Monday, November 30, 2009
Electric Eye: A Chat with Ross Halfin
To make a splendid photographer, there has to be an element of trust between the subject and the photographer. Ross Halfin has it in ten-folds. Beginning with landmark British publications like Sounds, Melody Maker, and NME in the Seventies, Ross has since grown into a giant of his field. His list of photographic conquests is extensive, but it includes regular sessions with Jimmy Page, Aerosmith, Jeff Beck, and the Who. Ross has also gained a bit of notoriety for penning a titillatingly frank diary, documenting his everyday life and work. As such, he has obtained a reputation as a brutally honest, no-nonsense kind of guy. Getting to know him, he is also revealed to be an incredibly kind, generous, and intelligent man. After all, taking a chance on an inexperienced journalist and treating her to a dazzling evening is generous, is it not? (He introduced me to Jimmy Page, for fuck's sake.) After sitting in on a photoshoot that he did with Chris Cornell of Soundgarden/Audioslave fame with a cameo by Slash, we commenced our conversation on the patio at the Sunset Marquis. He was gracious, interesting, and of course, honest.To begin with, what impresses you, in general?
Nothing musically. Well I enjoy shooting someone like Chris Cornell who pays attention to what you ask him, and Slash. They know and they appreciate what I do for them, and I like them as people. I've known them a long time. And I see people like Chris Cornell, who has been through a lot, and he still has a very good sense of humor about it. I find that impressive. A lot of musicians don't have a sense of humor about themselves. Since the business has got more corporate, everyone takes it far too seriously. You know, at the end of the day, it's only about someone playing a piece of wood with strings attached. When you look at what goes on in the world, and really, its bullshit. So generally, I like dealing with people who respect what you do. Like Jeff Beck does, and Jimmy Page moans about it all the time, but I think he does in the long run. People like Chris Cornell do.
Who doesn't?
Um, a lot of American acts. Mostly American acts take themselves far too seriously. Since the age of the internet, particularly my website seems to upset a lot of people. Half the things I'm saying are tongue-in-cheek, and half are serious. A lot of people don't work with me purely over my website, but it shows you how shallow and pathetic they really are. If you read my website and you take it literally, you know, it shows you have no education, I think.
Would you say it's an accurate depiction of whom you are writing about though?
Yeah! I think my website is toned down! If actually wrote the truth, I wouldn't be able to work at all. Now everyone says to me, "Why don't you do a book?" People only want to read extreme fawning, or they want to read dirt in a book. If I wrote the truth, people wouldn't believe it -- because fans don't want to believe it. They have this kind of fake idea of who people are. Also, I would just be cut off completely. I have a hard enough time as it is! You know, I quite enjoyed Ginger Baker's book [Hellraiser, John Blake Publishing], but it was like memoirs of a grumpy old man. That's why I wanted to have it signed because I thought he'd die soon, and it'd be nice to have a signed book. The beginning of the book is really good, but then the later part -- all he's interested in is which cars he had and who he slept with.
You were talking about how your website gets you in trouble...
You make a joke, and the problem is, people cut and paste it and take it as literal fact. It goes everywhere, that's the problem with the internet.
Your website, specifically your diary, has helped make your name a bit well-known. Was the point of your website to amp your profile? If not, what is your motive behind the diary -- if any?
In this day and age, to sell photos.
So did you get into photography because you loved music?
Yes. I was an art college student, getting a Bachelor's art degree and I hated it, because it was full of Americans. I have a particular hatred for modern art, like Jackson Pollock. I went to art college and I thought it was rubbish! I became a photographer because I was a big Who fan. I'd see pictures of the Who and I'd think, "I can take a better picture than that." And that was what I did. I basically dropped out of art college, worked in a guitar store selling guitars, and I used to go to concerts and just take cameras in. Basically, I became a photographer like that. In a nutshell.
What is it that you loved about music that drew you into photography?
Just when you're young, when you're teenager, you think that's all that matters. I'd go and see the Who and think that was really what counted in the world -- which isn't, of course, true. But at the time, you really believe that, and you think that's of world importance. There was this thing that was "Name your top ten albums" and Pete Makowski over there said to me, "You should think about what you liked when you were sixteen, because when you were sixteen, you really thought that was important. You believed it was as important as life." At the time, I really loved the Who, I loved Led Zeppelin, the Faces -- they were like the Oasis of their day. I loved Mott the Hoople, Deep Purple, Nazareth, all those sorts of bands. I shot the punk scene, which was hugely overrated. Basically, a lot of it was rubbish. There were only two great bands and that was probably the Pistols and the Clash. It was just average. I listen to a far wider range of music now than I did when I was young. I like listening to soundtracks, which I would never listen to when I was young. My favorite soundtrack is The Thin Red Line or The Man Who Wasn't There. Both of them are very dark.
Who scored them?
I can't remember who did The Man Who Wasn't There, it was a friend of Billy Bob Thorton. [Carter Burwell.] Hans Zimmer was nominated for an Oscar for The Thin Red Line.
You helped start up Kerrang!, which remains a massive publication. Was that sort of thing ever an aspiration for you, and does it have any high regard to you now?
Its rubbish. It has no regard to me now. I think its embarrassing now, it's a child's magazine. I don't care about it, and at the time, really... They would pay me twice as much for a color picture as a black and white. But you know, I used to enjoy the bands at the time like UFO, Aerosmith, and Rush, all those sort of bands. But what it morphed into, when you start adding later bands like Gallows... No.
Right. I'm not into remotely new music at all, which is probably why I haven't gotten into Soundgarden.
Well you should go and play Soundgarden, Badmotorfinger. And even those last three Soundgarden albums are great. My favorite song is on The Basketball Diaries album, which is called "Blind Dogs."
So would you say you actively pursue rock photography or did you just kind of fall into it?
Fell into it, that's what I ended up doing when I left college. I was actually a painter originally.
How old were you when all of that started happening?
When I became eighteen and nineteen, not when I was fourteen. Like, Neil Zlozower -- he's a photographer, he was like fourteen. But he's slightly older than me.
When you see a band now -- whether it be an act you've seen plenty of times, or someone new -- do you find yourself floored by a live performance?
Yeah, but its been a long time since I saw a new band that I think are great. I think the Kings of Leon are great, I like them a lot. But actual brand new bands? I don't really see many. I don't really go to clubs. Why do I want to go to a club full of sixteen year olds? So I haven't seen a brand new band that I thought were amazing for years.
Then what bands that aren't brand new are still prominent live?
I like the Mars Volta a lot, I think they're very interesting as a band. I think they take it elsewhere, and they're really good, and I like working with them.
But I'm saying... Old people, come on!
Jeff Beck, Chris Cornell if you classify him as an old person, Mott the Hoople I think were amazing recently, Kings of Leon, Aerosmith are good when they're together -- without saying too much [laughs]. I saw Depeche Mode a few years ago, I'd never seen them, and I was surprised by how good they were. Rammstein, I really like live, just as a visual thing for entertainment. KISS, I enjoy as long as you aren't expecting too much and don't take it seriously, it's actually very enjoyable. I'll tell you who are great, Prodigy. They're amazing live.
What was the last album you listened to in its entirety?
Steve Miller, I bought an album called Rock Love, I can't work out whether it's a bootleg or not. One side is live and one side is studio, it's from '70, I think. [1971.] I thought that was really good for the time, I played it the other night all the way through -- twice!
What are your top five favorite albums of all time?
The Who, Live at Leeds; Led Zeppelin II; Badmotorfinger, Soundgarden; The Thin Red Line soundtrack... Its hard because the albums you really like you don't play all the time, because you're sick of them, you've heard them too much. But when you hear them, you really like them.
Right. Its like your favorite song, you can only listen to it so often, or it would lose that splendor.
Splendor, right. That's the word. Who's Next, I'd have to include in that. Loudon Wainwright III, Album II; The Who, Live at Leeds; Who's Next; Led Zeppelin II; The Thin Red Line. That's five. [Earlier I had asked Ross what one deceased person he would like to meet, but he couldn't conjure up an answer.] But if I could, not meet, but photograph someone is who is dead... I'd either like to do Jimi Hendrix, which is a bit obvious, or Jeff Buckley.
Where is your favorite place in the world?
