New Usher, and godddayum it's hot stuff.
Lolloping with the fierce intensity of a panther on the prowl, this tune is fit and doesn't it bloody well know it. It's all about the sapphic for Usher this time around, with the essential premise being that if girls want to get down and dirty with him, they've got to be prepared to get down and dirty with each other. I'm absoutely loving the heavy beats of the bassline, highlighted by the dark, grimey shadows of the video, which traces Usher's latest conquest's introduction to his sex dungeon (to put it plainly).
For some reason music videos for songs about menage a trois really love hanging girls off monkey bars ...a not so discreet reference to the sexual playground available to those who come in threes.
Nicki Minaj of Young Money fame pops up to spit her pimping part, and my, does she have a classy turn of phrase:
"Excuse me little mama but you could say I'm on duty
I'm lookin for a cutie a real big ole' ghetto booty
I really like your kitty kat and if you let me touch her
I know you not a bluffer.. . I'll take you to go see Usher"
With badger striped hair like that, who could refuse?
The track is also structured around a reworking of the classic "Living For the City" by the legend himself, Stevie Wonder, a tune I'm afraid to say I hadn't heard before stumbling across Usher's efforts. Have a listen and see if you can match the two up
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog.
Wednesday 31 March 2010
Blog Me Baby One More Time
Should a “Bloggers Anonymous” exist, could someone reserve me a place at the next meeting? My name is Miranda, and I am a Blog-o-holic.
There is nothing which gives me greater pleasure than hours spent clicking and flicking through the scores of fashion blogs which litter the World Wide Web, from cutesy Chinese girlies peeping out from behind heart shaped glasses to long limbed Australian goddesses rocking some seriously distressed denim.
Standard.
Bloggers are the modern day technological answer to the French revolutionaries of the eighteenth century, except better dressed, obviously. Snatching the focus away from the latest Kate Bosworth ensemble, they’re ensuring a creeping democratisation of fashion with floods of advice and inspiration to the sartorially challenged on how to piece together an outfit so edgy it makes a triangle want to cry.
As well as reporting on the latest catwalk trends and making like mood boards with their vivid collages of current inspirations, the photos of their latest outfit worn to thrift vintage Versace backpacks from the local flea market are what make blogs so unbelievably moreish. It’s like being allowed to peep into someone’s diary with the detailed reasoning of why they’ve decided to fling together the American Apparel with the vintage lace, juxtaposed with artsy, blanched photography of desirable clothing, except that this diary belongs to an extremely fierce fashionista with a fine line in fat black wedges.
Hours of flicking have proved conclusive, and I think I have finally reached a successful conclusion to share with those who wish to take up the fashion blog mantle.
Step One: the artfully tousled locks.
Nearly every blog with hordes of followers to their name haven’t just mastered the art of constructing a fantastic outfit, they’ve also been given the key to that most longed for of secrets; an amazing mane of hair. Of the photos which comprise most bloggers’ posts nearly every picture features hanks of hair, normally dangling far past the shoulders on an unstoppable follicle march downwards, striped artfully with a delicious chocolate-y mix of caramel swirls and burnt toffee pieces.
Step 2: Know your pose.
This is probably the most crucial point of the blog. It doesn’t matter how many mega pixels your camera has, but if you can capture the oh-so-elusive angled pose which serves to make your legs appear the slimmest, your clothes hang most attractively and of course, help your hair look the biggest, you’re well on the way to achieving true fashion blog stardom. Poses which feature talking point backgrounds work better than your average brick wall are also a must -have; perhaps bringing in a small wizened man who serves to emphasise your beauty, or standing stock still amidst a whirl of commuters to juxtapose your flash of vivid colour against the block of black are good starting points.
To be honest, this snap is from a fashion shoot but I feel it is a fab example of how to work that camel.
Step 3: wear knee length socks. For reasons unknown to us mere mortals, it seems a pre-requisite for all bloggers that your legs must look amazing in some black cotton knee highs.
I think this pic from the amazing Christeric blog sums it up. Check her life out - warning, you may experience some severe envy
Follow these simple steps and I can guarantee that within mere minutes I will be clicking on your blog in an urge to quash this monstrous, insatiable urge from within.
***Apart from Christeric, photos have been pinched from the delectable Knightcat blog (a super cool blog which features amazing fashion bits and bobs as well as showcasing hot new bloganistas)***
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog.
There is nothing which gives me greater pleasure than hours spent clicking and flicking through the scores of fashion blogs which litter the World Wide Web, from cutesy Chinese girlies peeping out from behind heart shaped glasses to long limbed Australian goddesses rocking some seriously distressed denim.
Standard.
Bloggers are the modern day technological answer to the French revolutionaries of the eighteenth century, except better dressed, obviously. Snatching the focus away from the latest Kate Bosworth ensemble, they’re ensuring a creeping democratisation of fashion with floods of advice and inspiration to the sartorially challenged on how to piece together an outfit so edgy it makes a triangle want to cry.
As well as reporting on the latest catwalk trends and making like mood boards with their vivid collages of current inspirations, the photos of their latest outfit worn to thrift vintage Versace backpacks from the local flea market are what make blogs so unbelievably moreish. It’s like being allowed to peep into someone’s diary with the detailed reasoning of why they’ve decided to fling together the American Apparel with the vintage lace, juxtaposed with artsy, blanched photography of desirable clothing, except that this diary belongs to an extremely fierce fashionista with a fine line in fat black wedges.
Hours of flicking have proved conclusive, and I think I have finally reached a successful conclusion to share with those who wish to take up the fashion blog mantle.
Step One: the artfully tousled locks.
Nearly every blog with hordes of followers to their name haven’t just mastered the art of constructing a fantastic outfit, they’ve also been given the key to that most longed for of secrets; an amazing mane of hair. Of the photos which comprise most bloggers’ posts nearly every picture features hanks of hair, normally dangling far past the shoulders on an unstoppable follicle march downwards, striped artfully with a delicious chocolate-y mix of caramel swirls and burnt toffee pieces.
Step 2: Know your pose.
