Waterloo...

No worries, I'm not about to break out some Abba analysis (although it's happened here before). Waterloo Records, nestled downtown on Lamar near the intersection of Sixth, is an Austin institution and I'd venture one of the top ten best remaining independent record stores left among us. They've catered to changing times with iPod shuffle sampling stations, but the rest of the massive but overcrowded two-room layout is the way it's been for a long while: shelves and rows and more shelves full of the newest stuff right next to dusty boxes of old LPs and bins of constantly-arriving used discs. This is the kind of place where record signings still seem magical. This is the kind of place you'll leave with a smile on your face after you found some Sonic Youth in the dollar bin (this happened to me today). I am by no means anti-iTunes; in fact, the opposite is true. Without that thin white cord that connects my iPhone to my laptop, I'd feel like the sun wasn't shining brightly enough anymore. But at the same time I can never give up the dream of popping in a new album and finding something that will change my life. And that's a tactile experience.

This weekend I picked up the two albums below, both new material by artists that have carved out a little piece of my musical heart-space already. New songs punctuated my summer afternoon, and I couldn't have been happier. Josh Ritter's 6-song EP is very quiet, his signature somber-ness but without the crescendos his longer efforts usually offer; that said, his voice is like whiskey on the rocks to me, so that doesn't matter. Brandi Carlile's self-titled album came out right when I started grad school six years ago, so her voice is this iconic thing to me--so relatable in its confusion and sweetness that often I feel like it is just my voice. This newest album is more country and slightly more upbeat than previous stuff. She's a guilty pleasure of mine--I mean, she's kind of like the third Indigo Girl--but one I will shout from the rooftops.

"Oh, Virginia"

I couldn't help but post more about the band Native Run.  Since hearing them for the first time, I've gotten to know their album "Ten Mornings."  Their stuff is soaked in regional nostalgia that most indie rockers have lost sight of.  Stephen Kellogg has it--for Boston, for other places he has travelled--so it makes sense they they would tour together.  

Here is Native Run's "Virginia"--in my opinion, a song about the longing for a state that could give "Georgia on My Mind" a run for its metaphorical money.

recommendations at random

Tonight ends a week that flew by in a mad rush of obligations. Good ones, mind you. On Monday I went with my dad for a fly-by-night roadtrip back to Shreveport. I spent that evening at my best friend's house, surrounded by her babies, red wine (for us, not the babies), and a warm blanket. By Tuesday night, I was back here at home in Austin dealing with a technological crisis--the loss of my trusty laptop. My dad bought her (I think she was a her) for me back in the Spring of 2008, and since then she's been my constant companion--through the coffee binges of comprehensive exams, the perils of research, more of hours of procrastination that I'd care to count, and, lately, the tedious task of dissertation writing. Thanks to the Geek Squad at Best Buy, my documents are safe. And thanks to an amazing friend, I'll be back up and running soon. Friday I bid a weekend farewell to my sister, who jumped up to DC for a getaway weekend with the husband. And, yep, that left me as sole caretaker for an 11-month-old. Single parents everywhere, I want to buy you cookies. And hire you nannies. The little munchkin is my world, she lights up every second, never fail, but 4:55am wakeup calls wreck havoc on someone not used to rising much before 8am...umm...really ever.

Spending time at the house with her was comforting, though. I bummed around in old pajamas and performed a story-hour for her. We ate banana cookies and clapped a lot. In the evening after she went to bed, I caught up on book and music recs. And now I share them with you.

Alan Hollinghurst, The Line of Beauty--This novel repeatedly shows up on "top books of the last decade" lists, so I found a copy for six bucks at Half-Price (shout out!) on Lamar and gave it a go. The plot descriptions don't let on, but it's a coming-out story at its core--a witty, and often erotic (which is why the BBC rushed to make it into a mini-series), tale of a gay man society-jumping in Thatcher's Britain. All 1980s and coke references, part satire of wealth and part art history tutorial, the book is ultimately a cautionary tale. Love lust, but don't let it overtake you. Love beautiful things, but don't let them drive you. Enjoy yourself, but take care of yourself too. The language is efficient, sophisticated, sometimes clipped. Couldn't put it down, read by the light of a dim lamp one night as not to wake others...that hasn't happened in a long time.

The Weepies, album Say I am You--I stayed away from them at first, because they seemed WAY too much the new darlings of the indie crowd. But, alas, the buzz is correct. Soft voices, straightforward lyrics, the whole album feels like a lazy Sunday morning with coffee and crossword puzzles with a jilted lover. Weird, huh? Not if you're me. "No amount of coffee, no amount of time, no amount of whiskey, no amount of wine...nothing else will do. I've gotta have you." How can you beat that?

First Aid Kit--Teenaged sisters-singers from Sweden. I can't even properly describe how ethereal their music is. Listen to "Ghost Town" and "I Met up with the King"--better yet, watch the videos on youtube.

More soon.

xo

hanging out in the woods with The Decemberists

Again, huh? That's what roughly 60 percent of my close friends will ask after laying eyes on this post. Yes, again, The Decemberists beckon the dark, the dank and lovely, the haunting narratives of nineteenth-century history...and beckon me to them one more time as well.

I fell in love with Colin Meloy's voice during a walk in the woods in March of 2007. I used to go hiking at the State Botanical Gardens of Georgia, just on the outskirts of Athens along the Oconee* River, with a dear friend who always understood that I wanted to walk behind him. I took the band along with us in my earbuds. The dampness of the woods, the twisted turns of roots in the ground, the faint cackles of birds returning...it all seemed appropriate for Meloy's darkly lovesick vocals. On one particular occasion I managed to twist my ankle about halfway through the walk. Ashamed to admit how much pain I was actually in, I walked through it, wincing for a good mile before I fell prey to a good sit on a log. And the song "Red Right Ankle" cycled through the playlist in that instant. Seemed perfect. Felt perfect.

I have followed them through three tours now, the climax of which was their theatrical presentation of The Hazards of Love onstage at the Tabernacle in Atlanta. With that album, they made a rock opera for the indie crowd. Meloy is a lover, a coward, a hero, a gangster, a chimney sweep.

On January 8th, 2011, they'll unveil The King is Dead. In celebration of the upcoming release, they've offered a free download of a B-side called "Down by the Water" (featuring the haunting Gillian Welch, to note). Just go to their website (http://www.thedecemberists.com) to get it.

*correction courtesy...you know who you are