The dreamy vibes continue... this track quenches everything.
Released June/July 2018 via Snowstar Records here.
Per their site:
Donna Blue is a collaboration between Danique van Kesteren and Bart van Dalen, both each other's muse, lover and band member. The creative duo plays sultry indie pop, under the influence of sixties ye, ye, Lynch movies and old Hollywood romance - perfect for practicing those slow dance moves.
Something resembling fall is flirting with us; where in these humid swampy bits, any days with temperatures in the mid 60-70s mean many pull out their sweaters (and in some cases down jackets), I'm just content to not be melting into a viscous pool of salt.
Still as lovely as it is, lately I only long for mountains and wide, pristine open spaces crisp with frost. Preferably the kind next to towns with bustling night lives where you can enjoy a cocktail and feast on the dreamy eye candy. But, that might be asking for too much.
So many artists and music tracks I'd like to share with you but I'm in the middle of a maelstrom, moving house and living out of boxes.
Here's a little precious gouter to tide you over. What do you think of the art direction? I'm torn between wonderment and excited schadenfreude to something else, something uncomfortable. A lot of comments have already been made comparing this to The Knife, but I suppose I've never separated Honey is Cool, The Knife or Fever Ray as separate entities. For me, that would be akin to divorcing one period of an artist's repertoire from the others. It's all one glorious journey. That said, I do find myself drawn to one or the other, depending on my mood.
Fever Ray // To The Moon And Back // 2017
Concurrently, this gem is very relevant to me and I hum a few key lines over and over, Tourette's style.
Fever Ray // When I Grow Up // Fever Ray // 2009
When I grow up
I want to be a forester
Run through the moss on high heels
That's what I'll do
Throwing out a boomerang
Waiting for it to come back to me
When I grow up
I want to live near the sea
Crab claws and bottles of rum
that's what i'll have
Starting at a seashell Waiting for it to embrace me
Dearest void. Two seasons have passed since I've ventured into these parts, though I've thought about making a pit stop several times. .
The past few months have seen me vacillating between intense periods of introverted seclusion, concocting the makings of a brand new life and setting into motion the pawns and stratagems of something utterly whole and different versus returning to the familiar strut and hunt, shaking out the solitary cobwebs and engaging in general mayhem.
Only to discover those quiet spaces I've created sustain me in ways I never allowed them to do previously. As the luminous Kate Bush croons in this gorgeous live performance, "I've been out before. But this time it's much safer in."
As it turns out, breathing and finding comfort in one's own company and in the quiet spaces between yourself and your past holds its own treasured adventures. The longings change; morphing into something less desperate and depraved. And when you drink from that reservoir, the tiny fractured crevasses begin to heal. Simple perhaps, but when you come from a chaotic wilderness, half beast, half woman - simplicity is a foreign language.
So... I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I feel better than I've felt in a long time. Longer than I can remember... or maybe I've never been here before. Sometimes, I'm frightened. Frightened of losing the identity I've spent years carefully crafting, frightened of what stripping away that artifice will reveal.
No surprises then that this track has been on regular rotation.
It's one of those uber meta Lame weekends. Reading about Soviet Soviet's lame experience attempting to enter the US to perform at KEXP, SXSW and some other shows and their subsequent detainment, imprisonment and deportation just tops this really shitty lame cake.
I'm going through it in a super quantum way. Which sounds probably way more dramatic than I intend but you all know, that's my special super hero power.
Soviet Soviet // Going Through // Endless // 2016
Pay no attention to me. I'll just be sitting here stewing on how much I hate everyone and everything.
But do check out these guys. They're the opposite of lame.
Remember the heady whirlwind month of July featuring Dreamboat? Let's splash around in a brief recap. In order of events: July Part I, July Part II, July Part III, July Part IV, July Part V, July Part VI and the subsequent ridiculous backlash and backsliding into the train wreck Lost Boy that comprised August. Culminating in spending the better part of Autumn trying to piece myself back together in true CTST dramatic fashion convinced I would wander the earth alone. And probably be happier for it. Anger, Wanderlust, Not Giving a Fuck.