This is probably the most crucial point of the blog. It doesn’t matter how many mega pixels your camera has, but if you can capture the oh-so-elusive angled pose which serves to make your legs appear the slimmest, your clothes hang most attractively and of course, help your hair look the biggest, you’re well on the way to achieving true fashion blog stardom. Poses which feature talking point backgrounds work better than your average brick wall are also a must -have; perhaps bringing in a small wizened man who serves to emphasise your beauty, or standing stock still amidst a whirl of commuters to juxtapose your flash of vivid colour against the block of black are good starting points.
To be honest, this snap is from a fashion shoot but I feel it is a fab example of how to work that camel.
Step 3: wear knee length socks. For reasons unknown to us mere mortals, it seems a pre-requisite for all bloggers that your legs must look amazing in some black cotton knee highs.
I think this pic from the amazing Christeric blog sums it up. Check her life out - warning, you may experience some severe envy
Follow these simple steps and I can guarantee that within mere minutes I will be clicking on your blog in an urge to quash this monstrous, insatiable urge from within.
***Apart from Christeric, photos have been pinched from the delectable Knightcat blog (a super cool blog which features amazing fashion bits and bobs as well as showcasing hot new bloganistas)***
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog.
Saturday 27 March 2010
Musical Portrait
I’ve got an MA interview on Monday. Gulp. It’s loomed a bit like a spectre over this weekend, sending me into a slight panic as to my proficiency/wordiness/life skills in general. Aside from extremely complicated logistics navigating myself from deepest darkest Devon during the commuter witching hour to the deepest darkest part of East London, one of the things I’ve been asked to do is a pen portrait of someone who’s influenced me. Several chewed pens later and I think I’ve got it, though I’m not going to share it on the hyperspace of the interweb. Ha.
I am however going to share with you a “music portrait” of someone who, aside from demanding a mention on here, has been a guiding angel overflowing with music gems she occasionally lets fall from her grasp into my sweaty palms. I’m going to share a few of them here with you. Happy now Kathy?
Kathy very sweetly gave me her beautifully titled “I want some peace now please” Spotify playlist to help get through the arduous times that tend to comprise working in the university library, featuring the glorious Bon Iver in liberal amounts, the Postal Service and Simon and Garfunkel among others. However, in terms of sheer cheesiness melting into spine-tingling ballad-y goodness, you can’t get much better than Celine. In Las Vegas. Oh yes, I went there.
Let’s get washed away with some epic, blood curdling Quebecois hollering.
Continuing in this vein of divas bringing out the uplifting power ballad, I feel it’s an appropriate point to turn to the Queen herself, Madonna, in her slightly Gothic, late ‘90s, edgy phase.
Not only does this song feature on the aforementioned playlist, but it was also a soundtrack to my time well spent in France. Many an afternoon spent clutching a can of cidre and watching the sun drift hazily over the snow capped Alps were soundtracked by this haunting music. Lovely strings.
Of course, the musical portrait can’t be all slow and introspective. A moment spent with Kathy is a moment spent in roughly 1987, which is why The Cure had to be included. Massive thanks have to go to her for sharing this delicious little number with me; Robert Plant’s yowling vocals over the irresistible 80s beats makes for great times and I love the intensely melancholic video juxtaposed with the joie de vivre of the song. Put this on and guarantee a smile.
In no way is this meant to be a summary of what music Kat always listens to; rather its more what I can glean off her exhaustive list, which is probably why I’m going to finish things off on what I would consider a high and what she would consider a complete tune, even though it's not Kate Bush. It is, however, an amazing recipe for success. Take one boyband, add a banging drum machine and a breathy “break it down” bit and Bob’s your uncle.
As Kathy would say; “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s pretty immense.”
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog.
I am however going to share with you a “music portrait” of someone who, aside from demanding a mention on here, has been a guiding angel overflowing with music gems she occasionally lets fall from her grasp into my sweaty palms. I’m going to share a few of them here with you. Happy now Kathy?
Kathy very sweetly gave me her beautifully titled “I want some peace now please” Spotify playlist to help get through the arduous times that tend to comprise working in the university library, featuring the glorious Bon Iver in liberal amounts, the Postal Service and Simon and Garfunkel among others. However, in terms of sheer cheesiness melting into spine-tingling ballad-y goodness, you can’t get much better than Celine. In Las Vegas. Oh yes, I went there.
Let’s get washed away with some epic, blood curdling Quebecois hollering.
Continuing in this vein of divas bringing out the uplifting power ballad, I feel it’s an appropriate point to turn to the Queen herself, Madonna, in her slightly Gothic, late ‘90s, edgy phase.
Not only does this song feature on the aforementioned playlist, but it was also a soundtrack to my time well spent in France. Many an afternoon spent clutching a can of cidre and watching the sun drift hazily over the snow capped Alps were soundtracked by this haunting music. Lovely strings.
Of course, the musical portrait can’t be all slow and introspective. A moment spent with Kathy is a moment spent in roughly 1987, which is why The Cure had to be included. Massive thanks have to go to her for sharing this delicious little number with me; Robert Plant’s yowling vocals over the irresistible 80s beats makes for great times and I love the intensely melancholic video juxtaposed with the joie de vivre of the song. Put this on and guarantee a smile.
In no way is this meant to be a summary of what music Kat always listens to; rather its more what I can glean off her exhaustive list, which is probably why I’m going to finish things off on what I would consider a high and what she would consider a complete tune, even though it's not Kate Bush. It is, however, an amazing recipe for success. Take one boyband, add a banging drum machine and a breathy “break it down” bit and Bob’s your uncle.
As Kathy would say; “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s pretty immense.”
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog.
Friday 26 March 2010
Les Chansons D'Amour
The other night I was introduced to the broodingly sexy Louis Garrel by my most cosmopolitan friend.
Pwoargh.
Fair enough, the dress code may have been pyjamas rather than little gold dress, and the encounter through the blinking LCD laptop screen than in person, but his appearance at French film night has sparked yet another raging crush ( I’ll get over the fact he’s shacked up with Carla Bruni’s big sis and their African baby. Eventually). With liberal bowls of all things naughty and nice, accompanied by fragrant mugs of peppermint tea, the scene was set for Christophe Honoré's 2007 ode to
Not only are there a fair few frisky scenes as well as Garrel looking edible in midnight blue velvet, but the film makes like a more intense froggy version of Glee, with gorgeous Gallic wording taking the place of Hate on Me and a raw French sexuality that the candy-striped Americana of Schuster and co can’t touch.
