Really, really ridiculously excited

Those of you who’ve known me for a while (I know at least a few of you who read this qualify!) know that I was–and am, albeit in a less zealous, less frequent-listener way–a (I hate this word) fan of Ani DiFranco. I adore her little story-gems. I love the beautiful dischord featured in some of her music even though it makes my friends with perfect pitch want to plunge a safety pin deep into the meaty hearts of their own ear drums. I am very excited that in just outside a week I’ll be seeing her in Hartford.

In preparation for the night of songs which I’ll enjoy with the lovely Ms. Ford, her husband and, as a Christmas present, my madre, I started listening again tonight. To my supreme shock and bubbling delight, I discovered on my hard drive an Ani song I’d never before heard. This song resonated with me, so naturally I sought to post up the original version here. Unfortunately, the original doesn’t seem to exist in easily postable video or audio form, but the version by a YouTube user named elizlaurl does. Ordinarily, I don’t even watch artist “covers” by fanboy YouTube users–if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen enough to know that they are almost unexceptionably disasters–but this girl? She is talented. In addition “Letting The Telephone Ring” being an amazing song with simple, easily identifiable and resultingly powerful lyrics, elizlaurl’s guitar work and vocals are great–and of course make me ache for my lost vocal talent. Give a listen if you’ve got the time.

On the off chance that you’ve ever wondered what the inside of my head sounds like

If you haven’t listened to, watched, or heard about Beirut, I’m here to fix all of that for you in one fell swoop. Shhh. No no. Don’t argue. Just do as I say. I’m fixing it, damn it!

Step 1: watch these videos for “Elephant Gun,” “Postcards from Italy,” and perhaps my favorite, included below, “Nantes.”

Step 2: Go listen to the treasury of other aural treats here and revel in the way singer Zach Condon harmonizes with himself, the multi-layered soundscapes that he and the band create, and, well, the way that this music makes you feel.

Step 3: Purchase albums.

Step 4: Find yourself unable–and unwilling–to cease listening to some or all of “The Flying Club Cup.”

Step 5: Come back here to tell me about it, then we’ll plan when we’re going to a show/how we’re going to get Zach Condon to marry me.

Behold: Nantes

Enter The Dø

The name is The Dø (as in Do, Re, Mi, minus Julie Andrews), and the song is “At Last.”

I first heard this band, a delightful duo of Finnish and French–Olivia singing in English and Dan playing in…well…musical notes–about 8 months ago when I was still a madrileña. The album is a masterful mixture of folk, assy rock, nearly M.I.A. inspired, aggressive hip-hop on “Queen Dot Kong,” and school yard chants as in “Playground Hustle.” Give them a listen. It spans every genre identifiable to me, so I guarantee there’s something fresh and inviting on their album “a mouthful,” to tickle your fancy.

Goddamn, I wish I still lived in Europe so I could see them live.

Rachael Yamagata–If you read this, know that I’d Heavily Consider Going Lesbian for You.

Rachael Yamagata

Rachael Yamagata, that eye-ravishingly beautiful, whiskey-voiced vixen, has been amongst my favorites since first I heard her in 2005. Her combination of heartrending vocals, thoughtfully, sensitively, achingly sensual lyricism and tiny bit of eccentricity ushered me uncomplainingly into love at first listen. While Happenstance, her 2005 effort, remains a true gem whose glitter is unchallenged by similar talent that’s arrived upon the scene since its release (“Reason Why,” “Ode To,” and a later release, “Would You Please” will always be a holy trifecta of good in my book), her new album, Elephants…Teeth Sinking Into Heart, is nothing short of a masterpiece. I’ve been obsessively listening to it (read: forcing everyone around me with ears to listen to it, too!), since I received my preorder about 3 weeks ago. I highly, highly encourage you to check it out. Listen to “Sunday Morning” and “Over and Over.” Fuck. Or just the whole thing, over and over again. It’s worth it–truly.

H’anywhay, after a little bit of internet sleuthing today I found another song of hers titled “Woman,” which doesn’t seem to appear on any album I’ve purchased before this. In the interest of spreading around a good thing, here. Just listen, and see if you don’t fall in love, too.

