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[dustedmagazine]

Connections — Midnight Run (Anyway)

<a href=“http://connectionsband.bandcamp.com/album/midnight-run-2”>Midnight Run by Connections</a>

Two years after the excellent Into Sixes, Columbus Ohio’s Connections bash and pop again, kicking out a fuzz-crusted mess of deeply felt, ear-wormy songs. Guided by Voices is the easy reference (Columbus and all), its influence heard in rackety anthems and Tobin Sprout-ish acoustic wistfulness, but listen past the dissonance and you’ll catch intimations of Big Star, Teenage Fanclub, the Kinks and the Mats as well. This is the kind of record that hardly anyone is making anymore, open-hearted and bristling with melody, aspiring to nothing and everything. We don’t listen to the radio anymore, most of us, but these are the kinds of tunes that came crackling with static out of portable sets and car audio systems, heard by accident over and over until they came to stand in for a time and place that was disappearing even as we looked at it.

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[angrybangry]

Hey cool!

[angrybangry]

Your artists are still alive now.

Remember when Neil Young played the BBC and was like ‘this is a new one’ then did ‘Old Man’? Of course you do not. We know it now because of the BBC Crown Jewels youtube.com channel. You weren’t there. I wasn’t there. No one was there, except those cute, staid, 1971 people. 

Imagine yourself there, sitting in front of a weird New World boy with long hair and a severe brow. He decides this new song he’s written is ready to perform on an international stage. Imagine that! This twenny somethin’ fella, ready to put his big feeling out there, and here you are, a mope in the audience. 

He’ll die, you think (would you think?): Yeah, one day, he’ll be gone. But I’m here right now, I have this now. How monumental. But - it’s nothing now, it’s just a little ditty. Then; there was no doubled vocal, there was no plinky banjo track from an even younger chanteur. It was just there, and it is just now, and you are just there.

That made you. When his voice swelled and you felt it behind your knees. You were cemented then. Now, then, he dies. 

You didn’t know him. He never turned to you in quiet simpatico and said: ‘this mother fucker,’ talking about a loud offender at a party. Dude never begged your help moving house or, when he toured, handed you directions for his cat care. He sang to you. That’s that. It is nothing.

Then, he died. You remember, and hard. Then struggle. There was just never a day that went by in which you did not think about him. Nary a shower passed that didn’t contain a melody, if only hummed to keep the water out of your nose, which belonged to the newly dead. Every morning, aware of your acne and swollen gums, your poor mouth health, your neglected sexual maintenance, your disastrous mental clarity, the little ditty that wrangled all of your failures will still be there. That song that made you exists, in perpetuity. 

I didn’t know him. Not in the slightest. But I knew me through him. 

[angrybangry]

[angrybangry]

ain't posted in ferrvr

[angrybangry]

Had an amazing, eye opening time at Nepenthia. I can't recommend it enough.

[angrybangry]

Panos from New Haven and Oxford, CT. Thank you Tumbr for hosting panoramic format.

[angrybangry]

Panos of the shit show aftermath. Lots of broken Dark Lords because ppl would set the full cartons down on the wet ground, then pick them up and the glue would fail. Plenty of S.O.L. beer nerbs. Also, I didn't litter once. There were empty bottles of the worlds most rare shit alllllllllllllllllllllll over the ground, the tables and chairs, the port-o-pots, the gutters, the grass by the road leading up to he brewery. . It's tough to exaggerate, even. Thanks for the ticket, John Geiger, you awesome person, you.

[angrybangry]

Well, got that badge on my beer nerd sash.

[bestreasonstowriterecordreviews]

BEST REASON TO WRITE A FUCKIN’ RECORD REVIEW TODAY!

✩ipps  Fake Tape  (self-released DL - 2014)✩

Yet another fab detonation of Arch City paisley reich ballistix: six wuzzy and rusted horseshit viking earschplittenloudenboomers sliding down a punk psych slope during the last days of summer. And look above: it sez they’ve a vinyl long player due next month! Let’s try to get out of bed for that one, shall we?  Very nice trippy quadruple exposure pic by Danielle Petrosa too, which we lifted from ipps’ Facebook page without permission. Yr thick, I’m thick, we all scream for icepicks. Looking forward to more.

