Monday, July 26, 2004

Weekend Round Up

The Farrelly Brother's Stuck On You is, if not their funniest work (that honor still belongs to There's Something About Mary), definitely their sweetest. If all of their previous films (which also include Dumb and Dumber and Shallow Hal) have demonstrated a nice knack for straining their gross-out, taboo-bursting brand of humor through a charming brand of sweetness, Stuck On You seems to me a kind of apotheosis of their work in this area. 

And we were on a bit of a Matt Damon kick this weekend.  The Bourne Supremacy seems to have forgotten to balance its bad-assness with the kind of gee-whiz goofiness the first one  managed so nicely.  This one isn't necessarily bad, and bringing Peter Greenway, fresh off Bloody Sunday, was an inspired choice even if he does go a little haywire with the edits in a couple of the action sequences. (Whose getting a fist to the jaw there?  Do I care?)  Booting Franka Potente in the opening 10 minutes seemed cheap and the ricketedy cogs of the vegence plot it puts into motion gets the thumbs twiddling in ho-hum expectation.  Still, there's an inspired, highly physical car chase to end the film where the right dude gets his necessary comeuppance, and we dug that.  And Cathy gets the high five for spotting the lovely Oksana Akinshina, who makes her first screen appearance since she was put through the ringer of Moodysson's devastating Lilja 4-Ever, in a silly little coda where she's given about 4 minutes to fear for her life and then cry.  

Moodymann's new one, Black Mahogani is his best since Silent Introduction.  Kenny Dixon (a.k.a. Moodymann) trims the fat off of his previous and oftentimes tedious immersion into lengthy sound collages in favor of a seemingly newfound focus on his sublimely dusted house grooves.  The album's first 4 songs make up a soulful sweet, led by the woozy vocals of Roberta Sweet (no pun intended) and culminating in the 12 minute track, Runaway, which builds up and winds down repeatedly.  On first listen, Black Mahogani already seems like a classic- highly distinct, unabashedly accessible and laying down slice after slice of genuinely soulful house.

Also watched Elephant, Gun Van San'ts not so loose adaptation of the Columbine high school massacre.  It's not entirely successful, but the first 40 or so minutes are near perfect, full of long, gliding tracking shots nipping at the shoulders of various students walking through high school.  It all feels suspended- haunted and dense with tension.  The sound design on the film is a marvel, as voices are constantly submerged only to come into sharp clarity and everywhere  deep, cavernous thuds  seem to ricochet off the hallways.  And  hallways haven't been this creepy, this infused with dread, since Lynch's Twin Peaks.  At the 40 minute mark, the student killers enter the building and it's barely possible to watch the screen after this.  We see the massacre, and it's horrific with a minimum of gore, though I'm not entirely convinced it was necessary for us to see.  Still, as a piece of agitprop, this is probably more successful then Bowling For Columbine.

We leave you with this: 

The Don Martin Dictionary

Monday, July 19, 2004

Bomba Pictures!

We give you fish!
Paul Simon, Among Other Things


My crotch is still snug after all these years.

The Paul Simon reissues are welcome with big, open arms. I’ve owned his first two post-Garfunkel albums for a while now, and love them- so it was a nice surprise to discover a few weeks ago that his entire catalog had been remastered, with the first half on the shelves this past Tuesday. I headed over to the Virgan Superstore on the Magnificent Mile (where the in-store DJs are almost always entirely successful in pricking me out of my browsing trance with their hyped up in-between songs chatter) on Friday and picked up Still Crazy After All These Years and Hearts and Bones.

I had heard Still Crazy After All These Years in its entirety sometime back in the early 90’s via the Columbus Library. It didn’t do much to me, other then offering the surprise of seeing Tony Levin in the credits, his lovely bass playing anchoring many of the album’s songs, including its big hit, 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover. Almost a decade later, I’m far more receptive to the album’s charms, which are substantial. Besides the fun of hearing Levin’s playing, the album also features some great backing vocals by the likes of the Jersey Dixon Singers and the Chicago Community Choir, the sweet-tempered harmonizing of Simon and Garfunkel on My Little Town and the soulful bossa-nova of I Do It For Your Love, probably the track I’m currently enjoying most on the album. The song features an absolutely lilting accordion and vocal solo by someone credited only as Sivuca! Maybe more-so then any other pop star, Simon’s voice captivates me with a soulful kind of gentleness similar to Joao Gilbertos. The album, like his first two, is also streaked with southern soul, Dixieland and mellow mid-life assessments.

