Finally grabbed the entire lp this weekend. My wait is rewarded.
I can't stop listening to this extra slinky track, a delectable merging of seductive beat and honeyed voice. It makes my shoulders move.
Of course, I missed their show in August; I had my own going on.
As always, next time...
Showing posts with label THEESatisfaction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label THEESatisfaction. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Friday, February 10, 2012
Don't Funk with My Groove
I decided to stop being afraid of the overwhelm that tidal-waves over me when I have, in the past, skimmed music blogs. I mean, thoughtful, dig-it-up-for-you, Soundcloud-riddled music blogs run by people infinitely more obsessed and attuned than me who have time to cull information and put it out there for your work-avoiding consumption. Initially on this morning's decision, I felt vanquished at the seemingly inestimable number of these blogs that float in the tubes. One look at Hype Machine's resources had me flinching desperately like I used to when I'd walk through a bookstore and dared not pull a volume off a shelf because then I'd want to pull, look at, and buy them all. Remember those days?
Information on the internet is more manageable, right? No. With my index finger, I can slack-jawed stroll--scroll-- across hundreds, thousands, of virtual Joseph-Beth Booksellers bookshelves. Or record store bins, as it were.
I like Earmilk because they cover a swath of genres (and organize said genres) and simply talk about the music (not themselves or their personas). No gossip. I can feed some singer-songwriter urges as much as I can identify fresh house to run to. And--oh, alright: it was the daily "chill" track that drew me in.
I did have to unlike Earmilk on FB not long after I first discovered it about six or seven months ago. The site would post a blinding parade of links that, when viewed on a Blackberry, would nearly prod me into one of these maybe-migraines I sometimes get. Y'all don't need to link to every post on the blog, do you? How about a couple a day as, you know, a sort of end cap to get me down into the aisle?
But even though I am facing the slow-dawning realization over the past few days that I spend a good portion of each day scrolling through an unheavenly host of gooey brain discharge, this, at least, has a purpose. The satisfaction of discovery. The adrenaline rush of identification. Oh yeah, and the pure pleasure of...listening. Hearing.
Looking at a constant stream of check-ins and traffic/CTA gripes does not bring me pleasure, ultimately, nor have any real or palatable purpose. It's the short-term rush of knowing. Of occupying, even owning, the moment. Great. I know something in this moment. I am not alone with my own thoughts (or discovery or identification or pleasure) in this moment.
I think that Stupor Bowl XXXIVIVIX the other night nearly pushed me over the edge.
But I will say that the discovery-to-hearing trajectory, and the ineffable connection of shared humor, politics, emotion, discovery, identification and pleasure that interacting with the virtual world (looking at you, Twitter. I know, after I huffily professed to not get you)--all of these will keep me nimbly on the edge, I think. And that edge is balancing discovery and decisiveness.
I'm not sure about their name, though. It's a bit...poetry-slamish. There is something likeably Jill Scott-ish about them, too. But this groove --it's worth the search anxiety.
Information on the internet is more manageable, right? No. With my index finger, I can slack-jawed stroll--scroll-- across hundreds, thousands, of virtual Joseph-Beth Booksellers bookshelves. Or record store bins, as it were.
I like Earmilk because they cover a swath of genres (and organize said genres) and simply talk about the music (not themselves or their personas). No gossip. I can feed some singer-songwriter urges as much as I can identify fresh house to run to. And--oh, alright: it was the daily "chill" track that drew me in.
I did have to unlike Earmilk on FB not long after I first discovered it about six or seven months ago. The site would post a blinding parade of links that, when viewed on a Blackberry, would nearly prod me into one of these maybe-migraines I sometimes get. Y'all don't need to link to every post on the blog, do you? How about a couple a day as, you know, a sort of end cap to get me down into the aisle?
But even though I am facing the slow-dawning realization over the past few days that I spend a good portion of each day scrolling through an unheavenly host of gooey brain discharge, this, at least, has a purpose. The satisfaction of discovery. The adrenaline rush of identification. Oh yeah, and the pure pleasure of...listening. Hearing.
Looking at a constant stream of check-ins and traffic/CTA gripes does not bring me pleasure, ultimately, nor have any real or palatable purpose. It's the short-term rush of knowing. Of occupying, even owning, the moment. Great. I know something in this moment. I am not alone with my own thoughts (or discovery or identification or pleasure) in this moment.
I think that Stupor Bowl XXXIVIVIX the other night nearly pushed me over the edge.
But I will say that the discovery-to-hearing trajectory, and the ineffable connection of shared humor, politics, emotion, discovery, identification and pleasure that interacting with the virtual world (looking at you, Twitter. I know, after I huffily professed to not get you)--all of these will keep me nimbly on the edge, I think. And that edge is balancing discovery and decisiveness.
I'm not sure about their name, though. It's a bit...poetry-slamish. There is something likeably Jill Scott-ish about them, too. But this groove --it's worth the search anxiety.
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