A scene which struck a particular chord was, what else, but the close of the film, with Garrel swinging off a balcony with his little mate (watch the film) and luscious lyrics sprouting up all over the shop.
Don’t watch the clip if you don’t want to, but take heed that J’ai Cru Entendre (I thought I heard – thanks Leila Mate) features such divine lyrics as
Je suis beau, jeune et breton
Je sens la pluie, l'océan et les crêpes au citron
(I am handsome, young and Breton
I smell of the rain, the ocean, and lemon pancakes)
…and
Aimes moi moins, mais aimes moi longtemps
(Love me less, but love me longer)
So many things sound better in French, don’t you think? A perennial example being déchets, which means rubbish in English. Apologies for any potential dire translations.
I hope that a) I haven’t ruined the film for you and that b) your tastebuds are sufficiently intrigued to potter to your nearest library/rental/casual French friend and get a hold of this delight. It’s worth it for the Garrel cheekbones alone.
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog.
Tuesday 23 March 2010
Animal Collective
An ode to the immenseness of the top picture in all its jowly-smiley wonder is that it has , somewhat deliriously, lead me to present a collection of some adorable animal snapshots. Hopefully this blog won't disintegrate into a Hallmark-esque confection of bunnies in bonnets and bulldogs sprouting witticisms. However, there's always room for a few more smiling dogs (wearing fancy dress) juxtaposed with some sulky felines.
Still not sure about the unicorns.
Pictures either property of The Miranda or the offspring of the World Wide Web.
Still not sure about the unicorns.
Pictures either property of The Miranda or the offspring of the World Wide Web.
Sunday 21 March 2010
So sentimental
On a trawl through the beauteous pages of the Guardian’s music section online, up popped a cheeky interview with French rock gods Phoenix,who are not only enjoying a blaze of success with their latest album Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix AND as a well deserved Grammy, but are also apparently providing musical inspiration to under-tens across the world. They referenced this adorable video as “something that would bring a tear to the eye of a Nazi Officer.”
Je suis complètement d’accord.
Apparently also tweeted by Kylie (her opinion’s got to count for something), this YouTube bounty features a gaggle of elementary school children singing their little hearts out to Phoenix’s Lisztomania with more emphatic hand gestures and soaring melodies than all of Mariah Carey’s greatest hits. I wouldn’t say I’m normally in the habit of publishing the latest YouTube phenomenon but this is one deserved exception.
It’s a double whammy - I’m currently also loving this Holy Ghost! Loves Paris remix siphoned off an always fabulous Kitsuné remix compilation (number 2, fyi). Throbbing bass and dancing synths give it an almost Friendly Fires feel.
Read the rest of the interview here AND get 8 live tracks performed by Phoenix in Sydney completely free!! There’s nowt like a freebie.
On a completely, completely different note, I don’t think you could get any further from Phoenix and small school children than this next track.
Featuring all of the Young Money lot (aka my dream crew), and the immortal lyrics “Call me Mr Flintstone, I can make your bedrock”, it is SUCH a terrible song that it went right round the back of the scale of awfulness and bounced back out at amazing. Currently dominating that elusive half an hour in the Exeter clubs where they put on Rihanna, then Iyaz, followed by JLS, it’s also got Drake in it, which immediately makes it immense in my book. With a banterous video depicting a day-in-the-life of Young Money, crammed with strategically placed hotties, red phone boxes and the yummy Lloyd hiding behind a fridge, it’s as catchy as lice in a nursery. Just try and stop yourself jiggling about like a fool.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Je suis complètement d’accord.
Apparently also tweeted by Kylie (her opinion’s got to count for something), this YouTube bounty features a gaggle of elementary school children singing their little hearts out to Phoenix’s Lisztomania with more emphatic hand gestures and soaring melodies than all of Mariah Carey’s greatest hits. I wouldn’t say I’m normally in the habit of publishing the latest YouTube phenomenon but this is one deserved exception.
It’s a double whammy - I’m currently also loving this Holy Ghost! Loves Paris remix siphoned off an always fabulous Kitsuné remix compilation (number 2, fyi). Throbbing bass and dancing synths give it an almost Friendly Fires feel.
Read the rest of the interview here AND get 8 live tracks performed by Phoenix in Sydney completely free!! There’s nowt like a freebie.
On a completely, completely different note, I don’t think you could get any further from Phoenix and small school children than this next track.
Featuring all of the Young Money lot (aka my dream crew), and the immortal lyrics “Call me Mr Flintstone, I can make your bedrock”, it is SUCH a terrible song that it went right round the back of the scale of awfulness and bounced back out at amazing. Currently dominating that elusive half an hour in the Exeter clubs where they put on Rihanna, then Iyaz, followed by JLS, it’s also got Drake in it, which immediately makes it immense in my book. With a banterous video depicting a day-in-the-life of Young Money, crammed with strategically placed hotties, red phone boxes and the yummy Lloyd hiding behind a fridge, it’s as catchy as lice in a nursery. Just try and stop yourself jiggling about like a fool.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Thursday 18 March 2010
Sunday 14 March 2010
Kiddie Cocaine and that
Having spent a year learning the ins and out of the EU and composing intricate presentations on ‘the rural space” in France, it’s no wonder I’ve so keenly returned to the welcoming, interesting fold of a history degree.
The latest substance to come under my historical radar is Ritalin, or “kiddie cocaine” as it’s been nicknamed by some commentators. To be honest, I’m still a bit in shock about this one. A whopping 3 to 7 per cent of American children have been identified as being treated with Ritalin, equating to roughly about 2-5 million children who are on medication to keep their behaviour conforming to social standards. Ritalin is most commonly associated with the disorder it treats which ADHD, or Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, which can be identified in both children and adults in symptoms such as inattentiveness or impulsivity. Basically, if you don’t behave well enough in school, it’s reason enough to be sent to the doctor and filled up with pills.
What’s more, if you’re a boy you’re four times more likely to be diagnosed with it than your four year old female counterpart, most likely because you prefer crashing toy trucks and banging dinosaurs than playing tea parties and princesses. Bless them. No wonder some critics are naming the Ritalin phenomenon “the medicalisation of boyhood”.
