About a year ago, Creent had this great idea to hide out in the gap between the cubicle wall and the actual wall and then scare the snot out of Dainon when he rolled in at his typically late 9:15 or so. We even got ready to do it once but Dainon delivered the surprise by showing up at the un-Dainon-ly hour of 8:45.
Today, however, things went off without a hitch. Clint brought the ninja mask. I rolled with the (what else?) luchador. And Melanee manned the camera. Notice that Dainon spotted the camera but his spidey sense obviously didn't kick in.
The reaction isn't otherworldly, but I'm loving the shake and the under-his-breath expletives. And don't miss Clint's diabolical cackle.
Oh yeah, and I have no clue why Dainon smells his scarf. No clue.
UPDATE: Creent grabbed a few stills from the video. I am a dork. A frightening dork, but still...
A humongous thank-you to D for making my afternoon with this clip:
Yeah, I know that D already posted it. And I know that it comes via Pitchfork. But I don't care. I'm breaking blogger rules and posting it anyway. It's just that good.
A while back, I caught Badly Drawn Boy at the Urban Lounge here in SLC. The opening act was a Londoner named Adem who I rather enjoyed. He had some nice eyeglasses and I promised that my next pair would closely resemble his. He also sang a wonderful cover of the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows". It's likely that I made a mental note to look up his stuff at a later date.
But mental notes are only mental notes and Adem never quite made it to the top of my check-this-artist-out-later pile. Until today. Kakie reminded me of one of my favorite television ads of the past two/three years. I did a little quick research to track down the singer(s) responsible for the too-cool rendition of "Walk the Line". Results: Adem Ilhan (same guy as above) sings the male version. Megan Wyler (who apparently hasn't released any music anywhere) takes care of the female version.
Of course, I went on an .mp3 search. I'm typically good at this stuff. But there's nothing. Neither Adem's version nor Ms. Wyler's is anywhere to be found in all of cyberspace. At least not in the parts I care to access.
But I did find this, a YouTube clip of the song (and some others...watch as much as you like) that got me interested in this Adem fellow in the first place. So everything is circles. And I'm a bit happier now than I was this morning.
Some of you know that I've adopted a daily uniform. Hoodie, Levi's jeans, t-shirt, sneakers. Every single day. Last week, Kyality dropped a tip on the gnarliest hoodie ever invented. It's the capstone, the crown jewel to my already somewhat impressive collection of hooded sweatshirts. So...
I need to find THIS in a Men's L. If you look closely, the hood zips all the way upto your eyes—it's a built-in ninja mask.
Help me find it. Leave links in the comments or something. Please.
I've made changes. I don't know if I like them. We'll see how long they/I last. If you've an opinion, you could probably sound off in the comments (and you could also probably undertake a healthy mental self-examination that starts with the question, "Why do I have an opinion about the visual appeal of the generally rubbish upto12 blahg?"). Let's move on, then.
Of late, I've felt more 31 than ever. And there are only a couple things that seem positive about feeling more 31 than ever. One of them: "The Sunset Tree" by the Mountain Goats. I know, I'm behind the curve again (duh); it's been out for a few years now. In my defense however, the album's been securely lodged in my iTunes for at least 6 months (at least!). But over the last month, wow, John Darnielle's masterpiece has been the soundtrack of too many too-late nights at the office and the utterly depressing feeling attached to walking down the back stairwell into the dark (even if it's only 6:00pm) parking lot and trudging toward a car that is the only remaining blemish on a now-spotless grid. Dramatic, eh? I don't apologize.
All that said, John Darnielle manages to construct an album that sounds and feels (to me, anyway) like being 31. Yes, I know "The Sunset Tree" is all about abusive, alcoholic, dysfunctional families and strained relationships. But I'm not talking about lyrics or words or symbols here. I'm talking about the way a song feels when its rhythms and twists and turns stick in your head. As strange as it seems for a writer to admit, I don't listen to lyrics much. I'm not a word-obsessed academic. Truth is, I don't care much at all for words themselves. But I do love the sounds they make, the beats they create and the stops and runs they forge in a song. And, despite (or because of...) the fact that his vocal inflections make take some getting used to, I don't know that anyone can match the lyrical rhythm of John Darnielle and his Mountain Goats records.
I suppose there's a solid endorsement here somewhere, a "go out and buy this record!" or something. But I'm also willing to admit that this sort of album may only be suited for 31-year-olds who are feeling more 31 than ever. And that's just all right. Someday you'll be 31 and "The Sunset Tree" will be waiting.
Yesterday, Kyality was acting all sorts of fishy. He wouldn't say what was up. But I knew he was causing trouble. Mid-afternoon rolled around and he called with a one-sentence command: Be at Struck at 7:00pm on the dot.
I'm a blindly obedient soul, so I arrived at the studio at 6:54 without asking a single question. What followed was likely one of the greatest sports-related evenings of my life. Courtside seats at the Energy Solutions Arena for the Jazz v. Cavs game. And by courtside, I mean COURT-SIDE. As in sitting on the floor right next to the team. Jazz coach Jerry Sloan was less than 4 feet away and spent plenty of time waving his arms dangerously close to my recently busted beak (not to mention the time spent with his hindquarters equally dangerously close to that same beak). This also means that LeBron James was often within whispering distance (yeah, I told him what time it was...) and I had a view unlike any other I may ever experience again. Anyway, a HUGE gracias goes out to Jeff Wright at Struck (the cool cat sitting dead center in the photo below) who owns such ridiculous basketball real estate and was willing to share with a friend/client. Some more photographic evidence (most courtesy of Kyality's iPhone):
The new season of Austin City Limits kicked off last weekend with (what else?) another practically perfect set from Wilco. This time, Jeff Tweedy and the fellas occupied the whole hour and delivered the goods — a comprehensive set of SKY BLUE SKY tracks and a few oldies (Too Far Apart, anyone?) to round things out.
