Stacks and stacks of books tangled throughout a maze of crooked shelves, pathways on an uneven floor with toy and toys and collectable gathering dust over head. Bonnets books is amazing forever to me. I asked him if he had a copy of House of Leaves and he didn’t but we did have a little discussion about it. He might possibly be a hoarder but Bonnets owner is a super cool nice guy.
As we are heading for the door J-Rabbit stops to swoon over a life size leg lamp from A Christmas Story. We proceed to make jokes with the owner about stroking your hand up the leg slowly as you reach for the switch to turn it on. (In the movie the switch is at the base of the lamp.)
But like a passing gust of wind I find I must move on.
We sit in this living room surrounded by boxes stacked high and towering all around us. Some are leaning against the wall. Others I observe impressively defying gravity on their own accord. Some of these boxes are staked low in a manner suitable for furniture replacement.
He sits on a well cushioned very old couch. It’s the sort you can sink into and don’t mind the stains. I have a stiff kitchen chair pulled up and a clipboard in hand. I lean my arm on one of these boxes and glance at the writing in sharpie marker across the cardboard. Orange Milk records. Inside are brand new CDs, and records. They are freshly printed carrying that new factory plastic scent.