Jizzing over my course, done. It’s onto the good stuff. As a seminar group we’re actively encouraged to find and bring music relating to whatever subject our topic touches on each week, such as Clapton’s Cocaine a few months ago or the banging Ebenezer Goode to celebrate the amphetamine movement (blogged previously, find it in the archives). Last week I typed, with some trepidation, Ritalin, and then ADHD into YouTube’s search engine, and was pleasantly surprised with the results the latter search threw up.
In the light of my reading, I’m not sure if Samsaya, an Indian-Norwegain pop princess, is an absolute genius or slightly insensitive in taking the next step in glamourising medical disorders. I’m wracking my brain to think of any other comparable musical ditty which has sexed up a biological psychiatric problem in such a way. If you think of any, do let me know.
(P to the S – skip the irrelevant first thirty seconds.)
On first look, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d stumbled across a Saturdays videos or some such. I think the visual aim is trying to replicate the chaos that can cloud an ADHD individual, shown here in the ker-azy make up clumping the dancers’ faces, the plates of cake and the conveniently placed small man. I'm not surprised she's displaying all the ADHD signs when she's clearly off her face with the hoardes of E numbers avaliable.
However, it’s the lyrics which tickle me the most. The general gist seems to be a bizarre melange of her appreciation of her own mental disorder slash telling some poor random bloke its never going to happen because of the ADHD; “the next curve and we’re through”. Overall it seems to be an apt summary of ADHD “See them talking so I act like I’m listening/Feeling strange like I know something’s missing/Day in day out I feel my mood slipping/On a fast track of constantly tripping.”
Signing off with the resonating “ADHD, I love you” pretty much sums up this whole extravaganza. Brilliant.
And finally, and because it’s Sunday, and because I can’t get enough, here’s more of the delectable Ellie Goulding with a lullaby to herald end-of-week sleeps.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blo
The latest substance to come under my historical radar is Ritalin, or “kiddie cocaine” as it’s been nicknamed by some commentators. To be honest, I’m still a bit in shock about this one. A whopping 3 to 7 per cent of American children have been identified as being treated with Ritalin, equating to roughly about 2-5 million children who are on medication to keep their behaviour conforming to social standards. Ritalin is most commonly associated with the disorder it treats which ADHD, or Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, which can be identified in both children and adults in symptoms such as inattentiveness or impulsivity. Basically, if you don’t behave well enough in school, it’s reason enough to be sent to the doctor and filled up with pills.
What’s more, if you’re a boy you’re four times more likely to be diagnosed with it than your four year old female counterpart, most likely because you prefer crashing toy trucks and banging dinosaurs than playing tea parties and princesses. Bless them. No wonder some critics are naming the Ritalin phenomenon “the medicalisation of boyhood”.
Jizzing over my course, done. It’s onto the good stuff. As a seminar group we’re actively encouraged to find and bring music relating to whatever subject our topic touches on each week, such as Clapton’s Cocaine a few months ago or the banging Ebenezer Goode to celebrate the amphetamine movement (blogged previously, find it in the archives). Last week I typed, with some trepidation, Ritalin, and then ADHD into YouTube’s search engine, and was pleasantly surprised with the results the latter search threw up.
In the light of my reading, I’m not sure if Samsaya, an Indian-Norwegain pop princess, is an absolute genius or slightly insensitive in taking the next step in glamourising medical disorders. I’m wracking my brain to think of any other comparable musical ditty which has sexed up a biological psychiatric problem in such a way. If you think of any, do let me know.
(P to the S – skip the irrelevant first thirty seconds.)
On first look, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d stumbled across a Saturdays videos or some such. I think the visual aim is trying to replicate the chaos that can cloud an ADHD individual, shown here in the ker-azy make up clumping the dancers’ faces, the plates of cake and the conveniently placed small man. I'm not surprised she's displaying all the ADHD signs when she's clearly off her face with the hoardes of E numbers avaliable.
However, it’s the lyrics which tickle me the most. The general gist seems to be a bizarre melange of her appreciation of her own mental disorder slash telling some poor random bloke its never going to happen because of the ADHD; “the next curve and we’re through”. Overall it seems to be an apt summary of ADHD “See them talking so I act like I’m listening/Feeling strange like I know something’s missing/Day in day out I feel my mood slipping/On a fast track of constantly tripping.”
Signing off with the resonating “ADHD, I love you” pretty much sums up this whole extravaganza. Brilliant.
And finally, and because it’s Sunday, and because I can’t get enough, here’s more of the delectable Ellie Goulding with a lullaby to herald end-of-week sleeps.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blo
Thursday 11 March 2010
She spoke words that would melt in your hand, she spoke words of wisdom
You know the sinking feeling you get when it’s the end of your birthday or you’re back on the bus to the airport post holiday? I can’t seem to shake a slight sense of pessimism. My Bristol gig-going has stumbled to a halt and it’s time to stop burying my head in the sand and pretend like 10,000 words are going to write themselves. However, a bright ray of light was provided this morning by the visit of our Royal Monarch Elizabeth II and her hunk of a hubby, Prince Philip, who briefly shook Exeter out of its sleepy Thursday morning stupor in a flurry of gleaming Range Rovers and royal waves.
Our sovereign. God save the Queen.
It’s been a solid week. Four completely different acts crammed in over the space of 6 days; from the lushness of Passion Pit, to dirrrty remixes of Tinie Tempah by Utah Saints (swiftly moving on from the disappointment of Scratch Perverts), via mini mosh and MC-ing with Hadouken and signed off with a flourish in the form of new obsession, Two Door Cinema Club.
TDCC (for typing’s sake) are hotter than a hot dog being served up in blazing August heat; the 3 baby faced Bangor lads were snapped up by crème de la crème French label Kitsuné and have just released their debut album Tourist History to much critical acclaim and much spotify rotation. Their delicious blend of gleeful electropop featuring skittering guitar melodies and angelic vocals makes their music oh so moreish. I couldn’t bloody wait for them to take to the stage at the Thekla on Tuesday night.
First off, however, the buzzing crowd were treated to The Citadels, a London based group and slight Arcade Fire soundalikes who aren’t afraid of veering into “kooky” territory. I very much appreciated the keyboardist’s beautiful marine sequinned jacket.
Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/citadelsmusic
Now onto the good stuff. What can I say? Time flew by in a whirl of energy and vibrance eked out from frantically strung guitars, inciting mosh pit mayhem. Lead singer Alex Trimble’s delicate voice hung in the air as the guitarist and bassist kept up a thunderous melody of song; with the latter literally bounding off the walls as the other performed some adorable Busted-esque hops in his shadowy corner.
Glorious or what?
A-dorable
The album is an absolute treat and they sound a thousand times better live; test your tastebuds with the arching, slightly mournful This Is The Life.
Or….the carousing Come Back Home.
I got a serious case of “Man on Stage” syndrome. It happens to the best of us. And in this case the lucky recipient was none other than said boy band impersonator, guitarist Sam who charmed the socks off me with his slightly weak on stage banter and much twiddling of his knobs (lolz). Syndrome unabated I marched straight up to him post gig and a slightly one sided conversation ensued, following the classic opener “you dance like you’re in Busted.” I managed to get onto the subject of festivals and although he wasn’t at liberty to reveal any more than the fact they would be playing at Oxegen and T in the Park festivals, I can probably exclusively reveal that they will definitely NOT be playing Beach Break Live. Actually, this is 100 per cent for sure. Sam hadn’t even heard of it.
Our mate Sam with two of his adoring fans, Oli and Woz
In other news, they will also be participating in what must be my dream spring 2010 line up; a French tour supporting the gods that are Phoenix which takes a pitstop in my old Alpine stomping ground of Grenoble. Obviously I took the opportunity to liberally inform the poor sod of all the local tourist must-visits, including the grottiest Erasmus populated bar known to man, London Pub. Speaking of Phoenix, this song was played in that half an hour aural equivalent to no man’s land in the awkward space between support act and main band; words cannot describe to you my joy on hearing this, a song I’ve been trying to put a name to for years. You’ll probably recognise it from the Scar-Jo fest that was Lost in Translation; a warming, adorable ditty that demands to be put on repeat.
Twitter also provided this wee delight for me earlier; an adorable cover of the I Can Talk video made by consummate professionals.
Compare and contrast with the original:
There's nowt much more to say than that I'm bursting for festival season like a small child needs the toilet, and when I’ve finally got enough pennies they’re all going straight towards a precious Beach Break Ticket with a line up that looks set to rock the Welsh coastline to its rocky core; including the likes of the elusive Ellie Goulding and Chase and Status
See you down the front.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Our sovereign. God save the Queen.
It’s been a solid week. Four completely different acts crammed in over the space of 6 days; from the lushness of Passion Pit, to dirrrty remixes of Tinie Tempah by Utah Saints (swiftly moving on from the disappointment of Scratch Perverts), via mini mosh and MC-ing with Hadouken and signed off with a flourish in the form of new obsession, Two Door Cinema Club.
TDCC (for typing’s sake) are hotter than a hot dog being served up in blazing August heat; the 3 baby faced Bangor lads were snapped up by crème de la crème French label Kitsuné and have just released their debut album Tourist History to much critical acclaim and much spotify rotation. Their delicious blend of gleeful electropop featuring skittering guitar melodies and angelic vocals makes their music oh so moreish. I couldn’t bloody wait for them to take to the stage at the Thekla on Tuesday night.
First off, however, the buzzing crowd were treated to The Citadels, a London based group and slight Arcade Fire soundalikes who aren’t afraid of veering into “kooky” territory. I very much appreciated the keyboardist’s beautiful marine sequinned jacket.
Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/citadelsmusic
Now onto the good stuff. What can I say? Time flew by in a whirl of energy and vibrance eked out from frantically strung guitars, inciting mosh pit mayhem. Lead singer Alex Trimble’s delicate voice hung in the air as the guitarist and bassist kept up a thunderous melody of song; with the latter literally bounding off the walls as the other performed some adorable Busted-esque hops in his shadowy corner.
Glorious or what?
A-dorable
The album is an absolute treat and they sound a thousand times better live; test your tastebuds with the arching, slightly mournful This Is The Life.
Or….the carousing Come Back Home.
I got a serious case of “Man on Stage” syndrome. It happens to the best of us. And in this case the lucky recipient was none other than said boy band impersonator, guitarist Sam who charmed the socks off me with his slightly weak on stage banter and much twiddling of his knobs (lolz). Syndrome unabated I marched straight up to him post gig and a slightly one sided conversation ensued, following the classic opener “you dance like you’re in Busted.” I managed to get onto the subject of festivals and although he wasn’t at liberty to reveal any more than the fact they would be playing at Oxegen and T in the Park festivals, I can probably exclusively reveal that they will definitely NOT be playing Beach Break Live. Actually, this is 100 per cent for sure. Sam hadn’t even heard of it.
Our mate Sam with two of his adoring fans, Oli and Woz
In other news, they will also be participating in what must be my dream spring 2010 line up; a French tour supporting the gods that are Phoenix which takes a pitstop in my old Alpine stomping ground of Grenoble. Obviously I took the opportunity to liberally inform the poor sod of all the local tourist must-visits, including the grottiest Erasmus populated bar known to man, London Pub. Speaking of Phoenix, this song was played in that half an hour aural equivalent to no man’s land in the awkward space between support act and main band; words cannot describe to you my joy on hearing this, a song I’ve been trying to put a name to for years. You’ll probably recognise it from the Scar-Jo fest that was Lost in Translation; a warming, adorable ditty that demands to be put on repeat.
Twitter also provided this wee delight for me earlier; an adorable cover of the I Can Talk video made by consummate professionals.
Compare and contrast with the original:
There's nowt much more to say than that I'm bursting for festival season like a small child needs the toilet, and when I’ve finally got enough pennies they’re all going straight towards a precious Beach Break Ticket with a line up that looks set to rock the Welsh coastline to its rocky core; including the likes of the elusive Ellie Goulding and Chase and Status
See you down the front.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Tuesday 9 March 2010
Mid Afternoon Indulgence
Oh dear.
You can tell I've got a mound of work piling up; more time is spent than ever rooting out new must-listens/watchs and currently Trey Songz (snazzy name eh?) is topping my chart.