Hearts and Bones, with its grainy video cover of Simon looking fiercely New Romantic or an extra from the film adaptation of Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights, Big City, begins with a song titled Allergies. It was released in October of 1983. I’m pleased to say that Paul Simon is one of the rare artists to have successfully navigated unscathed through the otherwise ruinous threshold of the 70’s into the 80's, a journey that seems to have sapped a disproportionate number of artists who created classic albums throughout much of the 70’s, only to falter in the 80s with releases whose severe mediocrity glared against the backdrop of their previous efforts. I have, however, been thinking of late that maybe it's not necessarily the quality of the songs themselves that bothers me, so much as it might just be the way they were produced. Namely, that nearly everything sounds like it was recorded in modest sized rooms made entirely of porcelain.

Of course, I’m all for the clean sheen of the glistening reverb that seemed to coat so many of the tracks in the 80’s. When it’s done well it sounds great,and Simon, who’ve I’ve come to recognize as one of the great studio wizards, does it especially well-buffering all his tracks with the nicest feelin’ groovy kind of polish. It’s clean, but always soulful. On Train In The Distance, for example- one of the album’s stand-out cuts, Simon lays down one of his greatest vocal performances, a funky multi-layered doo-wop equal to any of Marvin Gaye’s sweetest, sexiest vocal beds. It practically shimmers.

The album’s last track, The Late Great Johnny Ace, nicely manages to eulogize both the 50’s R & B singer Johnny Ace and John Lennon, ending with a velvety and mournful Phillip Glass coda.


Our basement has come to, unfortunately, be known as “the TV room,” a title that, while definitely unfortunate (conjuring up, as it does, the prospects of Jay Leno, that sitcom starring Jim Belushi and repeats of Maude) is not entirely inappropriate given the size of the television that has only recently come to reside there. It’s a beast, rotund with screen and lush with surround sound.

We’re a little embarrassed about it, Cathy especially, it’s very size signaling a kind of consumption gluttony and presumably symbolic of our commitment to television. We fear others may conclude that we’re spending our leisure hours watching the boob tube. But hell no, my friends! We’re always quick to do our duty and offer assurances that it’s chief function is for movie viewing and its considerable girth and surround sound help to more closely approximate the film going experience. In Pauline Kaels’ old essay, Movies On Television, she talks about the diminishing effects of watching films on the TV:

Not only the size but the shape of the image is changed, and, indeed, almost all the specifically visual elements are so distorted as to be all but completely destroyed. On television, a cattle drive or a cavalry charge or a chase- the climax of so many a big movie- loses the dimensions of space and distance that made it exciting, that sometimes made it great. And since the structural elements- the rhythm, the buildup, the suspense- are also partly destroyed by deletions and commercial breaks and the interruptions incidental to home viewing, it’s amazing that the bare bones of performance, dialogue, story, good directing, and (especially important for close-range viewing) good editing can still make an old movie more entertaining than almost anything new on television.

So, you see, it’s all about giving all that space and distance its due.

Sadly, we haven’t watched too much that’s been worthwhile. Tom Cruise’s The Last Samurai, the first film we waded through, was thick with inflated grandeur and hackneyed heroics. You are never, not once, given the opportunity to cast Cruise in anything but the most noble of 25 million dollars a picture lights. You see, his character was witness to the killing of American Indians, one of Custer’s soldiers and it is only through the way of the Samurai, a kind of surrogate for the noble Indians, that he can immerse himself in their own particular nativism and come out cleansed! And you, dear viewers, can behold The Cruise go all Samurai on your ass and witness The Cruise as the humble savior of The Way of the Samurai!

Then there’s the case of In America and Love Actually, both of which I really wanted to like but ended up feeling let down by. If forced to chose between the two, I’d say I enjoyed Love Actually more if only because the chances it was taking and the blunt mechanics of achieving them were far less ambitious and overburdened with the kind of pathos In America was steeped in. Neither film is exactly subtle, easily giving away to an undertow of distrust in the viewer’s ability to gleam emotional nuance from the story it’s telling. But Love Actually, given its frothy romantic veneer, makes no bones about its desire to provide you with lazy entertainment gussied up with decent actors handsomely paid. Emma Thompson is given roughly 12 minutes (in one of the flims 8 or 9 different subplots) to play a woman scorned. Liam Neeson, on the other hand, radiates an entire seasons worth of sitcom dad wholesomeness by assisting a cute nubbin (orphaned no less!) in the ways of love.

