Still occasionally it’s ace being me. When folk don’t forget me. When folk link me. A trusted source suggests I may love Seattle’s Fear Kittens. They’re right. I do. Fear Kittens by Fear Kittens I mean, how couldn’t I? They remind me of (deep breath)… The Groceries, Ed’s Redeeming Qualities, Lesbo Pig, Maria And The Gay […]
It’s cold up here. Cold and scary. Not outside. Inside. Inside my head. Listening to music like this makes me feel better. I don’t often listen to music these days. Too dark. Too cold. Listening to music like this makes me feel better, sparks associations, make me think fleetingly of catching cabs through Manhattan drunk, […]
“I only fucked you as a joke!” sing the ladies in Seattle’s Childbirth. Ow.
This video disturbs me. There’s something quite WRONG about it.
Someone commented on Hot Fruit thus: “I love women who produce art for themselves and don’t ask for your approval. Women can be brave and rude and intelligent. Women can make you uncomfortable and they can set their own terms.”
This vaguely recalls many delights, but has a sunlit haze charm unique to one street in my Chosen City. Like a toddler walking sideways and falling over just because she can. Delicious.
I have no idea what people mean when they say I have a big head.
“Do you know how I know if a record of mine’s going to be a hit?” asked the label head rhetorically. “If Everett True is throwing up in my bathroom at the Rhiga at 3 a.m. during CMJ, it’s going to be a hit.”
Wow. She sounded incredible during the 90s.