There is probably no better accompaniment to researching lacquer cabinets of the seventeenth century than this; soulful, languorous, chillaxed. It's an easy listen and is soaked up by my side of the brain willing for a break from lists of Chinese porcelain.
Video's not half bad either; the combination of beach shots, sun and Trey's washboard abs will have you wishing for hotter climes within seconds.
It also clearly is a catalyst for inspiring romantic sentiments of the greatest clarity; comments below the video ranged from the complex outpouring...
"i like dis song cuz it reminds me of me on da way i need a grl da loves me fo who i am n so much mo n i found dat grl who shows me all dis so Carolyn dis is a dedication 2 u cuz i feel dat u make me feel like dat most wonderful guy in da world n wit out u mami i ain't nothin o nobody. I LOVE YOU PRINCESS WIT ALL MY HRT FOREVER N EVA. *MUAH*
<3"
to the simple...
"i luv u ur rlly hot n sexii".
Defs agree with the latter.
Songz is quite the master at the melodic. Missing You was first introduced to me by the most metropolitan Canadian I know, and thrums with sensual cool. Lovely.
Enough of all the R'n'B posturing; I'm off oop Bristol way to get an earful and eyeful of other must-listens, Two Door Cinema Club. Pics and review to follow soon. Happy Tuesday.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
You can tell I've got a mound of work piling up; more time is spent than ever rooting out new must-listens/watchs and currently Trey Songz (snazzy name eh?) is topping my chart.
There is probably no better accompaniment to researching lacquer cabinets of the seventeenth century than this; soulful, languorous, chillaxed. It's an easy listen and is soaked up by my side of the brain willing for a break from lists of Chinese porcelain.
Video's not half bad either; the combination of beach shots, sun and Trey's washboard abs will have you wishing for hotter climes within seconds.
It also clearly is a catalyst for inspiring romantic sentiments of the greatest clarity; comments below the video ranged from the complex outpouring...
"i like dis song cuz it reminds me of me on da way i need a grl da loves me fo who i am n so much mo n i found dat grl who shows me all dis so Carolyn dis is a dedication 2 u cuz i feel dat u make me feel like dat most wonderful guy in da world n wit out u mami i ain't nothin o nobody. I LOVE YOU PRINCESS WIT ALL MY HRT FOREVER N EVA. *MUAH*
<3"
to the simple...
"i luv u ur rlly hot n sexii".
Defs agree with the latter.
Songz is quite the master at the melodic. Missing You was first introduced to me by the most metropolitan Canadian I know, and thrums with sensual cool. Lovely.
Enough of all the R'n'B posturing; I'm off oop Bristol way to get an earful and eyeful of other must-listens, Two Door Cinema Club. Pics and review to follow soon. Happy Tuesday.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Monday 8 March 2010
We love WAS
Managed to wangle a cheeky ticket to Hadouken down at the student union tonight; circumstances happened as follows - went to basketball, played basketball (still massively retarded in the lay up department), came back from basketball and what should be glinting in the late evening dusk but a crisp ticket for the show tonight. There was no one around looking for it, and karma dictates that since I a) accidentally bought 2 tickets for Scratch Perverts on Friday and b) couldn't see Hadouken during their last Exeter stop over due to a nasty bout of binge-induced 'flu, my conscience was very clear as I pocketed the ticket. Sorry if it was yours. Hadouken rocked my leopard print pumps off; stood next to a delicately moshing 14 year old boy who sent me straight back to my years rampaging around in front of All American Rejects and the like.
ANYWAY.
Just popped onto the web before getting down to some seminar reading (hiya 9am) and this little gem greeted me. YAY WE ARE SCIENTISTS ARE BACK . YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!
I can't really describe just how much I love these guys, not only musically but also because their sense of humour tickles my funny bone like no other, perhaps best shown in the epic Chick Lit, where Brokeback Mountain meets Crufts. Due to the reticence of the record company to allow embeddding, and my slightly retarded IT skills, check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIyLWDhxXoQ
New song, ker-razy vid; lots of flashing lights, abstract arty bits and loads of head-swappage
Keith's badger-striped barnet is a thing of beauty to behold and my slightly questionable crush on bassist Chris Cain continues to flounder on
Enjoy
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
ANYWAY.
Just popped onto the web before getting down to some seminar reading (hiya 9am) and this little gem greeted me. YAY WE ARE SCIENTISTS ARE BACK . YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!
I can't really describe just how much I love these guys, not only musically but also because their sense of humour tickles my funny bone like no other, perhaps best shown in the epic Chick Lit, where Brokeback Mountain meets Crufts. Due to the reticence of the record company to allow embeddding, and my slightly retarded IT skills, check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIyLWDhxXoQ
New song, ker-razy vid; lots of flashing lights, abstract arty bits and loads of head-swappage
Keith's badger-striped barnet is a thing of beauty to behold and my slightly questionable crush on bassist Chris Cain continues to flounder on
Enjoy
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Sunday 7 March 2010
My ears are blown to bits from all the rifle hits but I still crave that sound
Experts in the satirising of their own enduring East Coast preppy-ness, Vampire Weekend have pushed the good vibe on from the rampant alley action of Cousins and the pottering continuity of Oxford Comma, to come up trumps with Giving Up the Gun. Burning tennis rackets and a gurning Jake Gyllehaal: this is how music videos need to be.
The premise focuses on an indoor tennis match with a redhead clad in a natty polo shirt and skirt combo seeing off competition from luminary cameos such as Joe Jonas and Jake Gyllenhaal, in front of the equally well dressed Vampire Weekend. RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan acts as umpire, Lil’ John is originally cast as a francophone coach resplendent in boater and grills. If Tom Ford did Wimbledon I’m sure he’d be looking here for inspiration.
Giving Up the Gun reads like 5 minutes and 4 seconds of a sleek sports advert; clean lines, cool colours and some pretty banging ball action. Even if the star cameo pisstakes don’t keep your eyes glued to the action, the deliciously coordinated fusion of red, white and blue makes for design heaven. The lingering camera draws you into the variety of flickering emotions traced through the shots; a puff of pride here, a sulky scowl there.
