biscotti is done biscotti recommences

I’ve been told I’m fun when I rant, but this will be softer than a rant, so it’s a ramble.

Now I believe I’ve mentioned that I have music constantly. Having other people’s music is good, for it drowns out my own, (see previous comments about earworms) but there are times I do not wish to hear anyone’s music but my own, as it is an act radically invasive of cultural space to just not bother to learn a lot of other people’s tunes because a) your own are so much better and even if b) they a-really fucking are not, they’re yours, and explicitly and publicly acknowledging how men really own most musical space and are pissed and contrary about it unless they self select not to be ‘wads that way, by hanging about with women and making music with them.

I’m enjoying Spotify because I’m finding stuff I wouldn’t hear otherwise, no longer dependent on various gentlemen to find me interesting new stuff.

It’s making me think of how songs are constructed, how a lot of songs have all the percussion required by law and sense built into them, but it’s often overkill on acoustic songs.

I don’t mind people in new music using autotune if they leave it for exaggeration in the choruses and don’t chuck with the vocals too much during the verses. Choruses are supposed to be arresting and catchy in pop music. Robert DeLong’s Long Way Down is a worthy exemplar. Whether the lyrics are about the ‘rough patch’ of a relationship or a literal angst fest about the end of the world, it hardly matters. The crunchy, precise sonic palette is entirely too tidy… it’s the end of the world with a Perfect.Fucking.Soundtrack.

‘we can’t get higher than we get

on the long way down’

I would cut myself to have written that.

I am enjoying Better in Blak (the tune, not the album) by Thelma Plum. The first words of the first verse are like a gut punch, delivered in a deliberately blank, emotionally dialled-in expository voice, and then the rest of the song is a joyful reclamation of rage and agency delivered in infectiously catchy power pop. She’s Indigenous from Australia (no national affiliation I could find).

I’m listening to “Albaki” again, and it’s just wild. I WANT TO DANCE LIKE AN IDIOT TO THIS MUSIC. STOP ME FROM no don’t bother, I’m just going to have some fun.

I ha’e toasted almonds mither and likewise procured eggs and butter, and further adventures in biscotti await.

 

lovely Alex

I got Paul twicet yesterday; once for a walk at Fraser Foreshore, which, I hate to say, after our lovely discovery, turns into a goddamned construction site for a bunch of industrial buildings, and was extremely sad except for the one lonely great blue heron, but we sat in dappled shade and read to each other from the anarchist books I just got in the mail, and then again at supper time, when the whole family but Jeff went to Edmonds pool.

Little Alex was exceedingly well behaved until he got out of the pool, at which point he completely melted down because he wanted an eating treat. His mother made nice with promises of grilled cheese sandwiches.

Jeff took me to breakfast and then we did a mini shop. Now must finish baking biscotti!!!