I'd post a YouTube clip or something, but apparently the Capitol of Texas Public Communications Council is all about protecting copyrighted material. Any and all clips have been banished. Maybe someday ACL episodes will be available on iTunes or something. We can dream, right? For now, if you want to watch it—come over to my house. I've got it safely tucked away on the DVR...
Up next week: Arcade Fire. Rumor has it megaphones will be violently smashed in next Saturday's installment, so you now have every reason to tune in.
We've been over this before. There's no excuse for a delinquent blogger. As a small token of repentance and as an attempt at explanation... Here's what I've been upto for the last month or so:
I think this is more important than it probably is... but couldn't something like this completely alter the music video landscape (or what's left of it, anyway)?
The day after the recently chronicled adventure at Red Rocks, Kyality, Mrs. Kyality and Mrs. upto12 all made their way back to the Salt Lake valley. I, on the other hand, had some business to attend to in the heart of Denver. The National (along with startlingly awesome opener St. Vincent) were in town for the night and — seeing as Alligator and Boxer are two of my top 10 albums of the last five years — there was no way I could miss out. It only took 45 seconds to scalp my three extra tickets (at face value, of course...) and I was parked right up front in the historic venue. The Ogden is a nice place, the kind of place Salt Lake could use. Probably a touch smaller than the Depot and much, much classier than In the Venue or the pitiful Urban Lounge. If you care to know, Feist and the Swell Season will be there on back-to-back nights sometime in November.
At any rate, the crowd was energetic, yet polite — my type of people — and Annie Clark (St. Vincent) got things rolling with beats built for a dance party and a boatload of guitar antics. I was unsettled by her performance. She's such an unassuming performer...not in a hundred year would you guess that such a demure, soft-spoken (and, yes, pretty) girl would knock your socks of with bass and manic guitar licks all mashed up and sprinkled with a voice as powerful as any you'll hear in a while. But the surprise was not unwelcome. By the end of her set, I was a believer. And I wasn't alone. This late in the game, there's little to say about the National. Critics love 'em. Hipsters call their latest albums "growers," but I disagree completely. The songs of the National instantly find their way under my skin. It's an immediate addiction. It started with Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers, evolved with Alligator and, now, with Boxer, I'm a fullblown junkie looking for a daily fix. I can't get enough of Matt Berninger's baritone lyrical fits and repetitions. This confession renders any objective review of the show unnecessary and invalid. I loved it. The band warmed up quickly and delivered a non-stop set that rarely strayed from the better-known tracks found on the last two albums.
A madman nearly destroyed a violin. The drummer looked more Muppet (Animal, even, how perfect is that?) than human. And I brought home a few bits and pieces for the stalwarts, the remaining 14 upto12 readers (you're dropping like flies at this point and I don't blame you). Start a War
I've been buying tickets like ice cream sandwiches this summer. The National? I'll take four. White Stripes? Two floor, two on the 4th row (all canceled). Arcade Fire at Red Rocks? That's near Denver, right? Four, please. Arcade Fire again in my backyard? Duh. Four more. All this reckless spending has landed me in some hot water with Mrs. upto12 (who runs at tight ship at upto12 headquarters).
That said, the Red Rocks adventure was worth every penny. A quick Southwest flight, a cheap motel room and a $4 pretzel landed us in relatively prime seats at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre just before 7pm. After everything I'd heard, I was scared to be disappointed, but the venue lives up to the hype (much like the Gorge...). And Denver's quickly climbing my "I-could-definitely-live-here" charts. With the National playing the following night, I was happy to stick around for an extra day and browse some modern furniture shops before catching a few innings of a Rockies-Dodgers day game.
Readers: Stop fretting. I've heard you loud and clear. Due to the outrageous length of my Wilco post and because of the backlog of things I need to cover here, I'll end now and hope that my inadequate photography and videography paint a better picture than my inadequate (and long-winded) writing.
Kyality, upto12, Mrs. upto12: The view:LCD Soundsystem:The Fire: The crowd, the rocks: Kyality and Mrs. Kyality: Intervention (missed the first 15 seconds...): Wake Up (wow, just wow):
To the Concert-Going Public of Utah County (especially the pack of yaks — male and female — near the stage who groped, pushed, punched, tugged and generally violated every concept of reasonable crowd behavior):
By some stroke of sheer ridiculosity, Arcade Fire and LCD Soundsystem bring their traveling magnificence to Lehi, UT today. Yup, you heard right. The Waterfall Amphitheatre at Thanksgiving Point (just a three-minute walk from my place of employment) will host the summer's most fantastic show.
Having seen this lineup at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre just a week ago, I have no problem commanding anyone without a ticket to go purchase one, immediately. Unlike the $36 you spent on that Dave Matthews Band t-shirt, you will never regret this.
A couple pictures and the coolest non-official Arcade Fire video I've ever seen:
Files (songs, vids, etc.) found on this site are for sampling purposes only. Support the artists, directors, authors you adore—purchase their work. If you'd like something removed from the site, let me know. I'll take it down, quick-like.