Of course, the music is divine; a mismash of classic Vampire Weekend qualities. Delicate vocals tiptoe across thundering percussion with cheeky chimes picked out here and there, and the visual accentuation of Ezra Koenig in a pillar box red headband only adds to the fun.
A brief run down of the pit of passion from Wednesday night at the Bristol Academy (which must be applauded as one of the few venues which give the most punters possible fab stage views). Having seen the ‘Pit in action for now the second time, I’m not surprised they lulled me into a pear cider-tinged nap. It was like being fed melon balls whilst having a hot, scented Jacuzzi and; a relaxing and refreshing musical experience which seemed to flash by in the toss of the lead singer’s Jewfro. The amount of musical instruments and bits and pieces crowding the stage made it seem more like a gig taking place in a church hall jumble sale than anything else, and the apt abilities of each band member at switching from synths to guitar or drum machine was astounding, as well as lead singer Michael Angelakos’s trilling vocals consitently hitting the spot. Particular highlights; Little Secrets “higher and higher’ raising the roof whilst the “oh no’s” of The Reeling rang across the Academy. Sleepyhead was a wall of ebbing sound. Please see this band if you ever get the chance; your ears will only thank you for it.
Post gig (and post 40 minute wait to retrieve battered parka from the cloakroom), I managed to catch up with bassist and self confessed “ginger ‘tard’ Jeff Apruzzese hanging about outside amongst the clutter of chuntering fifteen year olds. Having just hollered to him in baritone Lancastrian tones that the gig had been ‘WELL GOOD” from across the Academy it was nice to congratulate him at a normal level, grab a goon-tastic photo with Woz and also get his view on Ellie Goulding dropping out, something it seemed had lead to a considerable amount of worry among the Passion Pitters that no one would turn up if she wasn’t playing. Quite the opposite was the case, I can assure you! Chat turned to the wonders of Twitter, with Jeff proving to be a bit pizzled off that Ellie Goulding’s manager had tried to tempt me to her Alan Carr filming and away from the Bristol show. However, he perked up when he revealed that the band have begun using the chat site as a rustic tour guide to each city they rock up in; a brief request for some Banksy art in Bristol or “good record stores” in Manchester leads to inudations of recommendations from devoted followers and hey presto, top travel tips at their fingers!
Passion Pit’s genius had been revealed to me by my own guru of all things musical, the Jeffmix podcast, with a early 2009 episode featuring this snazzy remix of “Sleepyhead” by The Knocks. Ebullient and rousing, it’s a bit of a party banger. Apologies for the crude accompanying video.
Bed and hot chocolate calling. Hope you had a bobby dazzler of a weekend.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
The premise focuses on an indoor tennis match with a redhead clad in a natty polo shirt and skirt combo seeing off competition from luminary cameos such as Joe Jonas and Jake Gyllenhaal, in front of the equally well dressed Vampire Weekend. RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan acts as umpire, Lil’ John is originally cast as a francophone coach resplendent in boater and grills. If Tom Ford did Wimbledon I’m sure he’d be looking here for inspiration.
Giving Up the Gun reads like 5 minutes and 4 seconds of a sleek sports advert; clean lines, cool colours and some pretty banging ball action. Even if the star cameo pisstakes don’t keep your eyes glued to the action, the deliciously coordinated fusion of red, white and blue makes for design heaven. The lingering camera draws you into the variety of flickering emotions traced through the shots; a puff of pride here, a sulky scowl there.
Of course, the music is divine; a mismash of classic Vampire Weekend qualities. Delicate vocals tiptoe across thundering percussion with cheeky chimes picked out here and there, and the visual accentuation of Ezra Koenig in a pillar box red headband only adds to the fun.
A brief run down of the pit of passion from Wednesday night at the Bristol Academy (which must be applauded as one of the few venues which give the most punters possible fab stage views). Having seen the ‘Pit in action for now the second time, I’m not surprised they lulled me into a pear cider-tinged nap. It was like being fed melon balls whilst having a hot, scented Jacuzzi and; a relaxing and refreshing musical experience which seemed to flash by in the toss of the lead singer’s Jewfro. The amount of musical instruments and bits and pieces crowding the stage made it seem more like a gig taking place in a church hall jumble sale than anything else, and the apt abilities of each band member at switching from synths to guitar or drum machine was astounding, as well as lead singer Michael Angelakos’s trilling vocals consitently hitting the spot. Particular highlights; Little Secrets “higher and higher’ raising the roof whilst the “oh no’s” of The Reeling rang across the Academy. Sleepyhead was a wall of ebbing sound. Please see this band if you ever get the chance; your ears will only thank you for it.
Post gig (and post 40 minute wait to retrieve battered parka from the cloakroom), I managed to catch up with bassist and self confessed “ginger ‘tard’ Jeff Apruzzese hanging about outside amongst the clutter of chuntering fifteen year olds. Having just hollered to him in baritone Lancastrian tones that the gig had been ‘WELL GOOD” from across the Academy it was nice to congratulate him at a normal level, grab a goon-tastic photo with Woz and also get his view on Ellie Goulding dropping out, something it seemed had lead to a considerable amount of worry among the Passion Pitters that no one would turn up if she wasn’t playing. Quite the opposite was the case, I can assure you! Chat turned to the wonders of Twitter, with Jeff proving to be a bit pizzled off that Ellie Goulding’s manager had tried to tempt me to her Alan Carr filming and away from the Bristol show. However, he perked up when he revealed that the band have begun using the chat site as a rustic tour guide to each city they rock up in; a brief request for some Banksy art in Bristol or “good record stores” in Manchester leads to inudations of recommendations from devoted followers and hey presto, top travel tips at their fingers!Passion Pit’s genius had been revealed to me by my own guru of all things musical, the Jeffmix podcast, with a early 2009 episode featuring this snazzy remix of “Sleepyhead” by The Knocks. Ebullient and rousing, it’s a bit of a party banger. Apologies for the crude accompanying video.
Bed and hot chocolate calling. Hope you had a bobby dazzler of a weekend.
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Monday 1 March 2010
The smattered colours of ecstatic fright
Happy St David’s Day!! Leeks and dragons and sheep oh my!
Beams of straggling sunlight peeking through the gaps in my curtains this morning made it seem like the first proper day of spring today, putting a bounce in my step and instilling some form of motivation after a week grumping about with tonsillitis. Running out in the fragrant fresh with clouds floating aimlessly across an azure sky made me think of this; probably the most underrated dance choon of the early Noughties.
