"In Heaven There Is No Beer."
When my DexH Dave and I went to see the Polkaholics live, they would often change the lyrics to:
and when we are gone from here Dave will be drinking all our beer
'Trash'
There's a lady plays her fav'rite records/On the jukebox ev'ry day/All day long she plays the same old songs/And she believes the things that they say/She sings along with all the saddest songs/And she believes the stories are real/She lets the music dictate the way that she feels.
"In Heaven There Is No Beer."
When my DexH Dave and I went to see the Polkaholics live, they would often change the lyrics to:
and when we are gone from here Dave will be drinking all our beer
The Times online has a podcast with Nick Drake's sister. I haven't listened to it yet but I figured that there might be some interesting here.
The Times online has a podcast with Nick Drake's sister. I haven't listened to it yet but I figured that there might be some interesting here.
Just a reminder, this is Nick Drake's sister Gabrielle.
Fantastic, thanks!
Good stuff. I was just rewriting a section about Joe Boyd yesterday.
A little something for bon bon: [link]
That is the 1980s in one take. Awse!
I am going to see what seems like a very Buffista band, the Horrors, tonight at the Abby pub. From the Reader:
Horrors
The closest thing I had to a starstruck moment at this year's SXSW was seeing the Horrors walking packlike down Sixth Street in the middle of the day. I've met and hung out with musicians I admire more without feeling that way, possibly because most of what I listen to is made by people who dress pretty much like everyone I know. The Horrors, on the other hand, seem to reject the idea of street clothes entirely. Even on a sweltering Texas afternoon they still dress like a gang of Victorian dandies who've somehow discovered early Motley Crue—or, as I've heard them described more succinctly, "like a bunch of gay vampires." They probably work harder on their outfits than on their music, but that's OK. Rock 'n' roll doesn't have to be much more than a handful of gnarly blues progressions for me to like it—and last year's self-titled EP and this year's Strange House (Stolen Transmission) both sound like the Cramps and Alien Sex Fiend in a sweaty, gasping dog pile. Schoolyard Heroes and the Goldstars open.
My friend C, the biggest Cramps fan I know, played me their album this weekend, and it was insanely catchy. I haven't been going to any shows lately - just not feeling like it - but I have the day off Friday, so I figured what the hell.
Village Voice on Glenn Mercer and The Feelies: [link]