technically, the answer is the sister of filthy whiteboy hiphop guttersnipe, black nasty. but like all things in this crazy world of ours there’s more than one response to that question.

pink nasty is a purveyor of texan musical loveliness and celestial vocal musings, who i first encountered when i heard her new album, mold the gold, was produced by palace brother and real-life sibling of beloved bonnie ‘prince’ billy, paul oldham.
and not only that, they’d recorded a lovers duet (in the time honoured tradition of say, mickey and sylvia, only in denim dungarees). now, anything with will oldham on is more than enough to pique my interest, so i tracked down ‘Don’t Ever Change’ with every hunting instinct in my body and dag-namint if i didn’t love it so.

couple that kind of box-ticking with my burgeoning cover version habit and throw in a the dirty soft spot i have for cheesy r’n'b and strike me down if pink nasty don’t floor me with this.

yes, it might be the first use of the use of the word ‘boo’ in the country oeuvre.

and yes, yes, yes she maintain’s the lyric “all my fella’s can you feel my pain?’ but this is what cover versions were destined to do, make you hear a song in a new way (and you don’t have to suffer usher’s nearly insufferable cocksurity and frugdancing).
having already, more than a few times, established my propensity for heavy use of the repeat button on my ipod/itunes it’ll come as the least surprising surprise this side of Christmas that this track accompanied me all the way down the jamaica road on sunday (since you didn’t ask, that’s five consecutive plays between london bridge and canada water).

my pink nasty space

buy mold the gold

pink nasty - burn

another week nearly over, and despite much self-inflicted, tiredness-enduced angst and illness its been another doozy; what with the basilika boys spreading rhythm so infectious on saturday the punters plain couldn’t help themselves, some quality r’n'r (just don’t ask what the ‘r’ stands for), hook ups with old but fun connections, seeing ms coco electrik strut her foxiest, hotpant, jumpsuited stuff at the acoustic ladyland album launch on tuesday and generally whooping it up round london town. but goodness me if it isn’t friday all over again and my turn to ease you into le weekend with something to raise your heart rate and shake your ass.

courtesy of melting pot music, this is a live (yes, yes, y’all!) cover of afrikaa bambaataa and the soul sonic force’s seminal electro/hiphop classic, planet rock, brought to you with the teutonic stylings of Breakout.

this is ripped from the vinyl so you even get that authentic click and rustle of the stylus hitting before the killer drum kicks its way into your chest cavity and makes you jack like you probably shouldn’t in public…

this is way more information than any of you need, but it makes me dance round my bedroom in nothing but a towel like i’m molly ringwald and it’s 1986.

breakout - planet rock pt2

so tonight the seaside calls us, the salty winds of the south coast will be whipping through our (really great) hair as we chomp fish and chips on the promenade and before disappearing into the toasty warmth of the prince albert to see two of my favourite artists ever play up close and personal sets.

i’ve posted frequently on the genius that is josh tillman but his friend and headliner for acousti-fest is Damien Jurado.

Damien Jurado is band.

And a man.

He has some kind of unique talent for storytelling.

On long nights, I’m surprised how noisy the crackle of my bedlinen is in my ears. It should be quiet, reassuring; should be the noise of warmth and comfort as I roll over with my duvet up to my chin and try to get to sleep but then there’s that scratchy rustle of cotton and feathers which recalls how simple things like a warm, safe, quiet place to sleep don’t come as easy as I’d always like.

That’s what his songs are like.

A master lyricist after the American tradition of Springsteen’s vignette laden radio friendly epics, Damien Jurado’s turn of phrase can reduce a life story to four minutes.
Damien Jurado’s songs have something to say about life.

About struggle. About being human in a fallen world. About fallibility and faith.

Some of his protagonists are aware of their failings, some are not.
Some seek redemption, while others offer no apology.

And some are just in love.

But most all are struggling.

Not wanting to get too jazz on you, it’s often what he doesn’t say in his lyrics which is the stuff to listen out for.