In America reminded me of Michael Mann's Ali, where Mann seemed to struggle with how to best capture and present Ali’s over-sized personae on the big screen. In the end, the film was overly reliant on its use of montage to compress time and capture evocative moments. It was overkill, the story never being given time to stretch out and the characters never given the opportunity to become something other then a collection of poses.

Whereas Love Actually nonchalantly drifts into its ending and surprises by simply abandoning some of its subplots or casually leaving others unresolved, In America’s ending offers us heaping spoonfuls of the unsparingly hokey. Cathy gets props for hopping on board the hopelessly inevitable and calling from way way out that Mateo (who is all of these things: noble, African, tortured artist, lover of cute nubbins, dispenser of wisdom, victim of Aids and wealthy- and I think that if he were any more of a gentle-dying-wise and giant black man his goodness would probably burst open and reveal a core of healing sunshine) would die just as the baby was born (or, show signs of life) and my props come from having called that he’d foot the families hospital bill. Kur Thunk!


Not just that, but license to get blindingly drunk and pee on trees.


In addition to Sekou Bembeya Diabate “diamond fingers,” I was pleased to recently witness his fine guttural prowess.


Giving character to a new place is vital. Cathy and I finally had the opportunity to hang up most of our old family photos last weekend. We lined both walls of our upstairs hallway with pictures of people, without whom, we wouldn’t be around to be hanging up pictures on a Sunday afternoon. Stepping back, we eyed with satisfaction our gallery of bloodlines, their eyes looking back at us from something both familiar and forever removed. There’s one of Cathy’s grandmother in her ballerina outfit, dramatically posed in front of her house as her mom and sister look on with approving smiles from its windows. There’s another of my great-grandmother standing next to a small piano with her sister, coyly looking down. Another features Cathy's great-great grandparents grimly staring out at the camera. Just when did smiling for the camera become the norm? My favorite is the glamorous close-up shot of my grandma, the lightest trace of a smile on her lips and a fur elegantly wrapped around her neck. She couldn’t be more then 20, and looking at it, I find myself wishing I knew more about when and why and where it was taken.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

But I Do Like Coke Better, Don’t I?

I first became aware and interested in functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) about half a year ago while reading some of the various literature describing how it’s currently being used to (hopefully) unlock some of the secrets of those with learning disabilities. But according to the June 12-18th issue of the Economist, marketers are also using it to unlock the equally daunting secrets of our consuming habits. Here are some of the highlights:

Marketing people are no longer prepared to take your word for it that you favor one product over another. They want to scan your brain to see which one you really prefer. Using the tools of neuroscientists, such as electro-encephalogram (EEG) mapping and functional magnetic resonance imaging (FMRI), they are trying to learn more about the mental processes behind purchasing decisions. The resulting fusion of neuroscience and marketing is, inevitably, being called “neuromarketing.”

Lieberman Research Worldwide, a marketing firm based in Los Angeles, is collaborating with the California Institute of Technology (Caltech) to enable movie studios to market-test film trailers. More controversially, the New York Times recently reported that a political consultancy, FKF Research, has been studying the effectiveness of campaign commercials using neuromarketing techniques.

Most people say they prefer the taste of Coke to Pepsi, but cannot say why. An unpublished study carried out last summer at the Baylor College of Medicine in Houston, Texas, found that most subjects preferred Pepsi in a blind tasting- fMRI scanning showed that drinking Pepsi lit up a region called the ventral putamen, which is one of the brain’s “reward centers”, far more brightly than Coke, which suggests that its stronger brand outweighs Pepsi’s more pleasant taste.

Friday, July 09, 2004

45 Second Delay

Of course, others have recorded in giant, empty cisterns. This was the sound of Columbus circa 1994.

