I have to thank Ofer for passing on the news that Sigur Rós – a long time favorite band of mine – has just released a track titled “Gobbledigook” off of their forthcoming album Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust (English: With a buzz in our ears we play endlessly).

Along with the release of the song, the band has unveiled a music video directed by Arni & Kinski, “inspired by and in collaboration with Ryan McGinley.” McGinley, as you may have noticed, is also responsible for the album art; the cover (above) is an image from his latest series, I Know Where the Summer Goes.

Having listened to it for so long, it’s interesting for me to see Sigur Rós’ music paired with McGinley’s “vision.” Personally, I think the two work quite well together.

Download the .mp3 and watch the music video at high quality here.

Popularity: 20% [?]

A little while back, I posted about an online archive of jazz LPs. I was thrilled to come across a similar collection of classical record sleeves. Love it.

Popularity: 18% [?]

Photographer and programmer Justin Ouellette (one of the forces behind the excellent video sharing site Vimeo) just announced his latest programming project: Muxtape, a simple and elegant way to share mixtapes online. Justin reports that over 1,000 members have joined in just 4.5 hours!

It looks like the photoblogosphere has taken a liking to it; find Noah Kalina’s here, Raul Gutierrez’s here or Joerg Colberg’s here.

And see my very own Muxtape here (though, I’m sure it’ll be different by the time you look at it).

Well done, Justin. Well done.

Popularity: 20% [?]

Apple and Butter, 2004
© Jessica Backhaus

Flume
by Bon Iver (Justin Vernon)

I am my mother’s only one
It’s enough

I wear my garment so it shows
Now you know

Only love is all maroon
Gluey feathers on a flume
Sky is womb and she’s the moon

I am my mother on the wall, with us all
I move in water, shore to shore;
Nothing’s more

Only love is all maroon
Lapping lakes like leary loons
Leaving rope burns –
Reddish ruse

Only love is all maroon
Gluey feathers on a flume
Sky is womb and she’s the moon

Popularity: 20% [?]

Girl in Fairground Caravan, 1926-1932
© August Sander

Oh Comely
by Jeff Mangum (of Neutral Milk Hotel)

Oh comely
I will be with you when you lose your breath
Chasing the only meaningful memory you thought you had left
With some pretty bright and bubbly terrible scene
That was doing her thing on your chest
But oh comely
It isn’t as pretty as you’d like to guess
In your memory you’re drunk on your automy
It doesn’t mean anything at all
Oh comely
All of your friends are all letting you blow
Bristling and ugly
Bursting with fruits falling out from the holes
Of some pretty bright and bubbly friend
You could need to say comforting things in your ear
But oh comely
There isn’t such one friend that you could find here
Standing next to me
He’s only my enemy
I’ll crush him with everything I own
Say what you want to say
Hang for your hollow ways
Moving your mouth to pull out all your miracles aimed for me

Your father made fetuses
With flesh licking ladies
While you and your mother
Were asleep in the trailer park
Thunderous sparks from the dark of the stadiums
The music and medicine you needed for comforting
So make all your fat fleshy fingers to moving
And pluck all your silly strings
And bend all your notes for me
Soft silly music is meaningful magical
The movements were beautiful
All in your ovaries
All of them milking with green fleshy flowers
While powerful pistons were sugary sweet machines
Smelling of semen all under the garden
Was all you were needing when you still believed in me
Say what your want to say
Hang for your hollow ways
Moving your mouth to pull out all your miracles aimed for me

And I know they buried her body with others
Her sister and mother and 500 families
And will she remember me 50 years later
I wished I could save her in some sort of time machine
Know all your enemies
We know who our enemies are

Goldaline my dear
We will fold and freeze together
Far away from here
There is sun and spring and green forever
But now we move to feel
For ourselves inside some stranger’s stomach
Place your body here
Let your skin begin to blend itself with mine

Popularity: 27% [?]

Check out Vintage Vanguard’s great online archive of record sleeves for albums by various jazz musicians. Nice use of color, image placement and typography in some of these LPs.

In case you were wondering, “ジャズレコード館” translates from Japanese to English as “Jazz Record Mansion.”

Popularity: 21% [?]

Terry Richardson, Vincent Gallo and RZA have teamed up with Belvedere Vodka for their new Luxury Reborn campaign.

“Indulge responsibly.” Ehemm… right.

Popularity: 27% [?]

In the age of downloadable albums and iPods, some people might find it surprising that I occasionally buy LPs. Sometimes I find it kind of surprising myself.

When the rare occasion comes, however, I tend to justify my purchase by reassuring myself how wonderful the particular album would sound on vinyl. You see, there are albums out there that lend themselves especially well to the record format and the good ‘ol phonograph – that simply should be played along with the beautiful crackling of a needle. Maybe you know what sort of albums I’m talking about?

Just a few days ago I picked up an album at a local record shop: The Sound of the Trio (Oscar Peterson, Ray Brown and Ed Thigpen). I knew the record would be good; there’s really nothing like listening to an Oscar Peterson album on vinyl. Nothing at all.

putting on an Oscar Peterson album in my old apartment, April, 2007

In fact, one of my favorites is another of his (pictured above). I think I’ve played that record more than any other album that I own on vinyl.

Well, you can imagine the sadness I felt today when I read the article in the Times about Oscar Peterson passing away yesterday, at the age of 82. The death of one of the greatest jazz musicians to live leaves a lump in my throat that is hard and unmoving. When I looked at the record I thought to myself, “how great it is to hold this in my hands.”

What better time than now to dust it off, let the needle down and have his sweet music playing through the night.

Goodbye, Oscar Peterson.

Popularity: 13% [?]

(from “The Democratic Forest”)
© William Eggleston

Cucurrucucú Paloma
by Caetano Veloso (originally by Tomás Méndez)

They say that at night he did nothing but cry.
They that he didn’t eat and did nothing but drink.
They swear that heaven itself shuddered when it heard his cry,
How he suffered for her, calling out to her even as he died.

“Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,” he sang.
“Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,” he wept.
“Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,” he sang.
As he died of mortal passion.

That a sad dove early in the morning comes to sing to him,
To the small house with its little doors open wide.
They swear that the dove is none other than his soul,
That he however is still waiting for her to come back, she, the wretched.

Cucurrucucú, dove,
Cucurrucucú, don’t cry.
The stones never cry, dove,
What do they know of love?

Cucurrucucú, cucurrucucú,
Cucurrucucú, don’t cry any more.

Popularity: 17% [?]

It seems as if a lot of people I know are going through hard times. If you’re one of them, this is for you (from one of the greatest songwriters of our time, Neil Young, Live at Massey Hall, 1971):

Embrace the VHS quality, run time and all.

Popularity: 8% [?]