I like Asia a lot, like Cambodia, Laos, Bali -- I like those places, I like the atmosphere and the light, and its very exotic. Strangely, I was talking to an Australian, and they don't find Asia exotic at all! They all want to come to Europe, and they find Europe exotic. The only thing wrong with America, I used to find it exciting, but the thing that is truly wrong with it is that you can go from Hawaii to Puerto Rico to Miami, and it all looks the same. Its the same shops, the same coffee shops, the same restaurants, the same stores. When you went to Hawaii in the early Eighties, when I went, it was really exotic. And now, it could be anywhere. Whereas you go to Asia, and they're all completely different cultures. I find that nice, and I like it because its warm, and I grew up in the damp climate.
What are you listening to currently?
Steve Miller CD. "Megalomania", Black Sabbath, which I think is an underrated track.
What is your favorite book?
The Book Thief, Markus Zusak; Diary of a Rock and Roll Star, Ian Hunter -- one of the best rock books written; The Dark Stuff, Nick Kent -- for his chapter on the Rolling Stones; Shipwrecks, Akira Yoshimura; An Iliad: A Story Of War and Silk although the film version is awful [both by Alessandro Baricco]; Chroma, Derek Jarman.
What were your aspirations as a young man?
To travel, which I've done. I think, you know, when you look at whether what I do is good or bad, at least I've traveled. And I think travel is a great thing. Its like when you travel on a plane, and people want to close the windows. I like the windows open, because you're seeing the world as you would never see it. That's why I really like Asia, because it's really hot, you've got these wonderful thunder clouds. You've got this really powerful light coming through. The sky is quite electric looking, which I rather like.
What goals do you have for yourself now?
I would actually love to retire from music photography and just shoot travel.
You can't do that?
Not to make a living, I still have to make a living. If I was wealthy enough, I wouldn't care if I never shot another band again.
But when you were talking earlier about getting into it because you love music...
Well, you know, when I haven't done it for a while, I enjoy it. Kings of Leon, I enjoy. The Mars Volta, I enjoy. I enjoyed doing Chris Cornell.
Did you not enjoy Aerosmith? [Ross recently shot Aerosmith in Abu Dhabi.]
I do enjoy Aerosmith, I don't enjoy the politics of Aerosmith. Let's put it that way. And there's a lot of politics in Aerosmith. The politics of Aerosmith are annoying.
You seem adamant that in the general scheme of things music isn't important. What is important to you?
When I was younger I was told by a teacher that you get BORED of music. I didn't think it could be true. It is... Maybe it's my job. Important, the last light of the day. Daylight is important.
Is there anyone you wish you would've known, or known better?
That's a good question. Uh...
You said earlier that you would shoot Jimi Hendrix.
Nah, only because I didn't. Nah, I don't care whether I shot Jimi Hendrix. I was wrong saying that.
[In an email, Ross' final answer was "Elvis in the 50's or Gong Li now."]
You've said The Who Christmas Show was the best show you've ever seen. So what's the worst show you've ever seen?
I once saw Genesis with Peter Gabriel, in the day. I thought, "This will never happen." That was probably one of the worst, I just didn't get it.
Yeah, that's when they were wearing masks and stuff? I was asked the other day if I've ever gotten into that, and no, that has never intrigued me at all.
Yeah, never intrigued me in the slightest.
Is there any band whom you feel you can always get good shots of?
Chris Cornell, he always looks good. The Mars Volta always look good to me. Joe Perry looks good, when he looks great, he looks really great.
Really? He is one of the people who I saw and thought, "You don't look as good in person."
Oh no, okay. That was probably wrong then. I think someone like Rod Stewart always looks like a rock star. The problem with a lot of bands now is that they don't have it. They could be anyone.
So you don't have a favorite, most pleasant, always photogenic subject?
Well, I like bands for different reasons. Like the Black Crowes, a lot of people don't like them. I get on with them because I like them as people.
Then is this easier? Who has been the absolute worst, biggest mess of a subject?
Well, a lot of bands when they get older, it's never their fault they look old. It's yours. They blame you for the picture. Particularly women, because once they go past a certain point, they become... You know, one thing I don't like in American magazines, I have nothing against retouching, but it's so airbrushed. Look at Fleetwood Mac, it looks ridiculous. Looking at them, they just look stupid. You know, terrible.
How often do you shoot bands that you don't enjoy musically?
90 percent of the time.
Who DO you enjoy?
No, I'm joking. I shoot 50/50. But if you only shot people you thought were culturally cool, you wouldn't work! I tend to shoot people I like.
I saw you shot 50 Cent, I'm doubting that's your thing.
Yeah, well he was nice enough. But I couldn't listen to it. You know, Eminem, D12. Its just not my thing.
Your website boasts that you were a tour photographer for both Paul McCartney and George Harrison...
I was, but I was never a Beatles fan. So I wasn't intimidated by them, and I wasn't in awe of them.
What was your impression of each?
McCartney was very friendly and very professional, and George Harrison was very... They're very much in a bubble, in a world of their own. Linda McCartney was alive at the time, and I expected her to be a nightmare, but she was super, super nice and super helpful. Because she was a photographer, she could see what I actually had to get. She had a way to help you, rather than be obstructive.
When was this, that you were shooting them?
McCartney is the Flowers in the Dirt tour, you'll have to look that up. [1989-1990.] George Harrison was when he toured Japan with Eric Clapton. [1991.] It was okay, but I never particularly liked the Beatles.
At the end of the day, who is your favorite band ever?
The Who!
Why?
Because you have to look at what counted when you were sixteen, and what you liked when you were sixteen, and they counted for me.
Do they still count?
I think the thing is, as band gets older... If you liked them originally, you convince yourself they're still good, even though they're not good. But the Who on a good day, can still be exciting. Even for a bunch of oldies.
Yeah, sometimes I think, "Hmm.. In Through the Out Door wasn't so hot."
Yeah, well he [Jimmy Page] had nothing to do with that. He doesn't even like that record.
Because he was a junkie?
Yeah.
How would you sum the Who up for someone who had never heard of them?
Go listen to Live at Leeds, and realize its four guys playing. Or Who's Next, that's a great songwriting album. With their later albums, Quadrophenia is okay.
When do you feel they took the dive?
Probably with It's Hard and Face Dances. The spark had gone out of them. That's a better word, isn't it? Spark.
That's when they began to 'farewell'.
Right. Too many farewells. Too many farewell tours. Or like, I listen to Page & Plant, and I don't like it at all. Outrider is not a bad record for an Eighties record.
Or the Firm...
The first album is okay, the second one is horrible.
My dad saw the Firm, and he saw the ARMS show.
But he was out of his mind.
I know, there's videos of him drooling!
He was fucking junkied out.
Who would make up your dream band?
I think its rubbish, I hate dream bands. Its like, whenever you see people jam, it's always horrible. Its unrehearsed and everyone is trying to show off and play better than the other person. That's why I always think jamming is terrible.
Okay then, they're not a band. Who is your favorite with each respective instrument?
John Bonham or Keith Moon on drums. Jimmy Page or Pete Townshend on guitar. Robert Plant, in his day, or Paul Rodgers, or Rod Stewart. John Entwistle on bass. And Loudon Wainwright III acoustically, I like.
So basically, you like Led Zeppelin and the Who!
Exactly!
What is your greatest fear?
You should fear nothing.
(All photos by Ross Halfin.)
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Be thankful.
If you are reading this blog, you're probably one of the 60% whom grapple with none of the above, and live with what we don't consider luxuries, but accept as normalcy. Its nearly Thanksgiving here in America, but hey, here's a novelty: be thankful everyday. I have SO much to be thankful for. This past year (and just this past month!) has been a crazy whirlwind -- good and bad, but I feel so alive! And the year isn't even over yet! In a world this exciting, we should be thankful every moment! So whether you're in America or elsewhere, let tomorrow simply be a reminder to do the following every single day: Chase life! Make it exciting! Live your dream life -- its not impossible. Hello, you fucking DREAMED it! Say please and thank you. Simply be a nice person! Make sure everyone you love has zero doubt that you truly do. Make it evident, make it beyond evident. Pick your battles, yes, but also pick your tantrums. Assess what is worth the stress! Guess what? Not much usually is. But most of all, do things that you love. This is your life, and you have no time for bullshit! So do yourself, and everyone else, a favor and surround yourself with nothing but good. See life how you WANT to see it. Its all in your hands.
xo.