All caught up? Dreamboat, being of the Scorpion ilk, charms, cajoles, and confuses me into abject capitulation every single time. He resurfaced in November, like some sort of sexy groundhog, pillaged the fields for his birthday and submerged himself once more. Since then, quite randomly and rather humorously, he pops up like one of those Wack-a-mole games at shitty arcades with virtual words so tempting and beguiling. Words, words, words. My Achilles heel but so ephemerally flimsy. Still... there are some people that have that knack for crawling inside to secrete their essences into your cells. Sleeper clones, lying in wait to rekindle the bloom.
It's bloomed, this decadent viral herpetic romance. Bamboozled yet again! We spent ten glorious hours together, touching on all those sappy cliches I adore. Picnic in the park, snarkily laughing at the half naked Yoga Man, resplendent in a man bun exhibiting undoubtedly psychedelic inspired dance moves to unheard music, and soaking up the sunshine with side-splittingly easy camaraderie. All perfectly platonic, of course. Twice bitten, I've learned my lesson. Or so I thought. Then come those kryptonian flowing champagne words. Silvery tongued and so hypnotically rapturous, laden with charmingly awkward regretful expressions, languid deliciousness and promises there will be no more Peter Pan disappearances into the ether.
Can snake charmers ever truly sleep soundly? My own inner snake reincarnated and lies coiled, poised with panther tail twitching, ever alert and watchful. In the months following his strangely familiar, frustratingly obvious repetitious oddities, I did what any self respecting autonomous individual should. Created and dove into a life that I really love, finally accepting that something broken requires only acknowledgment, not repair. Once clefted, the stones's job is finished. It is now the microcosms purpose to wriggle and perform the dance.
Perhaps it is possible for two snakes to bewitch each other into submission briefly and then go their separate ways once the morning heat begins to singe delicate scales. Meaning, we can rationalize just about anything we choose in order to satiate those other needs. Returning to lick the acidic juice again and again.
Broadcast // Corporeal // Tender Buttons // 2005 Do that to me. Do that to my anatomy.
(Try to catch the video version created by Wonder Mundle)
Cocteau Twins // Those Eyes, That Mouth // Love's Easy Tears // 1986
This is everything.
Still Corners // Don't Fall in Love // Don't Fall in Love/Wish 7" // 2011
Still Corners // Beginning to Blue // Strange Pleasures // 2013
Can't hold my breath for long
Baby blue... your eyes are deeper than the oceans go
Tell me love, is there hope?
Another sunset kisses the stars. Seems like just last week, we said goodbye to The Chapman Family. For awhile, I comforted myself with the saccharine affability of pseudo connections since Kingsley and I were linked on social media but that sunset happened too. Now, it's time to say goodbye to Kingsley's most recent project, The Murder as they've just announced their second to last show. Remember them?
It's a grey day and I've recently said goodbye to a lot of other things in the last couple of weeks. So, what's one more?
Their silhouettes, proud and aberrant. All dancing and swapping saliva somewhere anyway.
It's hard to believe a month has passed since I ventured into these parts. The dailies have consumed me with all that it can entail plus the likes of adopting a new kitten, re-homing said kitten, accepting the trials of anxiety, and dealing with a nasty pothole that attempted to eat my car which, I wryly joked, was singing this delightful Ministry song.
Ministry // Revenge // With Sympathy // 1983
Also, the world has gone utterly bonkers and I no longer recognize my country.
Currently, my listening tastes are soooo wildly disparate (fitting the schizoid climate in which we find ourselves), I'm not sure how to post about them. So without much fanfare, here are just a few.
