I DREAM OF GENIUS

OK, Apple, you decided to call it Genius. Not me.

If you’d have gone with something less presumptuous (like say “iMix” or “24 Algorithmically Related Songs in the Same Genre as the Song You’re Playing Currently”), then we would not be where we find ourselves today.

I’d keep the gloves on, and simply thank you for the added functionality.

But no. You had to go and call it Genius.

And so now I have to gripe.

My first complaint is likely not even Apple’s fault. But it is very annoying that Beatles’ songs cannot be incorporated into Genius mixes.

This is probably some fine-print directive from McCartney/Starkey/Estate of Lennon/Estate of Harrison.

Can’t have the unwashed masses curating and recontextualizing the sacred texts…

Well let it go, gang. You cannot fight this tide.

Secondly, I’m concerned with the tendency to beat certain tracks into submission, like an old FM radio DJ. I have 8,294 songs loaded up on iTunes, but I swear that one of the following titles shows up on every Genius mix I make:

Age of Consent, New Order
Teen-Age Riot, Sonic Youth
Just Like Honey, JAMC
Milk Man, Deerhoof
Papercuts, Broadcast

Now I understand that these songs are probably a pretty accurate genetic mapping of my library, but I would encourage the Genius to learn that there are indeed other songs that share similar strands of DNA.

Finally, trying to figure out why the Genius can find 24 songs related to The Emergency Kisses, but cannot find “enough related songs to create a Playlist” for Come and Play in the Milky Night is the kind of thing that keeps me up all hours…

IN CONCERT

I have tickets for the Titus Andronicus/Pogues show in March, and I just bought a couple for Danielson in April.

But so help me, if Jeff Mangum comes within two states of the District in the fall, I might just lose my mind...

LINES FORM ON MY FACE AND HANDS

This past Sunday was our wedding anniversary. I'll let Alice tell you how many years:



With all sorts of freaky, glammy love, Taeko...

BROADCAST

Last night I was in a Palo Alto hotel room. I was bleary eyed, just checking e-mail and the internet before I went to bed. I came across rumors that Trish from Broadcast was seriously ill, and at first it just seemed like cruel and pointless misinformation.

However, as time wore on, it became clear that the rumors were true. Then I woke up this morning, my fourth day away from home, and saw confirmation that Trish had passed.

Part of me hoped I would get back home to my own couch, flip open my laptop, and find no trace of this information. All the mournful threads would be gone, and in their place would be typically enigmatic plans for the future. New albums, new collaborations, new art...

But being home has not made this any less real. Trish is dead.

I am sad beyond measure, and my thoughts are with her family and friends.

Thank you for the music, Trish...

CORPOREAL

Dammit.

Get well soon, Trish!

YOU'RE GOING HOME

If you're a child of the '70s and can claim to be untouched completely by Baker Street, well then you're a liar or something worse.

RIP, Gerry Rafferty...