I only go to the party to pluck the feathers off fallen birds

“Beach House is an amazing band that manages to sound like a glass box filled with sand, metal, rain and thunder.” - Rodarte

Victoria Legrand, takes a minute to compose herself, looks out at the audience from between parted bows of shaggy brown hair, and quietly speaks into her microphone; “2009 is going to be a good year,” she laughs, “and that’s about as political as I’ll ever get.” This, of course, comes as no surprise. Hailing from East Baltimore, Victoria and her bandmate Alex Scally make-up Beach House, a band that has managed to create a universe of sound that is so dream-like and far removed from the rest of the world that you would be hard pressed to picture either of them doing something so common place as marking a ballot.
The duo (backed by a rotating drummer) played Richards on Richards on Sunday, January 25th, filling the cavernous space with their simultaneously lo-fi and multi-layered ethereal music. Given that this was Beach House’s third time playing in Vancouver, I had presumed that it must have been a fairly well anticipated show. Despite this, and tickets having been sold out a week ago at Zulu Record, the room seemed sparely populated and mostly by the kind of people whom you expect to see at a poetry slam rather than comprising the audience of a band that, according to the BBC, makes music “which would seem at home in any independently made 1960's love film fitted snugly at the end as one lover died whilst the other wept uncontrollably,”(David McGuire, 2008) but on second thought, what demographic would that imply?
After the disappointing effort by their neo-grunge and vaguely folk influenced opening band, Johnny and the Moon, had finally subsided (don’t openeners usually play for thirty minutes, tops, not fifty-five?). Beach House unassumingly made their way to their respective instruments, took a minute for some easy banter regarding their choice to end the tour in Vancouver; apparently they kind of like it here. And finally, without warning, launched into their first song. The set included a number of songs off of both their first an second albums, including the haunting “Wedding Bells” off of their 2008 sophomore release, Devotion. What kind of wedding they intend to celebrate can only be pictured in the most distorted version of a Grimes Brother’s fairytale, where the bride wore a tattered dress of lace and saltwater, and the groom whispered softly of their inevitable funeral.
Legrand’s voice is so powerful, working less as a conduit for lyrics and more as an instrument in and of itself, that one could easily lose track of Scally’s delicate guitar plucking. Despite what could be cynically interpreted as a depressed Hawaiian strings ensemble on Quaaludes, Beach House’s performance bore closer resemblance to a seasonal shift, your parents’ fading black and white photos, a chill swirling through the rafters, and summer’s warm, hypnotic remains. Legrand sways over her organ, alternating between peering at Scally and nodding affirmatively. Notes are occasionally and characteristically missteped, and the shows wares on much like this for the new half-hour. Half way through the performance, the audience was privy to a couple songs off of their upcoming album (so far, no known title), including Used to be, the single. It seems as though fans can anticipate a lighter, more hooky Beach House for the coming years, but fortunately, one that still maintains their distinctive ephemeral quality.
To see Beach House live is to be completely enveloped in a hazy nostalgia, you are constantly racking your mind trying to decipher and categorize whatever images are floating through it. You listen harder, get completely lost in personal history, and finally resign yourself to the fact that what stands before you are merely two very talented, creative people, who haven’t reinvented memory or love, but just started writing songs on winter nights in Baltimore.

evolved angst

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s2YiUTh9dj4

just one more thing

The last time I was in school was over a year ago. Since then, I'd assumed I might foster some kind of work ethic, stop procrastinating, and get my priorities aligned. Alas, this has proven to be nothing but a lofty goal - or pipe dream, if you will - and I repeatedly find myself wasting time on the internet, making pots of tea, and staring mournfully out the window.
I don't really understand how some people are able to use their motivation to propel forward, mine seems to rest comfortably in my armpit and serves more as a gage of interest/depression than any sort of powerful productivity engine. I have good intentions, really, I'll write everything down in a day timer, schedule my life to a tee, even embark on self improvement ventures like my short lived knitting binge or collage making. The only constant in my life is this soul sucking laziness that casts its shadow over every endeavor. And moroseness, don't forget moroseness.

I think I have post-coital depression.