Neil Young sings 'Fresh Prince' theme song
Speaking of covers...
... Just kidding. It's Jimmy Fallon.
... Just kidding. It's Jimmy Fallon.
Wednesday Covers
Let's try a new semi-regular feature shall we. What we're gonna do is trace the lineage of popular tunes that have been covered by other artists. Oh man, this is gonna be fun. Yay.
The first one is "(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone", originally recorded by The Monkees. OK here we go.
The Monkees (1967)
The Sex Pistols (1980)
Minor Threat (1981?)
The first one is "(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone", originally recorded by The Monkees. OK here we go.
The Monkees (1967)
The Sex Pistols (1980)
Minor Threat (1981?)
Gimmee Gimmee
Hey - Bonjay just released their first official ep and it features a remix by Smalltown Romeo which is described on the release as "tuff dubby disco". The original is a great weirdo-dancehall tune, these guys are one of our favorite new Canadian acts.
You can buy the original along with our remix and others by Ghislain Poirier and Grahmzilla of Thunderheist on iTunes: HERE.
Also they have released their own remix of the track for free download here on XLR8R.
Anyways, Big up Alanna & Pho on the first of many more to come!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
One sweet dream. Pick up the bags and get in the limousine. Soon we'll be away from here, step on the gas and wipe that tear away.
As I scrolled through my expansive iTunes library the other day, I noticed a few Beatles song had no play count. I was amazed! That is, until I looked at which songs they were: "Long Tall Sally", "What Goes On", "Yellow Submarine", "I Am the Walrus", "The Long and Winding Road", "Dig It", "Honey Don't", "She Loves You"... Either overrated, not very good, or covers. Though I was surprised that "The Night Before" had no plays, so I quickly changed that!
I used to reset my play counts every month, so I could document my favorites per month. I stopped doing that a few months ago, hence why some play counts are at zero. The Beatles songs with the highest counts are "Two of Us", "No Reply", and "Wait" -- a strange reflection of Beatles songs I've re-phased on in the last few months. Except "Wait", I really didn't realize I listen to it so frequently.
Looking at the entire Beatles catalog with personalized numbers beside it made me wonder, "What are my favorite Beatles songs, really?" I occasionally toss around that argument. So, without further adieu, here are my top five favorite (Favorite, not BEST -- in alphabetical order) Beatles songs. Eeep!
1.) "And Your Bird Can Sing", Revolver, written by John Lennon.
John Lennon referred to it as "another of my throwaways...fancy paper around an empty box." And I've never met anyone else who quite grasped my love, but hey, its one of my absolute favorites! Its happiness in the form of a two minute pop song -- including delicious George Harrison licks and jaunty and chipper back-up vocals! I give so much love to back-up vocals, and its well deserved. Revolver may be my favorite Beatles album -- if not, its way up there. That's because you just want to bop your head around exuberantly throughout the entire record. "And Your Bird Can Sing" is far from a 'throwaway' and I'm just giving it an inkling of the credit it deserves.
2.) "Hey Bulldog", Yellow Submarine, written by John Lennon.
I fucking love "Hey Bulldog". Its been cited numerous times as the last time the Beatles had that spark in the studio -- and you can hear it! How did I ever live without "Hey Bulldog"? This may be my favorite Beatles song EVER. Actually, it is! I'm deeming it as such right now. With a bouncy and hypnotic piano riff, a singalong-worthy guitar solo, and Paul McCartney fucking barking, why isn't "Hey Bulldog" everyone's favorite Beatles song? I'm really surprised that the majority of my top five favorite Beatles songs are penned by John. George is my favorite, and I feel like a traitor. "Hey Bulldog" is the best song to feel like a traitor to. I used to watch the following video a whole lot. Its a super sexy time for George Harrison, and I pity men because they can't appreciate that. Paul and John are happy and together, and Ringo is Ringo.
3.) "I'm So Tired", The White Album, written by John Lennon.
Look at you, John Lennon! Three songs in the top five, I never realized... "I'm So Tired" is awesome because its moody. I was once a temperamental child, and I got in a fight with my parents. I locked myself in my room and played "I'm So Tired" really loud. Not because the lyrics paralleled my predicament at all, but because the delivery did. "I wonder should I call you, but I KNOW what you would do." I don't give JL enough credit. Because it just gets better: "You'd say I'm putting you on, but it's no joke, it's doing me harm. You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain. You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane! You know I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind." The lyrics mean nothing to me, at all. I don't really care about John Lennon's insomnia, or his apparent longing for Yoko Ono, but that build-up is everything. And, on top of ALL of that, John Lennon taught me the word 'git'. So when it confuses my sister in London -- I'm not confused. All thanks to John Lennon!
4. "Two of Us", Let It Be, written by Paul McCartney.
Another one that prompts people to say, "Really? That's one of your favorites?" Its so exquisite and charming, of course it is! Whether it be about Linda McCartney or John Lennon, it always makes me happy. Once, I was returning home after a late night adventure. The sun was coming up as a friend and I drove home, and "Two of Us" came on my iPod. A shuffling, inspiring little ditty, it was perfect then and its perfect now. When I first discovered it, I played it over and over again. Discovering the Beatles is such a treat. Paul McCartney vocals getting tangled up with John Lennon's are delectably sincere. If only for nearly four minutes, you forget that they loathed each other at this time. Let It Be, the film, is depressing and my only memories of it are the Paul/George duel and "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" with the hammer. But after consulting Wikipedia, apparently the duel is because of "Two of Us" and they perform it too! I don't recall. I've really been craving the deliciously awful Magical Mystery Tour film, and now I even want to watch Let It Be. I wish I had a friend who owned them, and might as well throw in A Hard Day's Night, Help!, and Yellow Submarine. Lets have a Beatles movie marathon? Sounds glorious.
5. "You Never Give Me Your Money", Abbey Road, written by Paul McCartney.
Maybe Abbey Road is my favorite Beatles album? Oh, who knows, who cares. I love them all. Abbey Road is as joyfully uplifting as it is broody and weary. I don't even know what "You Never Give Me Your Money" is about, but it embodies everything the Beatles and particularly Abbey Road are about. It begins as this forlorn ballad, but it progresses into a jangly show tune type. "But oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go-ah." As a tiny thing just discovering the Beatles, I hoped that one day I would have that magic feeling of being utterly directionless and free. The entire last verse is perfection epitomized.
Look at you, John Lennon! Three songs in the top five, I never realized... "I'm So Tired" is awesome because its moody. I was once a temperamental child, and I got in a fight with my parents. I locked myself in my room and played "I'm So Tired" really loud. Not because the lyrics paralleled my predicament at all, but because the delivery did. "I wonder should I call you, but I KNOW what you would do." I don't give JL enough credit. Because it just gets better: "You'd say I'm putting you on, but it's no joke, it's doing me harm. You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain. You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane! You know I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind." The lyrics mean nothing to me, at all. I don't really care about John Lennon's insomnia, or his apparent longing for Yoko Ono, but that build-up is everything. And, on top of ALL of that, John Lennon taught me the word 'git'. So when it confuses my sister in London -- I'm not confused. All thanks to John Lennon!
4. "Two of Us", Let It Be, written by Paul McCartney.
Another one that prompts people to say, "Really? That's one of your favorites?" Its so exquisite and charming, of course it is! Whether it be about Linda McCartney or John Lennon, it always makes me happy. Once, I was returning home after a late night adventure. The sun was coming up as a friend and I drove home, and "Two of Us" came on my iPod. A shuffling, inspiring little ditty, it was perfect then and its perfect now. When I first discovered it, I played it over and over again. Discovering the Beatles is such a treat. Paul McCartney vocals getting tangled up with John Lennon's are delectably sincere. If only for nearly four minutes, you forget that they loathed each other at this time. Let It Be, the film, is depressing and my only memories of it are the Paul/George duel and "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" with the hammer. But after consulting Wikipedia, apparently the duel is because of "Two of Us" and they perform it too! I don't recall. I've really been craving the deliciously awful Magical Mystery Tour film, and now I even want to watch Let It Be. I wish I had a friend who owned them, and might as well throw in A Hard Day's Night, Help!, and Yellow Submarine. Lets have a Beatles movie marathon? Sounds glorious.
