Win On Diagonals

Hi everyone,

Domenic hear from El Alto, hoping you’re shoe box is safely hidden in a remote imaginary summer house with all the lucre you hosed out of Wall Street’s pen.  I got two traffic tickets this year. I promised myself I would save the tickets and make a lover eat them, demanding that she look at me with her cop sunglasses reflecting a lost continent of cheerful quack-quacks, as I rushed her to the elevator in the south east of our palace where an obsequious judge would cry in front of both of us, demanding that he be punished by having to witness a contest in which…anyway

 

We will have to wait till 2009 for El Alto’s ‘ The Long 18th Century’ to visit the earth from its safe recondite hiding spot. Our sound and our vast stash of horizontally-lift-delifting material, is still being culled from many similar sources of inspiration, as well as new special additions and subtractions from our lives. We promise an album that will be harder nosed in some respects with a few rodgered Rock nailers to spread over a cool unslept in bed— El Altoized to keep the seats in your car cold after hours of pissless mileage accrues….. Brian Dewan will be working on some of the album cover art, in collaboration with a concept especially developed for this first El Alto record in over 3 years.

 

Below, find a few albums that moved me in many ways this past year that I would like to share.  I have no preamble, or tie in to ‘current events,’ that kept me sanguine—towards/sur-–suspicious or otherwise, no rhapsodizing to ooozle you doods and doodets with. Represented below, are both new albums, as well as reissues. How many hours has music come to your rescue in the quotidian clammy drill of the winter/summer/winter clobbering this year?

 

Best…Happy New Year…

Domenic

Some top artist/albums for 2008

check out: www.myspace.com/elalto

 

1: Max Richter: 24 Postcards in Full Color

Some of the most inspirational piano music I’ve heard in a bazillion years. Places imbued with places of music…brevity sweeted and darkened by many forlorn components, including gossamer clinging feedback. Strong tableaus present themselves, and retire with nervy evaporation.   I understand that these compositions were suppose to originally be cell ring tones, elaborations of them, fusing the idea of music as art with this all too commercial aural bloop-poop… I don’t much care. I highly recommend this album by the German in England.

2. Kurt Vile: Constant Hitmaker

Dog ass Curtain Summer……now opening… can toss my pants at the mesk swallowing Hoover Beach Guitarist.  Trumpets and bikes hold you in July’s honest crotch…. I wish I wish I wish… catchy Jaddles, and beat up locker hope.  There is something AM Radio flipped and fingered with purulent reward in this hitmaker constant…  Accident great, but no fortuity in that….or so I say lifting myself from a ten year reverie that this dude’s songs always throws back in my my Orange Julius.  

3. The Oh Sees:  The Master’s Bedroom

4. The Silver Jews: Look Out Mountain Look Out Sea

5. Shugo Tokumaru: Exit

6. Sic Alps: U.S. EZ

7. Jonas Reinhardt: (Self Titled)

8. Tommy Jay’s: Tom’s Tall Tales of Trauma

9. Escape Mechanism:  Emphasis Added: “Yes, of course I do.”

10.  The Instruments: Dark Smaland (Sweet teawood and lambent woe levitating you into some pusillanimous/frigid new thing around forever….. falling

11. Tape: Luminarium

12. William Parker: Double Sunrise over Neptune

13. Juana Molina: Un Dia:

(Loved taking the train to Tigre (about an hour south of Buenos Aires) in Argentina this past October, listening to such peripatetically perfect masterpieces such as ‘No Llama,’  This song and man on the well named ‘Un Dia’ take you on very rewarding and never meandering expeditions that are both eloquent and pleasingly disorientating.  Something or someone always meets up with you midway or so during the walks of these tunes….these forces are snappy dressers and smell of pacified daysleepers dabbing long quills in long skinny pots of…………………………

14. Ignatz: 3

15. The Duchess @ the Duke:  She’s the Duchess, He’s…

16. Prisonshake: Dirty Moons

17. Deer Hunter: Microcastle

18. Stereolab: Chemical Chords (I never went ga-ga for any of their album, yet have always enjoyed

19. Eddy Current Suppression Ring- Primary Colors (I don’t care if they spell it ‘colours’…i’m not doin it…no way…….I’m that kind of secret jingo-thug!  A sweet door kicker of a downunder easy-path to….  that never needs too… The effortless, straight ahead riff-scorp and heap that get’s so full of warm ember claws, but keeps you 3 parts colder and trimmed away from any 1-2-9 tedium.

 

 

Sorry for the sloppiness of this post…. I am…

 

(Tunes, name that, you. Please)

                                                                                                Domenic Maltempi

                                                                                                                12-20-2008

 

 

                                                                1:

 

Lying into the umbrella share

                                                                                An incompletist over-endowed everyday

                                                                                Against best wishes

                                                                                  Begins to unload all the unexploded blue marble

                                                                                                                Teafins, spilling onto saucers from      unsuccessful oceans

                                                                                                You can glue us back together again

                                                                                                                We will never be able to lie as we did that summer of the potato tot fire

 

                                                                                                                                                                Improving ourselves

                                                                              Learning to smile like a doctor’s small son  

at a jolly invalid

                                                                                           Hiding behind heavy damask curtains

                                                               His mother trying to hang herself in an uninvented garden

                                                                                                                                                                                That keeps turning blue

                                                                                                                                                                                  So bang on the garden’s side panel

                                                                                                                                                                                                Eat its jewels with your squinting hands

               

                                                                                                                                                                                               Diagnosing the baglady’s serendipity

                                                                                                                                                                                                Proved hard for the limpid mentalist

                                                                                                                                                                                                It would be another 111 years till Dan Bricklin

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Would invent the spreadsheet

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Lunging over the defogger skeptics

                                                                                                                                                                                                                I managed to sloppily write a message of love

                                                                                                                                                                                                To a carpooling brunette in the backseat

 a former acquaintance of my songbird’s sales woman

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Ricci, Leonora

                                                                                                                                                                                                               

 

 

 

2.                Drying convincingly for trauma victims

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                That repelled the very possibility of unsaturated bodies

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   I hoped in my own squalor beamed way   

for another chance to get fired

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Fired in front of every gum smacking mogul

at Overcast Visitations LTD

 

                                                                                                                                                                                

                                                                                                                                               

                               

                                                                  

Across eight presidential campaigns, since Jimmy Carter’s successful run in 1976, I’ve never seen such collective determination by the liberal left to think only positive thoughts about a Democratic candidate. Indeed, some of the present fury may stem from a certain embarrassment at their own political naivety. In fairness to Obama, beyond the vaguely radical afflatus of his campaign rhetoric about “change”, Obama never concealed his true political stance, which is of the center-right. In every sense of the phrase, he can say to his left critics, “I told you so.” And indeed he did.

 

from A. Cockburn’s Diary of 12/7/08

 

I had wavering jitters at the booth that Nov 4th day, but now I’m very very glad that I voted Ralphie Boy….beacause this dude is for real all right……and no boy-idiot sure….but it’s the same old gnarly routine on the same old ugly stage in K-Sreet Land.