February 26, 2012
Porches “Scrap And Love Songs Revisited”

"July 16th, 2:19 PM, Lady Asks Us For A Head Shop In Pleasantville, Outside Dragon Fly Cafe…"

Lying on couches in the august golden sun with a girl already gone. If we were smoking, it would shimmer. A hazy memory. Songs & pieces of words can make sentimental images. A nostalgic presence bursts—beers on sunlit roof & on porches. “Scraps And Love Songs Revisited” sitting on the cold ground in the morning sun, with headphones, listen & seeing two red cardinals. If I still smoked cigarettes, now would be a good time. Life is too short the water & the dirt become mud.

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February 26, 2012
Screaming Females “It All Means Nothing”

"I’m on a mission to smash the mirror."

The Judgement of Reflection And The Perceived Value (“It All Means Nothing”)

All shredded into the broken glass & spread out. “Do I like this song?” Show me what you’re worth (“A broken hand”).  Sometimes, this song sounds like a thousand shards of glass being thrown around — if only so that the singer can show she can stand in it. “I want to buy everything that you sell.” It’s as if she doesn’t always want you to hear everything she is saying. She twists words around words, bending her voice to be close to incomprehensible at one moment, and then a phrase sticks out & into you, gone before you know. 

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February 26, 2012
Useless Eaters “The Moves”

Trying really hard to be hard. Like electronic, known & automated. Not “auto”-matic. Fading into sun set, maybe it never started. “Take Some Action,” he says but I don’t know how much he means it “you got the moves,” yeah, you got the moves, You Got The Look, I don’t know, man. 

Live show had the energy, moves, but had to keep pressed against the wall because who knows what else is out there? Scared? Heavy garage. Out the door, sneaking, dark nights, “it’s getting hard to be more realistic because everybody is so futuristic.” Yes, but then should we just keep our selves in a box because it is easier to understand, or what? Rejected, stoned & dethroned, fast times.

February 26, 2012
Mikal Cronin “Mikal Cronin”

Things falling apart, slowly and barely noticeable, but once you notice, clearly, indefinably slipping away until its in pieces, in different times, splitting, but without disrupting the play until it all dissolves into laughter. Oh, comedy & fun, where have you gone running off to and why can’t you sit down and talk with sadness more often, with tragedy and just get along? Humor can be slight and draw you in closer. “Is it all right?” Alright. 

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