5. "You Never Give Me Your Money", Abbey Road, written by Paul McCartney.
Maybe Abbey Road is my favorite Beatles album? Oh, who knows, who cares. I love them all. Abbey Road is as joyfully uplifting as it is broody and weary. I don't even know what "You Never Give Me Your Money" is about, but it embodies everything the Beatles and particularly Abbey Road are about. It begins as this forlorn ballad, but it progresses into a jangly show tune type. "But oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go-ah." As a tiny thing just discovering the Beatles, I hoped that one day I would have that magic feeling of being utterly directionless and free. The entire last verse is perfection epitomized.
Oh and, I should mention "Michelle" did not cut it close, not even a little. Also, nobody EVER calls me "Michelle, my belle" truly. I'm so glad. I probably get asked, "So do people call you Michelle my belle a lot?" more often than I actually get called it. Though, my cousin occasionally calls me "Michelle, age twelve" purely because it rhymes.
Friday, November 20, 2009
EURO MINI-TOUR MIX
Hey we are kicking off tonight in Paris at Nouveau Casino and made a mix to celebrate the trip overseas. It'f full of some of our latest club favorites. So enjoy!
SMALLTOWN DJS EURO MINI-TOUR 09 MIX
Smalltown Djs Euro Mini-Tour Mix 09 Tracklist:
Boom (Meterhead Remix) - Smalltown Romeo
Night by Night (Smalltown Djs Remix) - Chromeo
Put Your Hands on Me (Jesse Rose Remix) - Crookers
Gipsy Kings feat. Analogik - Malente
I Think I Like it - Fake Blood
I Like It (Riva Starr remix) - Malente
Dj Saved My Life (Tom De Neef Club Mix) - Crispin Glover
Disco Disco Disco - Mowgli
Kingstonlogic - Terri Lynn
The Lock Shot - Goshi Goshi
Blau (La Riots Remix) - Laidback Luke & Lee Mortimer
Turn That Shit Up (Diplo Remix) [Smalltown Edit] - Tom Stephan
Chillin (Top Billin UK Mix) - Wale feat Lady Gaga
Lions feat New Kidz - Malente & Dex
Bangkok - Boris Dlugosh
Bang Bang (U-Tern's Calvin Harris Blend) - Rye Rye
Vocal Chords - Claude Von Stroke
Tour Dates:
Friday Nov. 20
Paris, FR
Nouveau Casino
w/ DJ Ayres
Saturday Nov. 21
Helsinki, FIN
Siltanen
w/ Top Billin
Friday Nov. 27
London, UK
Fabric
W/ Mat The Alien & Ali B
Saturday Nov. 28
London, UK
Funk, Soul & Disco Set
Paradise
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
URB 25: NOW! featuring Smalltown Romeo
Hey - we were just featured in Urb's new digital issue featuring 25 up and coming acts in underground music. It's called Urb 25: Now! and our friends 12th Planet and Skeet Skeet are also featured. Thanks to everybody who has been supporting us already and to all the new friends who are visiting for the first time.
Check it out here on page 26:
URB 25: NOW!
Smalltown Romeo Myspace : HERE
Smalltown DJs Myspace : HERE
Wax Romeo Myspace : HERE
Nice one!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Night by Night (Smalltown DJs Remix) - Chromeo
Our friends at Fools Gold have posted the Smalltown Djs Remix of Chromeos 'Night by Night' . Head over to the FG blog to grab the Smalltown, Skream and Siriusmo remixes.
All gratis.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
In Regent Street and Leicester Square, everywhere the Carnabetian army marches on, each one a dedicated follower of fashion. (London!)
Bum bum bummm... The time has come for me to finally dish on the titillating (and the not so) moments of my occasionally spellbinding trip to London! (Disclaimer: I am AWFUL at whipping out a camera and saying, "Oh! What an opportune moment for a photo." It obnoxious and I hate it. I left my falling-apart digital in America and opted for disposables. A mistake. Disposables are even more obnoxious, and half my photos are of poor quality. Another portion of my photos are mysteriously missing from the stack of prints and the photo disc. They can apparently be swiped by x-rays. Fuckfuckfuck. Better luck next time? -- My sister did fill up two cameras, which will probably turn out nicer than my one camera. I'm too frugal with photos! But she hasn't developed hers yet, and I'm not sure when she will. But expect more later. This is not over!)
I really wish I could tell you what this is that you're looking at. Alas, I cannot.
Lets start by saying that I had never been before. Actually, it was my first time in Europe, now that I think of it. I've traveled a bit in the States, I've been to Mexico too many times to count, I lived in Argentina for a summer, and I've been to Japan. The list is short, but for some people, traveling is a rare experience. To say I've seen a little chunk of the world is a huge accomplishment for me. I'm incredibly fascinated by anything new or foreign, so I make sure to lap up any semi-exotic experience. With that said, London meant so much more than simply 'any semi-exotic experience'. I've never lived any more than an hour outside of Los Angeles (besides two short-in-comparison treks in Arizona and San Diego), so perhaps I'm biased when saying that more often than not, I find it fucking boring. I've never envisioned myself living in LA forever, and still don't. To counter that thought, London always stood for a lot to me, as I'm sure LA has for others. I'm overall a cultural junkie, and obviously most of the things I really love originated from England. Plus, unlike most other places I've traveled, they speak English in the UK! How exciting! (I loathe the fish out of water experience, which is strangely a huge aspect of traveling. I'll take it.) Other than the music thing, I can't quite say why London was such a symbol for my dreamy life, but if nothing else: its far more picturesque than America and their accents!! But mostly, the music. Bam.
Until I faced utter madness at Heathrow (TWICE!), I really loved the airport. Is that strange? I love the feeling of airports. Everyone is doing something! Going somewhere! Waiting to see someone they love! Everyone is making something happen, and they are going somewhere different. I hope I regain that attitude, because excitement/happiness makes everything far more tolerable. It was smooth sailing at LAX on the morning of October twenty-fourth. I was a little sleep deprived, the pre- departure atmosphere had been a little tense, but I tuned everyone out, blasted London Calling, and basically said: "Fuck everything. I'm going to London!" As this thought hit me, I was all smiles and not a worry. Besides getting my nail polish remover confiscated (what bitches...), LAX provided no hassle. I sat down in my window seat (I'm trying to recall a time when I haven't traveled by the window. I can't, thankfully, it seems awful!), and pressed my nose to the window, where it would remain anytime my eyes were open. As the elevation rose, my stomach dropped -- in the best damn way possible. I was finally on my way, and sooner than expected. I love accomplishing goals.
I juggled excitement, occasional naps, nasty vegetarian meals, and lusting after Adrien Brody in The Brothers Bloom over the course of ten and a half hours. I had predicted that I may be reduced to tears of joy upon arriving at Heathrow, but alas, I am not such a sap. Thankfully. Still, I put on the musical equivalent of any majestic moment and was absolutely tickled upon touching down. I gaped at the vast green landscape, and was overfilled with glee as the tiny English homes grew bigger in size. The sun was rising and I was floored by thoughts of the historical significance of all that I was taking in. I quite literally couldn't stop smiling as we waited to leave the airplane, and was thrilled when a kind man offered to help with my suitcase. Unfortunately, the utter simplicity and perfection of those moments would be short-lived. Usually customs/immigration is a breeze, but either a) Heathrow/the UK are incredibly strict, b) things have changed drastically in the year since I last traveled, or c) I look like a total threat to humanity. I don't know which is the correct answer, honestly. I couldn't tell if the immigration man thought that my sister and I were funny, in a good way, or if he was thinking, "What the fuck is wrong with these screwy American broads?" Occasionally, I thought we had him leaning towards the former, but cracking jokes was absolutely useless. We were officially 'detained' and all I could do was laugh. After having our baggage searched again, being interrogated extensively -- even after providing them with all the proper information, we were let loose into the world. I changed from my prim heels to scuffed-up flats and felt ready to take on the world, in a tired/wired/overslept kind of way. The correct tube line from Heathrow to Central London wasn't operating, so we were here, there, and everywhere. Alas, we met our friend who would play hostess for the next week, in Leicester Square. We ended up having drinks and lunch, playing MASH, waiting hours for our friend, and ultimately feeling the jetlag hard. I was about ready to die already, as we had to truck along the underground with our overly-packed suitcases. Up and down staircases, in and out of doors. It was hell. Though some men occasionally stopped to help the girl with a suitcase that probably weighed as much as she does, I felt no less exhausted. Still, another tube ride, train, and a taxi -- ALAS, temporary home base! I crashed on an air mattress, where I would remain for eleven hours -- longest nap of my life. I woke up at 7AM and wanted nothing more to prance around the streets obnoxiously. As soon as my cohorts awoke, we dashed off to the super market where I spent eight pounds and got enough snacks for my entire stay! I got an adapter for my laptop, and then gallivanted into Central London. I shopped on Oxford Street, spending a decent amount at TopShop (whom I would happily let clothe me for the rest of my days), then skipped down to Carnaby Street and dreamt of its history. I wandered down Kings Road and listened to the Kinks. I was ready to collapse by that time, as we made our way back to the suburbs of Greater London.
