:: a.whisper.in.water ::

:: Tuesday, September 16, 2003 ::

[ Topics In Aziz 303: Raving About Music, And Being A Tard ]
Right, so the firmware update for the Riô that came preloaded on the replacement player brings with it a largish degree of joy: not only do audio CDs (rather than the touted MP3 sort) no longer contain a milisecond gap between tracks on playback, but the long-ago CDs that Colin (Dixon, for the hometown crowd) burned for me way back in 10th grade or so finally work. Two words, damas y caballeros: Dream, and Siamese, not necessarily in that order.

Yes, Siamese Dream is enjoying another timely revival, especially after my recent enjoyment of Loveless a few days ago. The similarities are striking as hell; a sea of guitars awaits the sailor of both albums, only this time around, I can hear the wondrous insanities of Billy Corgan's obsessive overdubbing miles better than before...ah, the joys of audiophilia. I believe my exact words (to myself, while in the bathroom reading Welcome to the Monkeyhouse) were "ah, sweet choir of stellar six-string angels, how well I know you now," or some such nonsense. GOD, such good use of flanging and phasing. A lot like OKC in that regard, only with less restraint, and more Billy Corgan. I'd make good money devising a Corganizer pedal (though I'd have to pay royalties to various observant, more-clever-than-I wanks): it just overdubs the rhythm twenty times or so and octaves the vocals, and once in a while, lets some of the other pedals generate their effects.

I'd like to engage the much-talked of Arpi in a conversation about the Pumpkins, if only because I'm a curious soul, and 'cause she's (ostensibly) hardcore enough to give Zwan a chance, which I certainly didn't do, and don't really regret not doing. Let's see if this whole "community of livejournalers thing" works. Arpi: go listen to My Bloody Valentine's Loveless. KEITH COMES IN TWO DAYS! Fuck yeah I'm excited. ::smirks::

Oh, does the Interpol fills me with joy. A joy of some of the best influences today's music scene has to offer (hey, they were on MTV. Toodles to their indie cred, even though I heard about them though Scott Shelley), though most seem to give up on ascribing one dominant influence, and with good reason: music critics have the luxury of throwing out a few names (e.g., The Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, Joy Division, and in one poorer moment of analysis, the Strokes. SURE, kid) and get their point across (e.g., they rock hard and spacey). Their songs are oddly formulaic, making the album quite homogenic; no great number of standout moments yet, either. Just the atmosguitar every other bar in "Untitled," really. Give me a few more listenings.

I'm being alternately stoic and bitchy about this sprawling metropolis of pain I call The Sore In The Worst Spot In My Mouth Ever. Anything that prevents me from being able to drink cool, clean water I cooled in my fridge is without a scrap of goodness. My plan to medicate that is getting to bed right now, so the tale of my trip to the emergency room after slashing my forearm open on a table will have to wait. I'll say little more than Leah must be the fucking patron saint of retards, 'cause the girl stayed there for the whole damn ride.

My weekend in New York was also very, very good for number of reasons, though they, like the story of the centimeter-deep gash in my arm, must also wait for next time. I see her again this Thursday. Wow. Not being in a relationship has been one of the best things to ever happen to our relationship. Now that's ironic.

Music: So many choices, none of them bad. Let's say "Silverfuck." beeesssstpreeeedelaaaaayeverrrbang bang you're dead...

:: Aziz 2:02 AM [+] ::
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