First of all let me start of by saying that I used to be a fan of your music. I recall living in my flat in Cambridge and listening to your album We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes and thinking how loverly it was. However Ben (may I call you Ben?), that was years ago, not quite a decade, but well years. These days I can no longer handle it. The tweeness of your voice, the non-classically-attractive attractiveness, the squishy lovable nature, all of it. I can not stand it. These days your voice drives me up the friggin wall.
These days one of your songs comes on the radio and I just want to throw something, I want to punch a wall, and I want to stomp up and down. Your voice has become worse than metal scraping metal. And the worst part is that it makes me feel guilty. I feel totally guilty for thinking of how much I want to punch something. Your voice makes me feel like I have kicked a puppy.
I know that you and your band are riding a great trajectory and I'm thrilled for you. Pleased indeed, it's nice to see folks do well. However, for the safety of all walls, puppies and pourous surfaces around me, can you please stop? If not, can you at least do something that makes you sound less whiny. For example, your work in the Postal Service is actually quite nice. And your older works don't make me so angry. There is something that you're doing now that you didn't do before. You are selling more records now, so maybe it's working out in your favor, but I beg of you, please stop. What if I actually do a kick a puppy one day? How will you feel then?
Thank you for your time and consideration.
xoxo, -sabs.
PS: I once had a record label person tell me that Death Cab was "the new Coldplay." I thought you should know that Chris Martin makes me feel the same way. I guess this means the record label folks were right. Congratulations.
Tue, 08/05/2008 - 10:00AM by sabs1 Comment - 9 Views
Over the last few months, I've heard this song by Lykke Li go from random play to often play on Sirius's Left of Center. Each time I heard it I made a mental note to look into it later, but never remember to do it. Thankfully Angelica mentioned it today, so now I can share it with you. It's a pretty fun song, if not somewhat hypnotic.
In addition to the museum outing, Friday was also the night of my hen night. My pal Cindy (along with my sister Samshrew) set it up, and I'm seriously glad they called it a hen night. Granted, in some cultures a bachelorette party is generally called a hen night, but to me the phrase bachelorette party sounds like a gross outing. Calling it a hen night makes it seem better.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a prude, but I just think Girls Gone Wild sort of outings involving pin the sperm on the penis and other awful "risque" gags are just really tacky. No offense to those of you have actually played pin the sperm. I mean, I've been to a few of these, and they always end up being a blast. And everyone gets drunk and happy, and all is well. It's just not me.
Luckily my gals know this. They know it's not me, and provided me with a fun evening of pedicures (thanks Annie!), tasty food (who knew corn with cheese could be so delicious?), drinking (like i said they know me), a silly veil (thanks to crafty Angelica) and karaoke, lots and lots of karaoke. Like an entire private room of karaoke. Complete with some random guy who almost stripped for us. Thankfully, he did not. Although it would have been a pretty good story if he had.
Now for a highlight from the evening. Actually, brace yourself, there's some serious out-of-tunage drunken screaming about to happen.
I recently heard this song on Sirius. I've been known to like beeps and bleeps, la las, male vocals, pianos (used sparingly) and melodic female harmonies. Thus it's a no-brainer that this track by Swedish band The Deer Tracks totally caught my ear.
I'd like to think that I'd care about this band even if they weren't from Beijing. They're called Car Sick Cars, and the singer/guitarist has described them as "Panda Noise."
How can you not enjoy a band that creates panda noise?
Dear Ben Gibbard,
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