Angel Olsen // Woman // My Woman // 2016
A popular choice, for sure, but digging deeper into her third album, besides the poptastic Shut Up and Kiss Me track, you'll find several gems though it's this moody 7 minute opus that is really doing it for me. Contemplative perfection
I dare you to understand What makes me a woman
Broadcast // Ominous Cloud // Haha Sound // 2003
There has yet to be a moment that Trish Keenan's beautiful voice doesn't make better. This track is so very fitting right now.
I've got to get away From this town, don't want to face The ominous clouds Be myself and learn to face The ominous clouds
PJ Harvey // This is Love // Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea // 2000
Because, Polly Jean.
I can't believe that life's so complex When I just want to sit here and watch you undress
Ohhhh... look at that! There's a theme here after all, funny how that works. xo
Does a day really make a difference, those 24 little hours? Do people actually wake up and become that which they wish they were in the last twelve months at the start of a new year? I suppose it gives people hope and inspiration or merely provides that strange comfort demarcating the threshold and passage of time can offer. No matter. Whatever gets you through the day, sweetheart.
I find it utterly intoxicating... not the booze, lights or glitter of a moment but that spark of recognition. When you see art or hear music that illustrates the colors of your own dreams.. the sounds in your own head. That to me is what I get up for, why I keep up the charade of every day life. For that precious moment when you and the piece are one... at the risk of sounding trite, the moment when you know you are not alone.
Someone else was haunted by that color, that image, that sound. They laid awake at night drowning in their desire for expression; waited for its writhing birth into light and spirit. Sometimes, I think, that's why people crave physical relationships. It is their longing to have their Other highlight what scurries furtively around inside them, begging for an audience. Craving to be seen. That is pain. That is prison. A treasure, a blessing and a curse.
My paradox is uncomfortably banal. Whilst craving others' company, I am almost immediately disappointed by it. So this is where I shall stay, until Geppetto grants me my wish. Suspended between these two realities in a body that increasingly feels less and less real.
Remedios Varo is a saint. Her work is salvation. (click any image for larger slideshow)
I spent the last two days at the second annual Day for Night - a local (possibly soon to be franchised) light, sound and music festival that changes venues every year. Last year New Order headlined, if you recall. This year it was held in a closed down post-office and warehouse space built in 1962 and designed by the architect who built the Astrodome.
Music acts included Chelsea Wolfe, Lower Dens, Blonde Redhead (who cancelled due to flight/weather conditions), Liars, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Bjork (dj set), Matmos, Arca, Aphex Twin and many many more. Light and art installations by Michael Fullman/VT Pro, Tundra, Limb, Nonotak, Damien Echols, Shoplifter etc.
I'm completely knackered so my festival stories will have to wait. Taking today to just absorb the blessed solitude after 48 hours of sensory overload and listening to a much needed palate cleanser.
Lowlife, such a blissful respite.
Lowife // Ramafied // Diminuendo // 1987 (2006 Reissue) Also available on: From a Scream to a Whisper, 1990
I never want to see your pretty little face again.
Word of advice, in the event you happen to be even more naive than I. Never go back, darling. Even if they beg, plead, cajole and soothe you with word balms. It's always a farce because those true colors never lie, dearest.
In other news, taking a moment to acknowledge the sadness of the Oakland fire on December 2nd where, Cash Askew, member of Them Are Us Too, lost her life along with many other talented souls.
How can I speak about what has transpired? I've been in absolute shock, turmoil and disbelief. My country is falling apart. The icons I've so admired are dead. My last post was one of beatific admiration about my beloved Leonard Cohen; how could I know it was a dirge and he would join the procession of the many beautiful souls lost this year?
On a selfish note, there's been too much. Shaking my head as I write this. How can anything be made right anymore?
The world's gone beyond mad and at this desperate point, well....listen to this and yeah, you've guessed it. I've been listening to this song for 3 days straight.