More Vapid Loveliness

Like a grand piano placed in a giant, empty cistern. It’s not The Pearl or The Plateaux of Mirror but it sustains just the same. The drift of ghost chords, empty rooms, big skies, streams after midnight, something suspended way up in the middle of the air…

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

I'd Dissolve Into Molecules

I’ve long been a fan of Eric Rohmer’s films: Claire’s Knee, Chloe In the Afternoon, Pauline At the Beach, Summer and especially his Tales of the Four Seasons. His work is infused with something so mellow, breezy and special that by the end of the aforementioned films I was almost always surprised and dazzled by how much they had affected me. They have the languorous quality of a summer day spent busily doing nothing. His characters always seem to be off on one of those 6 week vacations Europeans excel in taking, making use of a friends cottage in some sleepy resort town and they're either looking for love or running from it. And they talk. A lot. They gather around café tables, sit on beach towels, stroll dappled paths and rhapsodize on their longings, weaknesses, fears, triumphs and the general nature of things. Sometimes they even listen in on other conversations. (In one of my favorite Rohmer scenes, one Cathy tires of me repeatedly returning to, from Summer, Marie Riviere, a frequent cast member in Rohmer’s films, sits on a bench near the seaside and listens to an elderly man explain to his friends that sometimes, just as the sun sinks below the horizon, if you’re lucky enough you’ll see a flash of radiant green. In fact, the French title of the film is Le Rayon Vert, or The Green Ray. I mention this scene because it exemplifies the eminence Rohmer gives to the everyday, not by inflating such seemingly mundane scenes with unnecessary dramatic tension, but by happening upon them, as if by chance, and folding them delicately into his story so that they becomes necessary to the whole.) What’s important to note is that the talk is always delightful, full of insights and sly humor and how it always creeps up on me, its charms, perhaps dull at the beginning, taking on an accumulative power that almost always radiates by the end. In Rohmer's films, language is a floodlight, lighting out the territories of doubt and confusion in search of the sweetest, most luminescent of resolutions.

Jonathan Rosenbaum recently made a compelling connection between Rohmer's work and that of the American director, Richard Linklater, one of my favorite directors from the states. In his current review of Linklater’s masterpiece, Before Sunset, Rosenbaum writes:

And where Liklater’s cinematic models in Before Sunrise were Hollywood love stories such as Vincente Minelli’s The Clock (1945), they’re now more French New Wave, Eric Rohmer in particular.

Before Sunset, like Rohmer’s films, has that special languorous quality, at times almost dreamlike in its evanescence. (There are many exquisite moments of evanescence in the film, but none more so for me then when Jesse and Celine wind their way up the staircase to her room, a scene that radiates with the piquant luminescence of the present, of soaking it all in as it rushes by, of memory and longing becoming, magically and finally, manifest.) The characters talk in a café, while walking down leaf-strewn streets, through dappled gardens, on a boat ride down the Seine, in a car…an apartment. And it's the talk that captivates us, ripe as it is with hope and expectation and an undertow of bitterness and confusion that slowly rises up and threatens to overwhelm Jesse and Celine. In the years that have passed since the characters first met (the equally great Before Sunrise), their hopes and giddy expectations- the swooning romanticism they once so freely exhibited and acted on, have recoiled into a present world where fences have been built around such seemingly rash exhibitions of emotion. Linklater and his actor's do such a wonderful, nuanced job with casually displaying and stripping away those layers, through gestures (when Celine's hand reaches over to caress Jesse's hair when he's not looking, for example, only to pull away in doubt) and a conversation that moves from the rudimentary motions of reacquainting to the nearly desperate desire to "only connect." Shallows give way to depths in a conversation that feels so honest and truthful that one feels the desire the toss away any caution one may have about superlatives and heap them on. It's in that web of dialogue that we come to understand each character's vulnerabilities, regrets and and desires. It's in all that banter that we become aware of the subtle incredulity both feel toward their younger selves and it’s through their conversation that we witness the giddy reappearance of their mutual seduction- how they joke about sex and brush up against one another as they walk along or sit on a bench. Language is a floodlight and they're always on the cusp (sometimes it even brims over) of drowning or gloriously rising above the what could have beens and maybes.