Old Style

I think that everyone who ever ever set foot in limerick's junction or the unicorn (when you could still smoke inside) cannot help but have an emotional reaction to Peter, Bjorn, and John's song, Young Folks. You hear the catchy whistle, the nubile Lykke Li, and the general Scandinavian musical stylings and immediately there you are again, sweating your balls off, wearing flannel, clutching a Red Headed Slut, and dancing with that boy that you still cannot get off your mind.
It was Joni's Birthday this evening. We went to Guu, made a half assed attempt at going to a chonga bar, and instead wound up at 340. Despite what had turned into a pretty pitiful excuse for an "Alt*" night, we managed to have a pretty fantastic sweaty time. But best of all, just as I was heading to the door, coat in hand, that fated song came on and I quickly b-lined it back to Stormey (and Kolin, or all people - obviously this was a night for reminiscing) for an other go at it. I'm not the first person whose told this story, in fact, I've herd about this happening on three different accounts. Why is it that its so intrinsic in our memories of whatever hipster glory days were to be had? I'd like to think that this is Vancouver specific, and for argument's sake lets pretend it is. Did it capture a feeling? was it the trickling down of some movement and this was all we bore witness to? maybe we just really needed love songs? Its likely that it has more to do with the contemporary spin that PB and J take on the classic love song, appeasing to and referencing the more careless approach to love and sex that was first becoming apparent to my seventeen-year-old self. Where sex becomes not a long awaited breakthrough in your relationship (or even a dreadful drunk mistake) but instead functions simply as an introduction and a way to get to know a person. I don't even know if sex has anything to do with liking someone anymore. I'm speaking from my own narrow experiences here, but I often find myself questioning my motives for sleeping with a person; wondering whether it's motivated by an interest in making that person my friend or lover?

*Alt being a term I loath but appropriately describes our post modern language

Spoiled Brat

This weekend my family embarked on out yearly Whistler ritual. Rent a condo (always different suits, but essentially the same three bedroom box with bad wall paper and a confusing entertainment system), snowboard/ski respectively, and go out for extravagant meals. We've never really fit in here. Maybe its because we're renters, maybe its my parents distaste for apres ski libations at Dusty's, or possibly just that we don't come up here at the same time as our friends, regardless of the reason, I have always felt mildly put off by Whistler. That could also route from this being my fourth year in a row where, despite good intentions, I haven't made it up the Mountain. First, it was putting on my skis to cruise down the 25 meters from our condo to the Creekside gondola, immediately slipping on ice and breaking my thumb. Next it was a fairly benign head cold (I have a hard time getting motivated at the best of times). The year after that I ended up staying in to study/eat consecutive avocados. Not to be outdone, this year I got the stomach flu and have spent the past three days vomiting out anything and everything I try to eat/drink. I actually ended up goign to the clinic where they instructed me to eat only bananas, rice, apple sauce, and Toast... also known as B.R.A.T.
Yesterday, after the requisite up-heave of my stomach I actually felt pretty great and decided to get my nails done.

New Years is always a letdown

This is the time of year where talk shows, radio and television alike, inundate us with lame count down lists. They usually range from something along the lines of "Sexiest female recording artist" all the way to "Most pivotal political moments" all punctuated with a predictable "of 2008" (or whatever respective year has just come to a close). Appearing usually in increments of 25, and counting down to number 1. In honor of this highly respected tradition, I've decided to create my own list, entitled;

TOP 25 MOST MEMORABLE MOMENTS OF 2008! (that I was either directly involved in or affected by... in no particular order!)

Dropping out of Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design
Moving out of my parents house
Traveling to Stockholm to visit Kira and Sara
Drinking beer on the roof of the Gastown Parkade and watching the sunset, retreating downstairs to the Cheaper Show (which at its quietest period, still had a fifteen minute line-up), only to return to my car and find it broken into.
Driving with Brennan, Stacey, and Ana, to Lions Bay to lay on the rocks, swim, and pretend we were in the wilderness
Rediscovering pot, used almost exclusively with Monique and after delicious dinners that we prepared
My two thanksgivings, Sunday night at Monique's house where we drank far too much wine and then Monday at my parents' house where I was terribly hung over and Monique joined us once again.
East Van friends coming over for West Van Barbecue .
Trying on a Burberry trench and realizing that it was made for me... however, leaving feeling mighty sad after reading the price tag.
Having five different Jobs
Realizing that I like Art better then Fashion
Taking up knitting
Painting for fun
Buying a bike and riding it everywhere.. until it started to rain/snow
Staying in Michelle's apartment before having moved out on my own
Following my dad on a business trip to Toronto in February, subsequently taking a boy I'd just met into the bathroom to makeout.
Ending a brief stint of dating someone in a totally grown-up fashion and then again in an painfully childish way
Filipa k
Whyred
Cynthia Vincent
Vena Cava
Getting a Job with Monique and Stormey
Bon Iver Show at the Media Club
Finally understanding the finer points of foreplay
Having Mono for six months