The Charlatans (UK) // Between 10th and 11th // Can't Even Be Bothered // 1992
Magnified, sanctified, be thy holy name
Vilified, crucified, in the human frame
A million candles burning for the help that never came
You want it darker
I'm ready, my lord
There's a lover in the story
But the story's still the same
There's a lullaby for suffering
And a paradox to blame
But it's written in the scriptures
And it's not some idle claim
You want it darker
We kill the flame
They're lining up the prisoners
And the guards are taking aim
I struggled with some demons
They were middle class and tame
I didn't know I had permission to murder and to maim
You want it darker
Really looking forward to seeing this stylized, trippy 60s inspired homage to witches.
“There are two versions of the witch,” Biller explained. “The old, ugly
hag and the young, beautiful temptress. They’ve both been around since
early Greek mythology, when Circe enchanted men and turned them into
pigs. They all stem from male fears and fantasies about women. Men want
the woman but they’re also afraid of her. That’s the reality for women.
They’re made to feel like they’re weird and creepy and insane,
especially if they are sexual...
Biller understands Elaine as a stand-in for all women who give up pieces
of themselves to satiate the desires of men. “For women, you will be
more powerful if you play by the rules, the way Elaine does,” she
explained. “But there is a terrible price to pay. I’ve known girls and
women who have gone insane trying to be too much of a man’s fantasy.
Elaine is strong until she isn’t. She goes past being a goddess and into
place of mental illness.”
There really isn't any kind of romance any more, at least not the deep set inside your bones, rip you apart and re-make you kind. But there's something to be said for the flippant "hey, what's up gorgeous" kind that melts and liquidates your surfaces. The juicy summer affair that wets all the best parts of you with none of the heavy. I'm into it.
Summer Heart // I Wanna Go // About a Feeling // 2012
(Even thought it's early September, in the Groin of America, we're still blazing with summer heat and humidity. It's like Senioritis lasts for far longer than the rest of you folks living outside of the swampy Nether-regions.)
The generation gap has become apparent to me, today in ways I never expected. Just you wait, those who have long appreciated what I am about to share.
My 20-something colleague talked about how "weird" Vitas is and laughed with mirth. My face while watching the video was....deadpan doesn't do it justice. The interior monologue was much more prolific, I assure you.
Vitas// 7th Element (clip NYE 2001)
If you can't view this video, in order to understand this post, please search for it.
I said he copied Klaus Nomi and then showed her this:
Klaus Nomi // Total Eclipse // Live 1981
I really hope with every fiber of my being this video isn't deleted so you can see what I see. Klaus Nomi is one of the most original, impassioned artists and he always gives me goosebumps. He paved the way for the extravagant pop artists of the 80s, 90s and even the ones now. Even though he was completely misunderstood, hated and/or dismissed in his time, which I hate, he influences so much of what we see that is considered "avant garde".
Innovation lost because the gross consumer doesn't look beyond the glop/slop on the plate in front of their face. Sadly, my coworker said it was, "weird" and didn't see or acknowledge the copy. It's upsetting when Vitas what's his face becomes more innovative or important in the eyes of those that can't see than our beloved Klaus.
There is a moment in yoga, the deepest possible inhale followed by the deepest possible exhale. This the last bits of stale air that have been trapped in the fecund and darkest bits of your lungs, the ones by your stomach/intestines. You breath so deeply in that the idea is that you exhale all the things that you've been clinging to. The lungs being our breathways and channels for change and since most of of us breathe from our upper lungs, the ones in our upper thoracic areas, the air in our deepest places is old, stale and uncycled.
Taking the challenge to breathe inward into my intestines, where the deepest part of my lungs reside.
If we can release that deepest air, so stale and laden with emotion, we can be free. I'm almost there. Before I say goodbye to these darkest bits, let me loose this first. These things cling barnacle hard.
Fleetwood Mac // The Chain (demo) //
Club 8 // Jesus Walk With Me // The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Dreaming // 2007
I've been humming this tune for the last three days. As much as I wish I wouldn't because of its implications. So, we feel. I'm trying not to.
