LAB REPORT

That new Stereolab disc does not come out until August, but a preview track is now available on iTunes and as a gimme on Pitchfork.

This is me listening to Three Women.

Mildly funky drummer. Mildly bubble gum guitar. Oooh, vibes. I like vibes. I guess the horns were inevitable. Drum break, and it sounds a little sproingy. This one's in French, so it can be about whatever I want it to be about. I've decided it's about Sophia Loren's sister, although I'm not sure if she actually has a sister.

Man, was Sophia Loren the epitome or what?

This track? Not quite. But it's enough to make me come back in a few months...

EL IPOD DE DIABLO

Wait, if Juno MacGuff was all about 1977, and her contrapuntal counterpart was wallowing in 1993, why the fuck was the soundtrack filled with all that turn-of-the-century acoustic cutesy pie-ness?

A SOLIPSISTIC APOTHEOSIS

One of the groovy things about blogging on blogger (blog!) is that you can be all solipsistic and search your own blog. Sometimes random words will pop into my head, and I'll check to see if I've ever used them here.

For example, before today I had not used the word "solipsistic"-- and now I've logged two.

"Groovy"? Yeah, I've used that twice-- once in reference to a Clash song (Groovy Times), and once in describing Stereolab's version of One Note Samba/Surfboard. That same passage saw one of two uses to date of "apotheosis."

I'm going to roll the dice on "douche" here.

And aw mercy, it looks like we've got another first timer...

WE DON'T NEED THAT FASCIST GROOVE THANG

Taeko and Sebastian were playing Dance Dance Revolution when I came downstairs. Lana corralled me before I could join them in the TV room.

"I feel like dancing, but I don't wanna do DDR. I just wanna dance regular, my own dancing."

I took her to the playroom, put on Hyperballad, and we darted around the room like two balloons losing air. Just about the best dancing the world has ever seen, I'd say...

THE MARRIED KIND

Break out the Zinfandel, and drop the needle on some Love Unlimited Orchestra. It's sliced tongue and the fine art of erotic seduction.

We had dropped the kids off at school, and Taeko and I were stopped at a traffic light.

"I'd like to lick your back," I, um, purred.

"Whuh?"

"Lick your back. I'd go up your spine..."-- and here I reached over and traced a gentle line up the curve of her back-- "...and then I'd circle around your shoulder blades."

"Whuh?" she repeated.

It really wasn't necessary to repeat it-- I mean, I did hear her the first time.

I pointed to the street sign overhead. We were waiting to turn onto Backlick Rd.

"Ohhh. Well, I'd rather have a massage."

The light changed, and I made a sharp left...

CHEMICAL CHORDS

What do you do when the future becomes the past?

Well, if you’re Stereolab, you continue to invoke the past. After all, that is where the future began.

And yesterday is already here…

IN THE BACKSEAT

The kids were sparring in the back of the Odyssey as we drove to Bethesda to pick up some furniture.

"Poppycock!" said Lana.
"Balderdash!" said Sebastian.
"Poppydash!" rejoined Lana.
"Baldercock!" rejoined Sebastian.

I did everything I could to keep my grin from erupting into gale-force laughter...

JEFFERSON, I THINK WE'RE LOST

When the Virginia summer begins to imply itself with 80 degree April heat and ridiculous green, it takes me back to Charlottesville circa '93 as surely as Slanted and Enchanted or Exile in Guyville...

SOME VELVET MORNING

Lana came downstairs in her pajamas.

"Whatcha doing?" she sang, in a lilt that went up and then down.

"Just checking e-mail."

She looked at the screen for a few seconds, and finding nothing of interest, moved her eyes around the desk until they landed on the adjacent wall.

"Why do you still have a 2007 calendar?"

"I just never got around to buying a new one. Plus, that's one of my all-time favorite groups."

"The Velvet Underground." She said it in a way that made it sound as if someone had gone and buried a swatch of velvet. I never heard anyone say it that way.

"Yup. Here, wait." I pulled her onto my lap, and brought up iTunes.

"OK, listen." I started with Sunday Morning. "Pretty, huh?"

Lana nodded. "But they could also sound like this." I switched to I Heard Her Call My Name. "Noisy, right?"

Finally, I clicked on Head Held High. That got her. She started to dance right in the seat, like a motor had been tripped.

"What do you think that means: head held high?" I asked. She didn't respond-- she just kept rocking. Not sure if she didn't hear me, or if she just didn't care.

Either way, it was the perfect answer, really...

I HATE FAST CARS

On the way to work this morning, I was passed by three different gold cars that were speeding and weaving in an out of traffic.

And now I can’t decide whether this was a metaphor, a portent, or just a random assemblage of assholes...

TALK TALK TALK TALK

I haven’t been really gripped by anything since Sound of Silver and Person Pitch. So while I wait patiently on 2008, I’ve been doing some digging for worthy stuff that I might have just missed.

I looked back to the Pitchfork top 100 of the 80s and 90s lists for candidates, and found one sitting at number 11 on the 90s list: Laughing Stock by Talk Talk.

Now, honestly, I never would have given Talk Talk a third thought beyond It’s My Life and Talk Talk (the song), and even then it would not been a thought of much consequence.

So it did always intrigue me to see them on this list. It’s like finding out that Blancmange had some secret profundity beyond the simple pleasures of Living on the Ceiling and Don’t Tell Me.

I listened to it for the first time last night, and I fell asleep on the couch almost instantly. That’s not a judgment on the music, though—I was just exhausted.

I woke up around halfway through, and I did hear some very pretty sounds…

PENETRATION

Downloaded the new Fuck Buttons album today.

Actually I didn't. I just wanted to say "Fuck Buttons."

Fuck Buttons.

I'm so ashamed...

JUST LOOK THEM STRAIGHT IN THE EYE AND SAY...

So now The Pogues are coming out with a five-disc 111-track box set of ye auld odds and sods.

And I need to ask myself: will I buy?

I think the instructive parallel here is The Simpsons on DVD.

I bought the first five seasons before I realized that the discs were sitting unwatched. The bankable nostalgia that drives so much consumerism was working its reflexive magic. So I stopped.

I have a feeling I'll eventually cave on this one, but I kind of know how it ends...

KIPPERS FOR BREAKFAST

To the person who was trespassing on brain coral’s attempt to enjoy the exhibits at Fort McHenry by staging a loud cell-phone discussion concerning how mediocre artists’ best albums are always live albums: I take issue with you Sir/Madam.

First off, using Supertramp to make your point only reinforces the spuriousness of your argument.

While they were indeed mediocre, they do not have to their name a live album of any especial note or merit. Everyone knows that Breakfast in America is their meisterwork, dumbass.

Second, there are really only a small handful of mediocre artists that actually support your thesis. Peter Frampton for sure, and Kiss, arguably. Can’t think of too many others.

It sounds to me like you were attempting to have an “ironically witty” conversation in a public place, so that everyone in your general vicinity could experience your ironic wittiness.

And for these reasons, I heap upon you great big cans of scorn, whoever you are…