If the movie has a theme, it's time and more essentially, time passing. It's the whiplash bitterness Celeine feels in reading Jesse's thinly disguised fictional account of their day in Vienna, how if stirs up and forces an introspection into who she was then and what she’s become. It's the regret Jesse feels in going through the motions of his loveless marriage all the while wondering "What if?" Time has caught up to both of them, its undercurrent taking them 9 years away from each other and suddenly, not entirely unexpectedly, they're given another chance. In each of the films 80 minutes you're aware of the delicious now of it all. Hawke's Jesse, who professes to Celeine that he's written his book to find her, practically radiates, not satisfaction, but gratefulness- he’s overwhelmed that his hopes have become flesh. Celine, perhaps the more confused of the two, must confront and reclaim the woman she once was if she too is going to take the chance given them. The things Jesse tells her about his loveless marriage, the dreams he's had of her, haunt and engulf her unexpectedly. It’s almost too much for her to recognize that both have continued to feel so much and so similarly. It’s a gift to any viewer, such as myself, who fell in love with these two characters a decade ago. It gives us hopeless romantics fodder. The day they spent in Vienna wasn't an idle fling- it was something far more profound, just as we hoped. It's become their hope and their desire and though they've each gone their own direction, its presence has haunted them. On Jesse's wedding day, he thinks he sees Celine in the streets of New York City (and, indeed, in a delicious aside, we learn that it may very well have been) and in the lovely waltz Celine sings in her apartment, the memory of their day in Vienna has lingered. (Note: Oh, my- is not every second in her room enchanted? It's romantic filigree, every nuance a garland and all of it given root and earth through the presence of Nina Simone! Oh, I tell you, it’s too much, this lovliness.)

Do you know (or even have) songs in your collection that are so short that the silence that follows their end practically aches? Songs that you wish would just go on forever but last, say, just under a couple minutes (The Smiths’ Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want is probably my template for what I’m getting at) before ending? Part of what makes them so special is their brevity- how they linger and reverberate in the tainted silence that follows. At 80 minutes, Before Sunset ends before you want it to, but it’s really just in time (which, by the way, is the name of the Nina Simone song playing in Celine’s apartment). I can’t possibly give words to just how special the ending is. Without much reservation I can say it’s the finest, most exquisite ending to any film I’ve seen. Territories aglow, it fades with the sweetest, most luminescent of resolutions.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

Joe’s 33rd Birthday Data CD

I think I may have already mentioned how much I am loving the idea of MP3 Data CD mixes, what with all the time you have the luxuriate in stretching out and exploring certain genres and/or artists in addition to not having to fret about trying to fit all the music you want to share on a 90 minute tape, or as has been the case for the last several years, an 80 minute audio CD. (Note to self: Just what exactly is the difference between an MP3 and a Data CD- we’d look into this right now, but we’re feeling far too lazy.)

Of course, it’s also a ton of fun to wallow into all that music and spend, as I did, half a dozen hours grabbing CD’s off the shelf and ripping off songs that you think a good friend should hear.

I didn’t dwell on any particular order or go about creating a flow for the mix as I hoped Joe would just add the music to the random play of his current iTunes rotation. Here’s what made the cut, though I’m not entirely sure this is even the order they appeared on Joe’s copy:

