Unfurled petals and tight-wound metals: the Spring Horniness
Woody Allen describes the paradox of observed reality as this:
Tragedy is when I fall down a well; comedy is when you fall down a well. This speaks to our seperation and our individual experiences, found of the same observed moments; our inherent narssacism; our competative cruelty.
The Weakerthans claim to have found the safest place to keep all our tenderness, keep all those bad ideas, and keep all our hope. It's there in the smallest bones, the feet and the inner ear. (It's such an enormous thing to walk and to listen).
They're tearing up Cambie Street near our homes- a huge monster of gears and hydrolics has eaten the soil - thousands of tons of earth (worms and all) and spat it out somewhere out of sight - displaced it and replaced it with a tunnal spattered with wet concrete vomited from a tube. In a few years ( years countable on one hand) , they promise, we will all be gleefully blurring by, the grey walls keeping all the pushing, moving earth at bay. The train will be fast- a speed that lends to passing glances and lightening thoughts. Too quick to think about dirt or worms. Too quick to think about what is moving underneath you. Maybe I will ride this fabled train of the future, maybe I won't. Walking will take much more time. More time to think and sing to myself.
Did you know there are people bleaching the dark spot out of their puckered assholes? Did you know that a laser can now whittle away a labia to look like a virginal lily? Did you know there is a woman who has had over 40 operations to turn herself into a cat? Yes, she married her plastic surgion. They don't work in the garden together, they work on her.
Okay, enough oddity and non-sequitors. This is supposed to be about Parlour Steps, I know, but the world is too fascinating right now to just dwell on some promotional dream batter about an abstract band of music makers. This is the churning, murmering realities that puddle under the paint of our music. These are the worms in our garden and they help us sprout the unfurling flowers of our records, of our live performances. Well, they do me anyway - the rest of the PSteps will find this a tad lofty, I'm sure. Tough. I possess the password to the blog.
This Monday, May 1st, we ply our sound waves into the Seattle air for the first time, playing El Corazon ( 109 Eastlake Ave. East, Seattle, tel. 206-262-0483) with locals Birds of Prey. Seattle has a heart beating loudly, nestled deep in a web of spun freeways.
The music feel good now - full and dense and hopeful. I'm trying to spend more time with my hands on my instruments and less time with my hands on this dirty keyboard.
If there wasn't struggle we wouldn't get to feel our muscles.
Challenge your better selves.
With Love,
Parlour Steps
Tragedy is when I fall down a well; comedy is when you fall down a well. This speaks to our seperation and our individual experiences, found of the same observed moments; our inherent narssacism; our competative cruelty.
The Weakerthans claim to have found the safest place to keep all our tenderness, keep all those bad ideas, and keep all our hope. It's there in the smallest bones, the feet and the inner ear. (It's such an enormous thing to walk and to listen).
They're tearing up Cambie Street near our homes- a huge monster of gears and hydrolics has eaten the soil - thousands of tons of earth (worms and all) and spat it out somewhere out of sight - displaced it and replaced it with a tunnal spattered with wet concrete vomited from a tube. In a few years ( years countable on one hand) , they promise, we will all be gleefully blurring by, the grey walls keeping all the pushing, moving earth at bay. The train will be fast- a speed that lends to passing glances and lightening thoughts. Too quick to think about dirt or worms. Too quick to think about what is moving underneath you. Maybe I will ride this fabled train of the future, maybe I won't. Walking will take much more time. More time to think and sing to myself.
Did you know there are people bleaching the dark spot out of their puckered assholes? Did you know that a laser can now whittle away a labia to look like a virginal lily? Did you know there is a woman who has had over 40 operations to turn herself into a cat? Yes, she married her plastic surgion. They don't work in the garden together, they work on her.
Okay, enough oddity and non-sequitors. This is supposed to be about Parlour Steps, I know, but the world is too fascinating right now to just dwell on some promotional dream batter about an abstract band of music makers. This is the churning, murmering realities that puddle under the paint of our music. These are the worms in our garden and they help us sprout the unfurling flowers of our records, of our live performances. Well, they do me anyway - the rest of the PSteps will find this a tad lofty, I'm sure. Tough. I possess the password to the blog.
This Monday, May 1st, we ply our sound waves into the Seattle air for the first time, playing El Corazon ( 109 Eastlake Ave. East, Seattle, tel. 206-262-0483) with locals Birds of Prey. Seattle has a heart beating loudly, nestled deep in a web of spun freeways.
The music feel good now - full and dense and hopeful. I'm trying to spend more time with my hands on my instruments and less time with my hands on this dirty keyboard.
If there wasn't struggle we wouldn't get to feel our muscles.
Challenge your better selves.
With Love,
Parlour Steps
posted by Parlour Steps @ 3:10 PM
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