From there, the days begin to blur. Most days went like this: Get up, get ready, venture into London, come home, socialize with flatmates, crash at a ridiculously early or ridiculously late hour. I visited Abbey Road, and after traipsing from the St. John's Wood station, I was startled to be immediately met with the (well, it was actually moved in the Seventies, but you know) crosswalk. I crossed it, and basically thought, "Fuck -- there was nothing mystical about that!" I walked along the sidewalk, read the messages written all over the gates, and maybe was too overwhelmed to take it in. My sister did snap a photo of me crossing the crosswalk, which I wasn't aware of. We must wait for that though. As we walked back to the station, I wanted to say, "Wait! Some of my favorite records were recorded right there." But it was too late, and going back probably wouldn't have made me feel any closer. For me, imagining what once was isn't so exciting. I mean, I'd be pretty jazzed if a young David Gilmour was still sitting on those steps, but hey, he's not. But I went to Abbey Road. No complaints.
If one young David Gilmour was loitering outside, it'd be underneath the luminous sign, which says Abbey Road... I swear.
The London Eye was cool, in a birds-eye-view kind of way. My sister spent the whole time fearing heights. I had my nose pressed to the glass, and was pretty thrilled to reach the top. We also walked past Parliament, which still glowed in the late hours. I jammed on -- what else? -- Physical Graffiti, and that stands as one of the more gratifying moments of the trip. I can't quite say why. I guess it was just the most epic headphones walk ever. I really loved that walk.
I also visited the British Music Experience at the O2. Its basically a huge food court with a concert hall, mini- concert hall, and exhibitions. Some sort of Disney something was going on, and I fell in love with all the little girls dressed in princess costumes. So cute! To quote myself, it was "the perfect place for perverts." Anyway, the actual British Music Experience exhibition was pretty incredible. I kind of wanted to break the glass and touch the delectable mementos, but somehow, the consequences didn't seem worth it. Here's the catch: You apparently aren't allowed to take photos in the exhibition. I was told this as I attempted to snap one last photo before exiting. I had already taken a handful. By some horrible karmic twist, not ONE photo appears on my photo disc. I'm going to go ahead and blame the Paul Simon-looking fool who told me to not take photos. Yep, its his fault entirely. Anyway, I saw lots of momentous artifacts, but what really captivated me were the outfits. They were all surprisingly PETITE. Seriously short and lanky. A teeny, tiny get-up that belonged to Jimi Hendrix. Without reading the caption, I knew another was formerly Keith Richards'. (I love le Keith, of course I knew!) A white Mary Quant jumpsuit for Jagger. Roger Daltrey's outfit that he wore at Woodstock. An amazingly hideous outfit (and snakeskin boots) worn by Jimmy Page. I was in shock of how heavy, busy, and unattractive it was. How did he make that thing look good? David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust numbers playsuit, his "Ashes to Ashes" outfit. Also, Bowie's handwritten lyrics to "Five Years" and a set list dating from the same era. (My sister has photos of these, so cross your fingers!) I snapped a photo of an old issue of Sniffin' Glue with the Clash on the cover, but alas, the photo is nowhere to be seen. The British Music Experience was my kind of scene, so unsurprisingly, I lapped it up. If in London, go see it. It was something like fifteen pounds, and worth the trek to North Greenwich. (Also in the O2 is Nando's, which my sister raved about. I don't eat meat, so what the fuck does Portuguese chicken mean to me?)
One of my final days, I visited one of my most anticipated spots, the Tate Britain. I'm slowly teaching myself about art, and the Tate was a defining lesson. I love the Pre-Raphaelites, and the Tate showcased them brilliantly. I was literally captivated and overwhelmed by their intense beauty and magnificent elegance. I attempted to pay attention to every detail. Women were portrayed so beautifully, with their billowing gowns and luscious locks. The works of Waterhouse, Burne-Jones, Millais, Holman Hunt, and Rossetti left me dizzy, and it was still the early afternoon! After taking in all of the 'historic' British art, and briefly viewing the modern art, I felt I had conquered the Tate. (For not a dime! Score!)
I ventured into Camden Town to get a little more shopping done. I'm ridiculously enamored with flea market areas. I make it a mission to visit a flea market in every new city I see. I really liked Camden, but the unbelievable, effortlessly cool bohemian mecca I visited in Buenos Aires takes the cake, still. But I walked through the bulk of each market area, walked away with a dress, after one-sided (his side) playful difficulty with a strange male vendor. Another attempted to persuade me to buy a shirt that was visibly too large for my frame and rather ugly. I passed.
Clothes, clockwise from top left: American Apparel tanktop from Carnaby Street (14 pounds), black dress with lace/shimmery bodice from TopShop (25 pounds), poofy gray Carrie Bradshaw-esque skirt from TopShop (10 pounds), black on top and pretty floral on bottom dress from Camden (15 pounds). Also, assorted shit that got dumped from my purse when I arrived home. Water bottle that says "English water", tube map, train tickets, Tate map, boarding passes, receipts, et cetera.
That was basically the sum of my touristy experiences. So, to conclude the wrap-up of my trip, let me say, thank you Ross Halfin! Besides being a magnificent talent, the man's generosity is jarring. Because of him, I got to attend the Classic Rock Awards, eat sushi and chat endlessly with his hard working and incredibly friendly crew, and of course, got to marvel at all (and be introduced to, and sometimes even chat with) my favorites. We played 'spot Ginger Baker' so he could sign Ross' copy of his autobiography, and when I finally did, Cara (one of Ross' assistants and my companion for the evening) wasn't sure if it was him! Still, she ran to grab the book and exclaimed, "I'm on a mission!" I sat with Richard (yet another one of Ross' assistants) and we anxiously awaited her return, contemplating the possibilities. To our surprise, Cara returned with a signature and was happy to report that he was 'lovely'. It was the night's first victory. Alas this was a fluke, because when Ginger later appeared to be photographed, he looked genuinely delusional. Later, though Richard, Cara, and I had been snacking on various sweets and candies, when Kazuyo (Ross' subtly hilarious assistant) offered us candy, we happily stuck out our hands. We were a little surprised to receive Halls cough drops, though Richard and Cara politely dropped them in their mouth. I delicately placed mine in my pocket, only to be discovered when I returned home to LA, which prompted silent laughter to myself. As the night wore on, the names just got bigger. At one point I stood in the middle of the photo room (which was of medium size, therefore making the setting all the more intimate) silently gawking at the company surrounding me. Hearing Jeff Beck ask Jimmy Page if he had seen Bruno was hilarious, especially because it seemed Jimmy had no idea what it was. (I personally saw the film during opening week, and deemed it a 'trailer movie' -- the funniest bits are in the trailer.) Later, I saw Iggy Pop unknowingly sitting on my purse, but I proceeded with whatever small chatter I was engaging in. As previously mentioned, I did get to meet Jimmy Page. Ross formally introduced us, reminding Jimmy that he had already told him of me, and Jimmy was genuinely lovely. We were mutually intrigued, though I would like to think I maintained a sensible demeanor. After all, the utter brilliance of the evening did not dawn on me until twenty-four hours later. I was flying half way over America, thinking I would never reach my destination, when it all hit me. What a magnificent opportunity. Spurred by the Clash's energy of "Defy the odds and do whatever the fuck you want", the entire trip was a huge 'check' on my nonexistent list of goals. Seeing Chrissie Hynde comfortably hugging up to Iggy Pop, after just reading about how he was a teenage crush of hers, I smiled faintly. My goals are lofty, but for me, they aren't impossible. To me, the entire evening (and the trip in general) was simply an introduction -- the coolest orientation to ever be. I can't say the next time something so magnificent will occur, but I can assure you I have no doubt that it will. I'm quite fond of this 'making shit happen' sensation. Getting what you want is one thing, but doing something that many conceive as 'never going to happen', it fills me with intense glee. The night was like a dream, and it is literally that hazy. I keep recall tiny details, like the itty bitty silver streaks in Ronnie Wood's hair, or Jimmy's necklace, and it makes for endless bouts of excitement. Even though Ross let me know "You should never meet your heroes", I'd gladly do it over and over and over. Again, thank you Ross for providing me with this opportunity! Your constant, hilariously harsh commentary was tons of fun, and your unnecessary kindness is much appreciated. I hope I made that apparent.