He could redeem and romanticise his heroes; could offer solutions and happy endings and trite repeat to fade choruses but he leaves in all the bad bits and makes you do some of the hard work.

It is the honesty in what he does which is disarming as his voice.

Sure there’s a plethora of lovely melodies, a couple of chirpy love songs and beautiful soaring harmonies from the always adorable Rosie Thomas and more recently band mate and cellist Jenna Conrad, amongst others but the humanity of Damien Jurado’s work, the brutal honesty and aching fragility of what he writes deserves attention.

Unsettling frankness, like noisy bedlinen is something I figure we could all occasionally do with a little more of…
Here is a track from his last album, Where Shall You Take Me (its for a friend… but you can all enjoy it)
Damien Jurado - I Can’t Get Over You

don’t time fly when you’re having fun?

that last post *points down* was our fiftieth canter across the gallops of the internets.

back in the day when horse latitudes was a mere glint in these bloggers collective eyes it seems almost unfathomable that we’d get here so quick. an absence of a working computer (and complete lack on knowledge, know how and doubtless, talent) means i can’t post the next in the legendary canon of hl mixtapes to mark the occasion - which incidentally is, at least in my imagination, the bestest damn mixtape ever.

so until i or one of my compadres come with the goods you out there in internetland can occupy yourselves with this little slice of whistful indie-girl goodness (via GvB) from former polyphonic spree-er, current sufjan support act, winona ryder looky-likey and cute-as-hell in her own right, blogger’s favourite st vincent.
and as its been a while since we trumpetted how well connected we are it’d be a shame not to mention that hl’s favourite uk singer/songwriter jon bilbrough followed her onto stage in nyc last month too.

damn we’re good.

the song, ‘these days’ is a cover of a jackson browne track which he, in turn wrote for nico, and appears on her post vu, john cale produced, bedsit classic chelsea girl lp. having tired of nico’s glacial teutonicness some time ago i really like jackson browne’s own version but this st vincent cover from the tour ep she’s been hawking round the us and europe captures stuff i like about both versions.

her voice is sufficiently sad and gossamer to embue the regret tinged lyrics with the right amount of pathos but that descending bassline which plods nicely forward with the plinky guitar and subtle organ sound lift it out of the germanic drudgery of nico’s major heroin habit and 40 gitanes a day vocals. i’m not sure if its a gender thing but jackson browne’s version is more desperate, more broken, he sounds like he’s too tired to be bitter but should he able to muster the energy it might be a bile filled paeon. conversely “please don’t confront me with my failures, i have not forgotten them” in st vincent’s world is about the most self aware thing i’ve heard all day.

see what you think

this is about matt ward. or m. ward. or m ward. my itunes lists all of those guises, but i guess the names’ll change but the constellations will still tumble and he’ll still have a soft gravelly voice and a steady insistent way of strumming a guitar.
when he was working with howie gelb at giant sands (lo-fi indie name drop coming up, more of a name tumble i guess) matt and i emailed a little. he was posting his cds out from his house and you had to send him cash to buy them. i doubted the mailman wouldn’t take my ten dollars out of the envelope and go and buy 5 cheesy gourdita crunches at taco bell.

but he didn’t and i got a cd back.

but that was 2002. and now he’s signed to beggar’s offshoot and xl sister label matador and laterly 4ad and he’s doing great.

this song here is something i’ve had for a long time. you’ll know it. i don’t need to say much anything about it except that if you’re going to cover a well known song then you need to take it somewhere else, which is just what he does.

in fact maybe he takes it to bed. not in a seedy, throw you on a grubby mattress and hammer it out for five minutes and one second way

he lays the track down on a feather eiderdown and longs it into submission, he coaxes the romance and magic out of bowie’s flashy nile rodgers co-produced vapid yet funky yuppie post-disco electro stomp in a way that makes me wonder if they’re the same song afterall. i wanted to post more of his stuff but even chosing a couple of tracks is a bit too much of a challenge. plus i’m basking in the afterglow of listening to this over and over while i wrote.
m. ward - let’s dance