001. Me and Giuliani Down by the School Yard (A True Story): !!!
002: But For You: Matthew Dear
003: Stay Hungry: Talking Heads
004: Bellona: Junior Boys
005: Pacific Theme: Broken Social Scene
006: Keeping Up: Arthur Russell
007: Cross Bones Style: Cat Power
008: Gentlemen Take Polaroids: Japan
009: Stick Around: Steve Burns
010: ILoveAcid: Luke Vibert
011: Have You Seen My Baby? Randy Newman
012: The Laws Have Changed: The New Pornographers
013: Your Silent Face: New Order
014: Pass In Time: Beth Orton
015: When Mac Was Swimming: The Innocence Mission
016: You Know More Than I Know: John Cale
017: Hard Life: Bonnie 'Prince' Billy
018: I Wish I Was The Moon: Neko Case
019: Romulus: Sufjan Stevens
020: The Body Breaks: Devendra Banhart
021: Whispering Pines: The Band
022: Andorra: Colin Blunstone
023: Psalm: M.Ward
024: April The 14th (Part 1): Gillian Welch
025: Slow Down Old World: Willie Nelson
026: Who Knows Where The Time Goes: Fairport Convention
027: Trying To Find A Home: Tindersticks
028: A Heart Needs A Home: Richard & Linda Thompson
029: Laughing: David Crosby
030: Ms. Fat Booty: Mos Def
031: Just Biz: Diverse 1
032: Flava In Ya Ear (Remix): Craig Mack Featuring, Biggie, Rampage, LL Cool J & Busta Rhymes Hip Hop/Rap
033: Hana: Jun Ray Song Chang
034: "Sounds From The Village" Morgan Geist-Rollerskate Mix: Phil Ranelin:
035: Do Dekor: Jan Jelinek
036: Tanzglätte: Sense Club
037: Because: Ulf Lohmann
038: So Weit Wie Noch Nie: Jürgen Paape
039: If She Wants Me: Belle & Sebastian
040: The World Is Against You: The Sea And Cake
041: You Got To Be A Man: Frank Williams And The Rocketeers
042: The 15th: Wire
043: I Love N.Y.E.: Badly Drawn Boy
044: Slow Life: Super Furry Animals
045: Your Heart On Your Sleeve: Colleen
046: I Want You To Know: Masha Qrella
047: Tälkn: Starfænn Häkon
048: Believer: Susanna And The Magical Band
049: Strange Power: The Magnetic Fields
050: You Don't Care: Terry Callier
051: Le Grand Dome: Biosphere
052: Time To Find Me (Afx Fast Mix): Aphex Twin
053: Everything You Do Is A Balloon: Boards Of Canada
054: Moistly: LFO
055: Rest: Isolée
056; To Berlin With Love: Deadbeat
057: Sann Sann: Clatterbox
058: NYC: Interpol
059: Best Drop: Spiritual Vibes
060: Future Tiger: Susumu Yokota
061: Souvenir: Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark
062: Alvin's Theme: Angelo Badalamenti
063: Untitled: Supersilent
064: Slice Of Cheese: Plaid
065: Detektiv Plok: Brothomstates
066: Cardiology: Recloose
067: Folk Song For Cello: Savath & Savalas
068: To Know You Is To Love You: Syreeta
069: On And On: Aril Brikha
070: Leave Me Now: Herbert
071: Gone Forever: Ulrich Schnauss
072: Kleiner Ausschnitt: Barbara Morgenstern
073; In A Ditch: Scud Mountain Boys
074: No-One In The World: Locust
075: Shisheido: Fennesz
076: Curse of Ka’zar: Lemon Jelly
077: Wandering: Brooks
078: Nebula: Urban Tribe
079: Voodoo Ray: A Guy Called Gerald
080: Let's Push Things Forward: The Streets
081: The Plum Blossom: Yusef Lateef
082: I'm Just A Prisoner (Of Your Good Lovin'): Candi Staton
083: You Said You Want Me: The Other People Place
084: John Cassavetes (2): Ekkehard Ehlers
085: One Day: RJD2
086: Gravity Rides Everything: Modest Mouse
087: Mine's Not A High Horse: The Shins
088: Before We Begin: Broadcast
089: Sonia: Robert Wyatt
090: Let Me Down Easy: Rare Pleasure
091: Bonny: Prefab Sprout
092: I Blow You Kisses: The Aluminum Group
093: M Traxx: Moodymann
094: The Ballad Of Dorothy Parker: Prince
095: United: Music Makers
096: Pass the Hatchet: Roger & The Gypsies
097: You and Your Sister: Chris Bell
098: You And I (Vocé E Eu): Jon Hendricks
099: When You Wake Up Feeling Old: Wilco
100: Endlessly: Mercury Rev
101: Starlight No 1: Mojave 3
102: Kein Trink Wasser: Orbital
103: Dexter: Ricardo Villalobos
104: Tamagnocchi: Mouse On Mars
105: Happiness: Superpitcher
106: Disk Three: CiM
107: Reiseslått: Nils Okland
108: Sequoia: Fridge
109: Someday We'll All Be Free: Donny Hathaway
110: Double Dutch: Malcolm Mclaren
111: Come And Play In The Milky Night: Stereolab
112: Hello Walls: Faron Young
113: Dang Me: Roger Miller
114: Wolverton Mountain: Claude King
115: Naked, If I Want To
116: You Don't Know My Name (Reggae Remix): Alicia Keys
117: (This Is) The Dream of Evan and Chan (Superpitcher Remix): Dntel
118: At The Waters Edge: Roger Eno
119: Flight Over Africa: John Barry
120: In The Reeds: Brokeback
121: Soft Pink Missy: Soft Pink Truth
122: Magpie (Morgan Geist Remix): Morgan Geist & Darshan Jesrani
123: Peer Pressure: Jon Brion
124: Care Of Cell 44: Zombies
125: I Don't Know What I Can Save You From (Royksopp remix): Kings of Convenience
126: Adidas: Killer Mike
127: I'm A Cuckoo (Avalanches Remix): Belle & Sebastian
128: Christine: Siouxsie and the Banshees

Mike Kraus, I owe you a copy as well.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

8 Years of What the World Needs Now

Much to write about (like, did you know I saw a squirrel attempt to leap through the wheel of a quckly moving bike only to bounce off in a terrific back flip?) but so little time at present. Tonight Cathy and I are celebrating 8 years.