To be honest, I’ve been trying to find an excuse to post this since the dawn of my blogging time. It’s a firm stayer in my Top 25 most played and has accompanied me down powdered pistes, floated across crystal Canadian lakes and boomed out of rickety Rabotian balconies.
However, I digress.
I’m off to see Passion Pit, purveyors of musical goodness, in Brizzle on Wednesday night, cueing the past week spent “warming up” with their epic album “Manners”. Thing is, I’ve already seen them at the heatwave that was Glastonbury this summer, but since “seeing them’ consisted more of passing out to them outside the John Peel Tent, it’s pretty much essential that I enjoy them again. Actually being conscious this time would be a massive plus as well.
Passion Pit are a delightful mashup of aural goodness, resonating with some chunky percussion, swirled about with vibrant electo and dusted off with some admirably high pitched vocals. They are American, yes, but seem to be blessed with a sweetly genuine demeanour and not so much blustering bravado as one might find with other cross-pond successes.
Top tracks off of the album? You must have already heard of “Sleepyhead”, the carousing, multi layered affair summing up the band’s abilty. Check out the stripped down piano version here.
Or if you fancy, Ellie Goulding and Starsmith have done a natty little electro-y cover featuring Goulding’s always amazing vocals.
I’m not going to lie. I’m actually in a bit of a mood with Ellie Goulding at the moment. Musically, I’ve been blown out. Twitter was alight with moans and whinges yesterday as she announced:
“I'm so sorry and I'm so gutted that I've had to cancel the Bristol date with passion pit to do a tv thing. I'm genuinely so sorry :( :(“
The TV thing? Alan Carr, appazas. No words.
She then went on to offer her flat as a potential venue for gutted fans. Forget the rescheduling , I think I need a hotline. It’s a bit like being told not to drink again; all you want is an ice cold gin and tonic or ten.
Consequently I then went straight to spotify and spent the next hour masochistically replaying Starry-eyed, like the absolute goon I am. I need to get a bloody life.
Ok. Enough is enough. Back to Passion Pit.
Please relish these two little beauties; let their sheer genius roll around your eardrums and seep into your subconscious and I will let you know if they were as amazing as they sound post passion frenzy. Try and make out the lyrics if you possibly can, there's some little gems squeezed about just crying to become blog post titles. Ahem
Little Secrets: A proper goer; smashingly good drums and some buzzy electro makes for a win win situation.
Swimming in The Flood slowly builds into languorous loveliness. Lip smackingly good.
ONE MORE THING!!! You cannot progress any further with your life without hearing this. A collision of goodness as Passion Pit pose as their producing alter-egos, The Wet Bandits" and give Two Door Cinema Club's "Undercover Martyn" a thorough overhaul, Passion style. Gleeful is probably the most apt description for this treasure. Apologies for the dire quality....
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
Beams of straggling sunlight peeking through the gaps in my curtains this morning made it seem like the first proper day of spring today, putting a bounce in my step and instilling some form of motivation after a week grumping about with tonsillitis. Running out in the fragrant fresh with clouds floating aimlessly across an azure sky made me think of this; probably the most underrated dance choon of the early Noughties.
To be honest, I’ve been trying to find an excuse to post this since the dawn of my blogging time. It’s a firm stayer in my Top 25 most played and has accompanied me down powdered pistes, floated across crystal Canadian lakes and boomed out of rickety Rabotian balconies.
However, I digress.
I’m off to see Passion Pit, purveyors of musical goodness, in Brizzle on Wednesday night, cueing the past week spent “warming up” with their epic album “Manners”. Thing is, I’ve already seen them at the heatwave that was Glastonbury this summer, but since “seeing them’ consisted more of passing out to them outside the John Peel Tent, it’s pretty much essential that I enjoy them again. Actually being conscious this time would be a massive plus as well.
Passion Pit are a delightful mashup of aural goodness, resonating with some chunky percussion, swirled about with vibrant electo and dusted off with some admirably high pitched vocals. They are American, yes, but seem to be blessed with a sweetly genuine demeanour and not so much blustering bravado as one might find with other cross-pond successes.
Top tracks off of the album? You must have already heard of “Sleepyhead”, the carousing, multi layered affair summing up the band’s abilty. Check out the stripped down piano version here.
Or if you fancy, Ellie Goulding and Starsmith have done a natty little electro-y cover featuring Goulding’s always amazing vocals.
I’m not going to lie. I’m actually in a bit of a mood with Ellie Goulding at the moment. Musically, I’ve been blown out. Twitter was alight with moans and whinges yesterday as she announced:
“I'm so sorry and I'm so gutted that I've had to cancel the Bristol date with passion pit to do a tv thing. I'm genuinely so sorry :( :(“
The TV thing? Alan Carr, appazas. No words.
She then went on to offer her flat as a potential venue for gutted fans. Forget the rescheduling , I think I need a hotline. It’s a bit like being told not to drink again; all you want is an ice cold gin and tonic or ten.
Consequently I then went straight to spotify and spent the next hour masochistically replaying Starry-eyed, like the absolute goon I am. I need to get a bloody life.
Ok. Enough is enough. Back to Passion Pit.
Please relish these two little beauties; let their sheer genius roll around your eardrums and seep into your subconscious and I will let you know if they were as amazing as they sound post passion frenzy. Try and make out the lyrics if you possibly can, there's some little gems squeezed about just crying to become blog post titles. Ahem
Little Secrets: A proper goer; smashingly good drums and some buzzy electro makes for a win win situation.
Swimming in The Flood slowly builds into languorous loveliness. Lip smackingly good.
ONE MORE THING!!! You cannot progress any further with your life without hearing this. A collision of goodness as Passion Pit pose as their producing alter-egos, The Wet Bandits" and give Two Door Cinema Club's "Undercover Martyn" a thorough overhaul, Passion style. Gleeful is probably the most apt description for this treasure. Apologies for the dire quality....
© Miranda Thompson 2010
DISCLAIMER: The video links hosted on my blog are not being presented as my own. If you believe that the copyright in your work has been violated through this post, please contact me through the blog
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