Oh and! Everyone in that room was so SHORT. Iggy Pop literally can't be much taller than me. I was in three or four inch heels, and was able to size up nicely. (And I'm quite tiny. Last time I checked, 5'1".) I didn't feel as if anyone was towering over me -- except maybe Brian May. He's a tall guy. But overall, that was my major observation, everyone looks older and shorter in person.
The contents of my Classic Rock goodie bag. If you're in the UK (or elsewhere if its possible), go buy the current issue! The Pink Floyd cover is 3D, and we were all fairly mesmerized. That's also a mini- Marshall amp. I love the Led Zeppelin onesie. The lack of baby is an issue though.
Flying high in the friendly sky.
Ross, Kazuyo, and Ross' girlfriend Meeok took me all the way back to where I was staying, though it was by then 2am. I was wired and had to pack. I got very little sleep, woke up at 6:45am the next morning, and took a cab to Heathrow. Only then did I discover that my flight had been delayed. (EVEN THOUGH I had printed my boarding pass online A MERE HOUR EARLIER. Thanks for the heads-up, United!) The friendly blonde behind the desk informed me of this, as I responded, "Has it been delayed drastically?" This was at eight in the morning. She replied, "3pm." I had literally two hours of sleep behind me, and after blasting "In My Time of Dying" ridiculously loud for the too-affectionate couple next to me to hear, I tried to nap in a chair. I hate sleeping in public. (Does anyone enjoy it?) I thought, "Fuck this", exchanged the last of my money, and had to go all the way through immigration again. Nobody knew where the fuck to direct me, and by the time I got out, it was raining. My cab driver was absolutely dense, had no idea where to take me, and we got terribly lost. I also lost my voice, so I hoarsely hollered when I recognized a street. I threw a rock at my friend's window and once I was her in room, collapsed to the floor in a heap of exhaustion. I napped, stressed because I had little money left, and managed to get another cheap cab. With a nice nap under my belt, I arrived at Heathrow feeling much less frazzled. My cab driver had actually taken my sister to the airport the day before. I told him that I had come here with my sister, who left the day before. He said, "Are you the journalist who got hassled at the airport when you got here?" I said, "WHAT? How did you know?" He professed, "I'm psychic! Ask me something else!" I thought he had heard it through the cab driver grapevine, but then I said, "Wait! Did you drive my sister yesterday?" He had indeed, and I recall him fondly. (I took very few cabs but the drivers were either amazingly chatty or ridiculously stupid.) Upon arriving at Heathrow, I grabbed a quick, free lunch -- before FINALLY resting in my window seat. I looked out, wished that great country farewell, felt all bittersweet, and CRAVED rest. I was given more disgusting food (apparently "I don't eat meat" means "Give me the most disgusting thing you can muster up") but I didn't care. I fell into a deep slumber and awoke three or so hours before touching down in LA. It was then that I smiled and contemplated the overwhelming greatness of the previous night. I drank tea and thought, "Way to go. You're making your dreams come true." LAX was again a breeze, and per usual when returning home, I wanted to (... not literally) kiss the ground. I stayed with my grandparents who live closer to the airport and went home the next day.
Home!!!
Its really sad that I probably have more photos of my room than of London. But you know, there are plenty photos of London. Not so many of my room! So check out some of my books, cassettes, 8-tracks, 45s, and records!
This is titled: "I still need to unpack." That suitcase has remained more or less untouched. Truly. I'm looking at it right now, in that same spot on my floor.
London, I love you. We will meet again, xo.
I really wish I could tell you what this is that you're looking at. Alas, I cannot.
Lets start by saying that I had never been before. Actually, it was my first time in Europe, now that I think of it. I've traveled a bit in the States, I've been to Mexico too many times to count, I lived in Argentina for a summer, and I've been to Japan. The list is short, but for some people, traveling is a rare experience. To say I've seen a little chunk of the world is a huge accomplishment for me. I'm incredibly fascinated by anything new or foreign, so I make sure to lap up any semi-exotic experience. With that said, London meant so much more than simply 'any semi-exotic experience'. I've never lived any more than an hour outside of Los Angeles (besides two short-in-comparison treks in Arizona and San Diego), so perhaps I'm biased when saying that more often than not, I find it fucking boring. I've never envisioned myself living in LA forever, and still don't. To counter that thought, London always stood for a lot to me, as I'm sure LA has for others. I'm overall a cultural junkie, and obviously most of the things I really love originated from England. Plus, unlike most other places I've traveled, they speak English in the UK! How exciting! (I loathe the fish out of water experience, which is strangely a huge aspect of traveling. I'll take it.) Other than the music thing, I can't quite say why London was such a symbol for my dreamy life, but if nothing else: its far more picturesque than America and their accents!! But mostly, the music. Bam.
Until I faced utter madness at Heathrow (TWICE!), I really loved the airport. Is that strange? I love the feeling of airports. Everyone is doing something! Going somewhere! Waiting to see someone they love! Everyone is making something happen, and they are going somewhere different. I hope I regain that attitude, because excitement/happiness makes everything far more tolerable. It was smooth sailing at LAX on the morning of October twenty-fourth. I was a little sleep deprived, the pre- departure atmosphere had been a little tense, but I tuned everyone out, blasted London Calling, and basically said: "Fuck everything. I'm going to London!" As this thought hit me, I was all smiles and not a worry. Besides getting my nail polish remover confiscated (what bitches...), LAX provided no hassle. I sat down in my window seat (I'm trying to recall a time when I haven't traveled by the window. I can't, thankfully, it seems awful!), and pressed my nose to the window, where it would remain anytime my eyes were open. As the elevation rose, my stomach dropped -- in the best damn way possible. I was finally on my way, and sooner than expected. I love accomplishing goals.
I juggled excitement, occasional naps, nasty vegetarian meals, and lusting after Adrien Brody in The Brothers Bloom over the course of ten and a half hours. I had predicted that I may be reduced to tears of joy upon arriving at Heathrow, but alas, I am not such a sap. Thankfully. Still, I put on the musical equivalent of any majestic moment and was absolutely tickled upon touching down. I gaped at the vast green landscape, and was overfilled with glee as the tiny English homes grew bigger in size. The sun was rising and I was floored by thoughts of the historical significance of all that I was taking in. I quite literally couldn't stop smiling as we waited to leave the airplane, and was thrilled when a kind man offered to help with my suitcase. Unfortunately, the utter simplicity and perfection of those moments would be short-lived. Usually customs/immigration is a breeze, but either a) Heathrow/the UK are incredibly strict, b) things have changed drastically in the year since I last traveled, or c) I look like a total threat to humanity. I don't know which is the correct answer, honestly. I couldn't tell if the immigration man thought that my sister and I were funny, in a good way, or if he was thinking, "What the fuck is wrong with these screwy American broads?" Occasionally, I thought we had him leaning towards the former, but cracking jokes was absolutely useless. We were officially 'detained' and all I could do was laugh. After having our baggage searched again, being interrogated extensively -- even after providing them with all the proper information, we were let loose into the world. I changed from my prim heels to scuffed-up flats and felt ready to take on the world, in a tired/wired/overslept kind of way. The correct tube line from Heathrow to Central London wasn't operating, so we were here, there, and everywhere. Alas, we met our friend who would play hostess for the next week, in Leicester Square. We ended up having drinks and lunch, playing MASH, waiting hours for our friend, and ultimately feeling the jetlag hard. I was about ready to die already, as we had to truck along the underground with our overly-packed suitcases. Up and down staircases, in and out of doors. It was hell. Though some men occasionally stopped to help the girl with a suitcase that probably weighed as much as she does, I felt no less exhausted. Still, another tube ride, train, and a taxi -- ALAS, temporary home base! I crashed on an air mattress, where I would remain for eleven hours -- longest nap of my life. I woke up at 7AM and wanted nothing more to prance around the streets obnoxiously. As soon as my cohorts awoke, we dashed off to the super market where I spent eight pounds and got enough snacks for my entire stay! I got an adapter for my laptop, and then gallivanted into Central London. I shopped on Oxford Street, spending a decent amount at TopShop (whom I would happily let clothe me for the rest of my days), then skipped down to Carnaby Street and dreamt of its history. I wandered down Kings Road and listened to the Kinks. I was ready to collapse by that time, as we made our way back to the suburbs of Greater London.
