Monday, January 26, 2009

Flare into the whirr of the snack machine, muted screams of an old regime...

Andrew Bird reminds me of someone who's real fussy about his terrarium or one of those people who leaves behind an unpublished 1000-page illustrated children's story when they die. So whimsical and yet, so tightly wound. And oh, with the whistling. I can never get into a full album but I like songs, such as "Fitz and the Dizzyspells," which I think is the name of a street gang in The Last Mimzy. Because of his new album, this guy's been all over the music podcasts to which I subscribe and I finally broke down and listened to said song when it was the KEXP song of the day.

This podcast thing is new and wondrous to me, and the music podcasts have really pointed me in some new directions (like Mt. Eerie and Mates of State). But on the other hand: seriously, I'm just getting into podcasts now? I feel like someone's out-of-touch dad sometimes. "Hey, you hear about this Netflix thing? Movies, right to your mailbox. Amazing! What a country!"* Not my dad, though, My dad's fucking with it.

*The chance of that last part being said goes up significantly if your dad is Yakov Smirnoff. And he had only recently heard of Netflix.


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