\”Woman,\” by the Inimitable Rachael Yamagata

Oh–HAI! I can has updaetz?

So uh–howdy! Contrary to popular speculation/fear/fond hopes, no, I’m not dead. I have, however, been busy as all get out.

Let’s see. This week, totally fuera de mi contracto, I taught first grade alone for two days. Let’s just say that by breaktime at 11:00 on Tuesday, suicide really felt like an appealing option. My voice was so ragged by the time I left that I couldn’t speak. They are animals, and I am no dog (or hyena)-whisperer. What’s more, the “apoyo,” or “support teachers” who were supposed to be in there chilling with me to help impose order (really, THEY should have been teaching the class) were of utterly no help; especially turtle dame and walrus man. Both older and accordingly old-school Spanish, they turned their backs on my class, hunkered down in the back, and graded papers whilst I tried to contain a swirling maelstrom of sound, color, action and general devilry in a sack of structured English/science lesson. It was great. I almost cried when I got home. Luckily, by some act of God, day 2 of Alone and Unafraid was better. I’m not going to go into details, but I will say I only considered offing myself once in the course of the afternoon. I did, however, just barely contain myself from swinging the extremely violent Alejandro around the room by his little blue froggies and slamming him into the trashcan so he would stop beating poor Teresa. I repeat: they are animals. ANIMALS!

In happier news, come Thursday I tramped through a mysterious animal parade complete with eagles in the grip of military men, seeing eye dogs, cages of pigeons, pretty shaggy ponies, cats, and ducks in order to get to San Bernardo. Why did I do this, you ask, and was I actually on acid? First of all: no. No drugs induced this vision and Noa and his Arc were nowhere nearby that I could see. The dog and pony show was real, though what purpose it served I couldn’t possibly tell you–I even googled to see when St. Francis’s day actually is, thinking that could be a likely guess. WRONG! The parade will remain a myster, I suppose, but my reasons for battling through it shall not! I made the parade trek in order to see my dear, sweet Ms. Hall, who is finally back from the estados unidos. It was a joyous reunion and she, Liz and I chatted, cooked, and otherwise caught up ’til late in the evening. I missed her horribly and with her reinstallation at The Palace, Madrid feels more like home.

Plenty of other notable things have happened between now and the last time I updated. Here are a few: Mary Catherine was here for a splendid 4 days of visiting; I ate phenomenal soyflower gelato for the first time; booked tickets to see Ali in London for the last weekend in January; baked Amber the ugliest birthday cake in the world (no picture included, thanks), and in part due to aforementioned soyflower ice cream and cake have made new resolutions to kick my ass at the gym after this overly extravagant month of wining and dining. It’s going to be absolutely badass and a fun challenge. I might even try a spinning class. With that said: if you have great workout song/album suggestions, please post them here; I’d be appreciative beyond expression. Also, if you have an awesome ab workout/move, let me know. I’m looking for ways to keep it fresh.

Random spurge: so after reading some buzz on the artist St. Vincent., of Sufjan-y background, I decided to give her new album, Marry Me, a listen. Being someone who loves Sufjan and has some SERIOUS affection for the mournful-voiced female vocalists (gangsta nods to Rachael, Regina, Feist and HopeForAGoldensummer), I was expecting to be amazed and enchanted by what the disc had in store. Sadly, it’s all so *almost* right that, as a whole, it’s maddeningly wrong. Lyrically, it’s a mildly pleasant clusterfuck. Musically, it vacillates between too complicated and too spare. Still, vocally promising–the woman is owner of some undeniably glorious dulcet tones. I was not delighted to have my new music hardon totally deflated. boo. Thank goodness my wimmenz Claire and Page Campbell and Deb Davis didn’t disappoint me in the very least with their new release Ariadne Thread. Just go. Listen. Go listen and fall in love like I did. Drink something sloe and strong, weep just a bit, be touched, and then go buy their CD. Get started. I mean it. NOW. I adore them, and I want them to be able to eat.

And now, I leave you with one of the few things that substantially tempts me back to Hartford, despite snow, cold, and the prospect of living at home for a year while applying to grad school.