Superdreamer Records of Columbus, Ohio

The visual trips of Danielle Petrosa

[angrybangry]

kool pics via Anthony Allman

[steelforbrains]

Looking at Steve Albini’s resume as a recording engineer isn’t just impressive. It’s intimidating. It isn’t so much that Albini’s Electrial Audio studios in Chicago has been home to a staggering number of recordings as it is the fact that the quality of those bands and artists is damn near...

[angrybangry]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzUEL7vw60U

My pops loved this song, especially cos that giant reverby snare smash. He also liked 'Life in the Fast Lane,' but that can be forgiven because he liked it for to air guitar the Joe Walsh riff. He would jam Beatles songs on the acoustic for us on summer porch nights like this. At work he would listen to Rush Limbaugh instead of NPR, and I was like 'Dad, what the eff?" He said it was because NPR repeated stories throughout the day and he liked to read through the lines instead of hearing the same stuff over and over. He voted for Jesse Jackson. When I was a kid I pestered him for years to play me in pool and when he finally caved I was like 'ok, you break.' I didn't even get to shoot. He loved my mom so much; when we were kids we hung a sign over the couch that said 'No noodling on the couch.' That sounds dirtier than I remember. He had so much love that it was infectious that all his kids and grandkids have so much love to give. He loved watching 'Top Gun' with the stereo on blast for the sounds of the jet engines. He slept thru the rest. He was an o.g. season ticket holder for the Crew, he loved soccer and the drama of the World Cup - I'm sure it was the intensity he craved, because he used to yell "INTENSITY!" when my club games got cold and morale was down. He could do this incredibly loud whistle that sounded like "O'Shaughnessyyy" that meant it was time to come home or come find him in a crowd. He bought me the drum kit I still play. I thought he let me slack off like a bozo for years but he actually taught me more in my questionable 20s than I learned in ever and would probably be proud I retained as much as I did. He was sarcastic and skeptical and made me question things, but never handed me answers. There was a dictionary on a pedestal at home that he would send us to when we asked what a word meant. I'm sure all those times when I was grounded and said I was going to the library he let me go even though he knew I was going to hang out with friends - if only because SOMETHING had to make it into my brain if I was at a freakin library. He didn't like when things weren't set up the way he set them up - and he usually set them up correctly (enough). He interviewed for a job in NYC at IBM in the 70s. He knew every single driving shortcut in town and could figure out any city we drove to like he lived there for years. He couldn't stand bad drivers or unpredictable cyclists. One time we went to Notre Dame for a football game and he realized he forgot the tickets when we were halfway to South Bend. He used to cuss like this: "god damn ssON OF A BIIIITCHHHH!' if he stubbed his toe. When I fucked up or got arrested he wouldn't cuss. He just had this look that shrunk me. He bailed me out like my boat was made of swiss cheese. He would point out landmarks everywhere. Like freaking everywhere. He knew everybody he met like they grew up together, and he remembered every person he came across - names and all. He did crosswords every day. All day. He smoked Vantages (yuck), even after he quit when my lung went and would sneak them at work. Except, when I dug out a corduroy coat he wore at Notre Dame in the late 60s there was an unopened pack of Lucky Strikes. He was great at his job and people in his industry admired him - but when it came down to the time he needed his own services he hadn't even given himself a second of thought. That last great joke, the blacksmith only has wooden spoons. He refused to advertise except for in church bulletins and on matchbooks given the tastelessness of advertising for his line of work - and also cos it was a waste of money and he didn't make all that much. He would think it was corny and insincere of me to post this on this inane, human relationship killing website rather than telling him in writing or in person. He was really funny and had impeccable timing. His favorite movie was 'Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.' He would fall asleep in his chair while the burgers were on the grill and he had a cig between his fingers, which was the best time to ask permission to go out with friends. He looked the other way when I barfed up two Burger King cheeseburgers because I was too stoned when he picked us up from skating one night and the car he drove then gave me motion sickness - he just told me to clean it up. He took a permanent snoozer in July '07. His cells couldn't bear to send signals to each other and the electrical charge left his body. While his corporeal form is in a hole in the ground off South High street in Ohio on Earth, that electrical energy has been dispersed throughout all of us and will never fade and will continue forever and eternally. I had a good one.

[angrybangry]

[alltherecords-blog]

I logically assumed that this album would be music by the woman on the cover, however when I flipped it over, it looks like the music is by two guys. I’m going to read the essay by Dick “Blues Boy” Rosenthal after I hear a few songs. Let’s press play!

Okay, so I was right. This is not blues,...

[angrybangry]

Wikkid awesome.

[still-single]

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