Monthly Archives: September 2012

Yesterday, I did office manicures for charity instead of working. This is my darling friend, who was the only person adventurous enough for nail art. She says moustache, I say tadpoles making out. Tomayto, tomahto.
In-office hookey was never so fun.


You know when people talk about an old band’s new album and are all, “It’s just not as good as the old stuff“? Well, Stars new album, The North, is just as beautifully melancholy as 2006’s favorite Set Yourself on Fire, with plentiful references to depression, love, loss, lost love, drugs, and the tragically sad artistic life. Listen to the whole thing on Spotify and just try to feel like you aren’t back in high school.

Athens, GA is a hotbed of unique, music-for-music’s sake talent. Not only did it breed Reptar, one of the best eclectic indie dance rock bands around right now, but it’s also home to Easter Island, a dream pop quintet whose new album Frightened draws serious ‘this is beautiful’ goosebumps.

At first listen, you think “Bon Iver knock-off?”–it’s hard to do a haunting high-pitched vocal these days and not draw that comparison. But once you dive into Frightened’s instrumental depths, you hear the post-rock influence and definite energy that immediately severs similarities to the recent Grammy winner (in an improved, won’t make you fall asleep way). Check out their (arguably) best track, “Independence,” below; with lyrics like “it’s only a kingdom/ it’s only an ounce of the best whiskey you can buy” to match the soaring sonambulance, you’ll be hooked into the best kind of deep-listening silence.

the basic nugget: Bon Iver, but easier to understand and with energy.

A long, slow bike ride through a better neighborhood than mine to be “introspective,” finding myself (physically) at a ferry pier that extends far enough into the East River to make one feel landless and with all Manhattan’s high-rise glory sprawled in front, demanding attention.

“Who am I?” I ask the choppy cobalt waters. “What am I doing with my life?”

The post-storm gusts are angry, forceful, “I don’t know,” snap the seas, “Maybe you should stop pretending you’re in a fucking movie with this panoramic soul-searching shit and figure that out.”

I sigh. The river is right. I am an idiot.

Richard Chai was a man of many faces today. He started with the sheer, sporty whites on the right that were interspersed with florals and asymetrical cutouts; then kept the same silhouette but darkened the palette to navy, fatigue green and brown, and chambray; THEN switched gears altogether and went for this oil-slick dressywear that’s…well, perfect. So unusual, like no other nightwear you’ve ever seen. MY vote’s in. What’s yours?