From there, the days begin to blur. Most days went like this: Get up, get ready, venture into London, come home, socialize with flatmates, crash at a ridiculously early or ridiculously late hour. I visited Abbey Road, and after traipsing from the St. John's Wood station, I was startled to be immediately met with the (well, it was actually moved in the Seventies, but you know) crosswalk. I crossed it, and basically thought, "Fuck -- there was nothing mystical about that!" I walked along the sidewalk, read the messages written all over the gates, and maybe was too overwhelmed to take it in. My sister did snap a photo of me crossing the crosswalk, which I wasn't aware of. We must wait for that though. As we walked back to the station, I wanted to say, "Wait! Some of my favorite records were recorded right there." But it was too late, and going back probably wouldn't have made me feel any closer. For me, imagining what once was isn't so exciting. I mean, I'd be pretty jazzed if a young David Gilmour was still sitting on those steps, but hey, he's not. But I went to Abbey Road. No complaints.
If one young David Gilmour was loitering outside, it'd be underneath the luminous sign, which says Abbey Road... I swear.
The London Eye was cool, in a birds-eye-view kind of way. My sister spent the whole time fearing heights. I had my nose pressed to the glass, and was pretty thrilled to reach the top. We also walked past Parliament, which still glowed in the late hours. I jammed on -- what else? -- Physical Graffiti, and that stands as one of the more gratifying moments of the trip. I can't quite say why. I guess it was just the most epic headphones walk ever. I really loved that walk.
I also visited the British Music Experience at the O2. Its basically a huge food court with a concert hall, mini- concert hall, and exhibitions. Some sort of Disney something was going on, and I fell in love with all the little girls dressed in princess costumes. So cute! To quote myself, it was "the perfect place for perverts." Anyway, the actual British Music Experience exhibition was pretty incredible. I kind of wanted to break the glass and touch the delectable mementos, but somehow, the consequences didn't seem worth it. Here's the catch: You apparently aren't allowed to take photos in the exhibition. I was told this as I attempted to snap one last photo before exiting. I had already taken a handful. By some horrible karmic twist, not ONE photo appears on my photo disc. I'm going to go ahead and blame the Paul Simon-looking fool who told me to not take photos. Yep, its his fault entirely. Anyway, I saw lots of momentous artifacts, but what really captivated me were the outfits. They were all surprisingly PETITE. Seriously short and lanky. A teeny, tiny get-up that belonged to Jimi Hendrix. Without reading the caption, I knew another was formerly Keith Richards'. (I love le Keith, of course I knew!) A white Mary Quant jumpsuit for Jagger. Roger Daltrey's outfit that he wore at Woodstock. An amazingly hideous outfit (and snakeskin boots) worn by Jimmy Page. I was in shock of how heavy, busy, and unattractive it was. How did he make that thing look good? David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust numbers playsuit, his "Ashes to Ashes" outfit. Also, Bowie's handwritten lyrics to "Five Years" and a set list dating from the same era. (My sister has photos of these, so cross your fingers!) I snapped a photo of an old issue of Sniffin' Glue with the Clash on the cover, but alas, the photo is nowhere to be seen. The British Music Experience was my kind of scene, so unsurprisingly, I lapped it up. If in London, go see it. It was something like fifteen pounds, and worth the trek to North Greenwich. (Also in the O2 is Nando's, which my sister raved about. I don't eat meat, so what the fuck does Portuguese chicken mean to me?)
One of my final days, I visited one of my most anticipated spots, the Tate Britain. I'm slowly teaching myself about art, and the Tate was a defining lesson. I love the Pre-Raphaelites, and the Tate showcased them brilliantly. I was literally captivated and overwhelmed by their intense beauty and magnificent elegance. I attempted to pay attention to every detail. Women were portrayed so beautifully, with their billowing gowns and luscious locks. The works of Waterhouse, Burne-Jones, Millais, Holman Hunt, and Rossetti left me dizzy, and it was still the early afternoon! After taking in all of the 'historic' British art, and briefly viewing the modern art, I felt I had conquered the Tate. (For not a dime! Score!)
I ventured into Camden Town to get a little more shopping done. I'm ridiculously enamored with flea market areas. I make it a mission to visit a flea market in every new city I see. I really liked Camden, but the unbelievable, effortlessly cool bohemian mecca I visited in Buenos Aires takes the cake, still. But I walked through the bulk of each market area, walked away with a dress, after one-sided (his side) playful difficulty with a strange male vendor. Another attempted to persuade me to buy a shirt that was visibly too large for my frame and rather ugly. I passed.
Clothes, clockwise from top left: American Apparel tanktop from Carnaby Street (14 pounds), black dress with lace/shimmery bodice from TopShop (25 pounds), poofy gray Carrie Bradshaw-esque skirt from TopShop (10 pounds), black on top and pretty floral on bottom dress from Camden (15 pounds). Also, assorted shit that got dumped from my purse when I arrived home. Water bottle that says "English water", tube map, train tickets, Tate map, boarding passes, receipts, et cetera.
That was basically the sum of my touristy experiences. So, to conclude the wrap-up of my trip, let me say, thank you Ross Halfin! Besides being a magnificent talent, the man's generosity is jarring. Because of him, I got to attend the Classic Rock Awards, eat sushi and chat endlessly with his hard working and incredibly friendly crew, and of course, got to marvel at all (and be introduced to, and sometimes even chat with) my favorites. We played 'spot Ginger Baker' so he could sign Ross' copy of his autobiography, and when I finally did, Cara (one of Ross' assistants and my companion for the evening) wasn't sure if it was him! Still, she ran to grab the book and exclaimed, "I'm on a mission!" I sat with Richard (yet another one of Ross' assistants) and we anxiously awaited her return, contemplating the possibilities. To our surprise, Cara returned with a signature and was happy to report that he was 'lovely'. It was the night's first victory. Alas this was a fluke, because when Ginger later appeared to be photographed, he looked genuinely delusional. Later, though Richard, Cara, and I had been snacking on various sweets and candies, when Kazuyo (Ross' subtly hilarious assistant) offered us candy, we happily stuck out our hands. We were a little surprised to receive Halls cough drops, though Richard and Cara politely dropped them in their mouth. I delicately placed mine in my pocket, only to be discovered when I returned home to LA, which prompted silent laughter to myself. As the night wore on, the names just got bigger. At one point I stood in the middle of the photo room (which was of medium size, therefore making the setting all the more intimate) silently gawking at the company surrounding me. Hearing Jeff Beck ask Jimmy Page if he had seen Bruno was hilarious, especially because it seemed Jimmy had no idea what it was. (I personally saw the film during opening week, and deemed it a 'trailer movie' -- the funniest bits are in the trailer.) Later, I saw Iggy Pop unknowingly sitting on my purse, but I proceeded with whatever small chatter I was engaging in. As previously mentioned, I did get to meet Jimmy Page. Ross formally introduced us, reminding Jimmy that he had already told him of me, and Jimmy was genuinely lovely. We were mutually intrigued, though I would like to think I maintained a sensible demeanor. After all, the utter brilliance of the evening did not dawn on me until twenty-four hours later. I was flying half way over America, thinking I would never reach my destination, when it all hit me. What a magnificent opportunity. Spurred by the Clash's energy of "Defy the odds and do whatever the fuck you want", the entire trip was a huge 'check' on my nonexistent list of goals. Seeing Chrissie Hynde comfortably hugging up to Iggy Pop, after just reading about how he was a teenage crush of hers, I smiled faintly. My goals are lofty, but for me, they aren't impossible. To me, the entire evening (and the trip in general) was simply an introduction -- the coolest orientation to ever be. I can't say the next time something so magnificent will occur, but I can assure you I have no doubt that it will. I'm quite fond of this 'making shit happen' sensation. Getting what you want is one thing, but doing something that many conceive as 'never going to happen', it fills me with intense glee. The night was like a dream, and it is literally that hazy. I keep recall tiny details, like the itty bitty silver streaks in Ronnie Wood's hair, or Jimmy's necklace, and it makes for endless bouts of excitement. Even though Ross let me know "You should never meet your heroes", I'd gladly do it over and over and over. Again, thank you Ross for providing me with this opportunity! Your constant, hilariously harsh commentary was tons of fun, and your unnecessary kindness is much appreciated. I hope I made that apparent.