Having spent the better part of my evening reading about U.S. prisoners in solitary confinement, some of whom have been so for 10, 20 even 40 plus years as well as watching a video of a Japanese culinary tradition of eating a still beating heart from an alive and eviscerated frog, I feel I can allow myself a wisp of narcissistic melodrama to swim with this pulsing rage that never seems to evaporate.
Last night, while drinking with coworkers, we touched upon the subject of my recent love trysts and the anger overcame me so violently and without warning I threw something across the bar's patio. Just another day with my chaotic alter ego. I wish I knew how most people seem to know and respect the boundaries of behavior and decorum. It's not something that has ever really come easy for me and it's either a stone mountain or an eruptive volcano people get to experience. There are some I know who never make those around them uncomfortable. Blending effortlessly into a mellow and humorous vibe, they must be the most agreeable people to be around.
It does a number on the psyche when one is dumped twice in a month's time. Whether that damage is an effect or cause, who can say? For now, staying away from the contact of others is probably my only protective measure. Dignity and pride being scarce commodities, I must attempt to reserve what little stores I have left. So, bachelorette living is back and it's an easy adjustment. Chips for dinner and binging on films and new articles. At least, when I'm ready to rejoin society, I will have something other than my own mental decrepitude to bring to the table.
Public Image Ltd // Rise // Album // 1986
Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy
I'm gonna try so hard, no one can fault me. If I crack up, at least good tunes soothed me down into the mire. Also, I managed to say exactly the right thing today, though it caused some ripple waves. No sweet bullshit.. just a succinct... "if people are stupid, I don't give a shit".
And if they have a problem with it, they can fuck off.
The cantankerous CTST is back. Let's start with some yummy gaze.
Airiel // Sugar Crystals // The Battle of Sealand // 2007
This video brings me so much joy...
Jesus and Mary Chain // Cracking Up //Munki // 1998
It's a weird thought, one that might not be widely accepted. One that might even be strange after all the posts I've shared... but I think finally there is no Good or Bad. There is no After. Bad things, no, terrible/unspeakable things happen to "good" people and blessings fall upon "bad" people. I don't believe in Karma anymore. So, I don't really believe in a God anymore. We're here. We live. We experience. So that's that.
There is a part of me that has always felt different, an outsider. Even in my own skin. As though I were tethered to the Earth, made from it even, but another part is always desperate to rejoin the Ether. Perhaps that's why the ideas of transcendence and resurrection have always fascinated me. Filled with uncompromising and haunting images of something resembling transformation or redemption. A Belonging. A wish to be a shapeshifter, born into a vessel less rigid and static. One with the multiplicities of microcosms growing inside and on me.
Christina Bothwell's work comes very close to these inner desires. Add to it, her entrancing manipulations of clay and glass. Part beast, part earth, seeking companionship and union. Maybe even liberation.
Dreamboat ended things last night, quite suddenly. I'm still trying to piece together the exact coordinates of our demise. When something feels so real and reciprocal and yet, for some reason, it ends. Stung and aimless. Though, perhaps not entirely surprised. I could feel something on the horizon, not a severing but a subtle rending. Second guessing one's intuition, it's a perpetual curse.
It all seems so illogical to me but then again, if the pieces don't fit together, there can only really be two reasons. You're missing something crucial for comprehension or you don't like what the pieces add up to. The brain is a snarling ego maniac and when it doesn't like something, it denies. For right now, this is not real and I'm denying. Avoiding all social interactions in the hopes the bruise will fade before anyone truly notices. Tomorrow, I will try to put myself back together and do all sorts of healthy things. Things my art therapist would be proud of, like cooking and yoga. But for tonight, tonight I deny.
Cocteau Twins // Know Who You Are At Every Age // Four Calendar Cafe // 1993
I'm not real and I deny
I won't heal unless I cry
I can't grieve, so I won't grow
I won't heal 'til I let it go