Oh and! Everyone in that room was so SHORT. Iggy Pop literally can't be much taller than me. I was in three or four inch heels, and was able to size up nicely. (And I'm quite tiny. Last time I checked, 5'1".) I didn't feel as if anyone was towering over me -- except maybe Brian May. He's a tall guy. But overall, that was my major observation, everyone looks older and shorter in person.
The contents of my Classic Rock goodie bag. If you're in the UK (or elsewhere if its possible), go buy the current issue! The Pink Floyd cover is 3D, and we were all fairly mesmerized. That's also a mini- Marshall amp. I love the Led Zeppelin onesie. The lack of baby is an issue though.
Flying high in the friendly sky.
Ross, Kazuyo, and Ross' girlfriend Meeok took me all the way back to where I was staying, though it was by then 2am. I was wired and had to pack. I got very little sleep, woke up at 6:45am the next morning, and took a cab to Heathrow. Only then did I discover that my flight had been delayed. (EVEN THOUGH I had printed my boarding pass online A MERE HOUR EARLIER. Thanks for the heads-up, United!) The friendly blonde behind the desk informed me of this, as I responded, "Has it been delayed drastically?" This was at eight in the morning. She replied, "3pm." I had literally two hours of sleep behind me, and after blasting "In My Time of Dying" ridiculously loud for the too-affectionate couple next to me to hear, I tried to nap in a chair. I hate sleeping in public. (Does anyone enjoy it?) I thought, "Fuck this", exchanged the last of my money, and had to go all the way through immigration again. Nobody knew where the fuck to direct me, and by the time I got out, it was raining. My cab driver was absolutely dense, had no idea where to take me, and we got terribly lost. I also lost my voice, so I hoarsely hollered when I recognized a street. I threw a rock at my friend's window and once I was her in room, collapsed to the floor in a heap of exhaustion. I napped, stressed because I had little money left, and managed to get another cheap cab. With a nice nap under my belt, I arrived at Heathrow feeling much less frazzled. My cab driver had actually taken my sister to the airport the day before. I told him that I had come here with my sister, who left the day before. He said, "Are you the journalist who got hassled at the airport when you got here?" I said, "WHAT? How did you know?" He professed, "I'm psychic! Ask me something else!" I thought he had heard it through the cab driver grapevine, but then I said, "Wait! Did you drive my sister yesterday?" He had indeed, and I recall him fondly. (I took very few cabs but the drivers were either amazingly chatty or ridiculously stupid.) Upon arriving at Heathrow, I grabbed a quick, free lunch -- before FINALLY resting in my window seat. I looked out, wished that great country farewell, felt all bittersweet, and CRAVED rest. I was given more disgusting food (apparently "I don't eat meat" means "Give me the most disgusting thing you can muster up") but I didn't care. I fell into a deep slumber and awoke three or so hours before touching down in LA. It was then that I smiled and contemplated the overwhelming greatness of the previous night. I drank tea and thought, "Way to go. You're making your dreams come true." LAX was again a breeze, and per usual when returning home, I wanted to (... not literally) kiss the ground. I stayed with my grandparents who live closer to the airport and went home the next day.
Home!!!
Its really sad that I probably have more photos of my room than of London. But you know, there are plenty photos of London. Not so many of my room! So check out some of my books, cassettes, 8-tracks, 45s, and records!
This is titled: "I still need to unpack." That suitcase has remained more or less untouched. Truly. I'm looking at it right now, in that same spot on my floor.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Prince Klassen Fall Mix
Our good mate Prince Klassen has done a new fall mix for Cloud Plum and as usual it's really really good. A great fit for leaves falling and cool weather - lots of spacey synths, mellow vibes and acoustic guitars. The tracklist is tagged in iTunes throughout the mix.
PRINCE KLASSEN - FALL MIX FOR CLOUD PLUM
pumpkins and anniversary and Devon visits
Hi everyone,
For this Halloween, I decided to carve pumpkins with my niece Juliana. We don't really celebrate Halloween per say but I thought it would be fun to carve pumpkins. Juliana came over and we picked some stencils and did our thing! Uncle Shawn chaperoned and was in charge of roasting the pumpkin seeds.
Getting Ready.....
Scraping out the gunk...
roasting the seeds!
Finished Product...
The weekend of Halloween Shawn and I drove to Gonzales, Texas to stay at the Cabana for our first anniversary. The Cabana is the bed and breakfast where Shawn proposed to me in May 2008. We thought it would be fun to go back there for our first anniversary and it was! Also, this is proof that I have the best mom in the world..... So after our wedding last year my parents took the top tier of our wedding cake and put it in their freezer while we were on our honeymoon. Well their freezer actually ended up breaking and all the food went bad including our wedding cake. So I was kind of bummed about it but I just figured we probably wouldn't actually eat year-old cake anyways. Well my mom went to our cake decorator and had her re-create the top tier of our wedding cake. She then drove 6 hours in a thunderstorm on a Thursday night after work to take our new cake to the cabana where we would be staying for the weekend. She wanted it to be a surprise and for it to be waiting for us when we got there. It was definitely a surprise and such a treat!!!
Headed to Gonzales...
The Gazebo where Shawn proposed.
Opening my first gift (some really cute shoes)
I'll leave you with a picture of me and my cousin Devon and our babies Melody and Tozer. Devon came in for a visit on Thursday and we had a lot of fun.
For this Halloween, I decided to carve pumpkins with my niece Juliana. We don't really celebrate Halloween per say but I thought it would be fun to carve pumpkins. Juliana came over and we picked some stencils and did our thing! Uncle Shawn chaperoned and was in charge of roasting the pumpkin seeds.
Getting Ready.....
Scraping out the gunk...
roasting the seeds!
Finished Product...
The weekend of Halloween Shawn and I drove to Gonzales, Texas to stay at the Cabana for our first anniversary. The Cabana is the bed and breakfast where Shawn proposed to me in May 2008. We thought it would be fun to go back there for our first anniversary and it was! Also, this is proof that I have the best mom in the world..... So after our wedding last year my parents took the top tier of our wedding cake and put it in their freezer while we were on our honeymoon. Well their freezer actually ended up breaking and all the food went bad including our wedding cake. So I was kind of bummed about it but I just figured we probably wouldn't actually eat year-old cake anyways. Well my mom went to our cake decorator and had her re-create the top tier of our wedding cake. She then drove 6 hours in a thunderstorm on a Thursday night after work to take our new cake to the cabana where we would be staying for the weekend. She wanted it to be a surprise and for it to be waiting for us when we got there. It was definitely a surprise and such a treat!!!
Headed to Gonzales...
The Gazebo where Shawn proposed.
Opening my first gift (some really cute shoes)
Overall we had a really great weekend. It was very relaxing and nice to catch up with some of our friends in Gonzales. We really can't wait to go back.
I'll leave you with a picture of me and my cousin Devon and our babies Melody and Tozer. Devon came in for a visit on Thursday and we had a lot of fun.
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