Friday 28 December 2007

Musicophilia


This book is certainly the best Secret Santa gift that I have ever received. A mean tome. Mr. Sacks, a gifted neurologist, explores the complex relationship between music and the human listener. Why is it that we listen? Why is it that we are affected in such countless ways? A melody contains no tangible concepts or images, yet as we listen the bombardment of memory is oft visceral. Curious, no?

Myriad theories, a smorgasbord of cracking and compassionately spun tales. Well worth checking out is Musicophilia
.

Wednesday 26 December 2007

Cascada & Interpretive Dance...

... Are two of the most repulsive things on the face of the planet. I would be suitably disgusted if I wasn't so busy laughing my bottom off:



Huzzah to all concerned (except that Cascada wench)! The Festive Ennis Seisiún is upon us tonight and the busting of some of these moves is a wretched possibility. Oh well. Hope you are all having a wonderful Christmas folks. Outty.

Saturday 22 December 2007

The Book Of Wrong

You may be already aware of The Book Of Wrong, a work otherwise known as Irish Love and Marriage Jokes by Des MacHale. If not, allow me to present you with a choice selection of the witticisms from this peculiar tome from the year of some folks' lord 1977 AD:


An Irishman has been defined as somebody who would trample over twelve naked women to reach a bottle of Guinness.

Definition of an Irish queer - Somebody who prefers women to drink.

Bridget had twenty children.
"You must love children a lot," a friend remarked.
"Love them?" said Bridget, "I don't even know half of them."

"He was a good husband to me," sobbed Bridget after Pat had died, "he always hit me with the soft end of the mop."

Definition of an Irish gentleman - One who never strikes a lady without provocation.

Pat was telling Bridget off because of the size of the household bills.
"Look at this gas bill," he roared, "you and your unsuccessful suicide attempts!"


Well holy God there Des, but racist stereotypes, homophobia, blatant misogyny, and a mockery of suicide and depression thrown into the pot... Aren't you a grand ould laugh all the same, a mhac!

"Different times". Total arsehole.

Thursday 13 December 2007

Happy Christmas (At Last)


Work has been biting the big one these days. I've really not been feeling the festive buzz at all. Think Buddy in Elf after the divorce, buggered with an intense predilection for the ould smack... That is until I saw this utterly legendary Christmas tree. Decided kudos to the Madridinites of Madrid!

Observe the
Youtubey goodness of it all.

Clipset via technabob.

Monday 10 December 2007

Blip Festival 2007

The Blip Festival in New York City. It finished on the second of this month, but it looked damn cool. The following is a snippet from the official blurb:

Manhattan art space
The Tank and New York artist collective 8bitpeoples announce the Blip Festival 2007, a four-day music and multimedia event taking place in New York City November 29 - December 2, 2007. Focusing on the modern artistic exploration of primitive video game and home computer technology and featuring 40 musicians and visualists from around the world, the Blip Festival showcases artists adopting and re purposing familiar but forgotten hardware - such as the Commodore 64, the Nintendo Entertainment System, the Atari game console and home computer line, and the Nintendo Game Boy - exploring their untapped potential and unique aesthetic character.

Basically, highly inventive loons make some bangin' toons using old Game Boys and what not. This is what it would have been like to attend (last year):




Almost Deaconesque. A decidedly cool enterprise indeed.

The Chocolate Teapot


Aoife Mc: She has a decidedly sweet and informed blog over at The Indie Hour. It's also the name of her music show on Dublin City FM, which is also really rather good.

Aoife Mc: She recorded an album in 2005 and 2006 with the aid of a few talented and friendly sorts. This album is called The Chocolate Teapot. Just click that ould name there and you shall be transported to the appropriate MySpace, whereon there resides four songs from the album for your perusal and downloading pleasure. It is certainly worth the trip... Sumptuous vocals, direct and heartfelt lyricism, intelligent and fitting arrangements and production, a decidedly kick ass trumpet... I'm really rather enjoying the "Laura" buzz. It's a beguiling and wry wee ditty, utterly nonchalant yet plainly emotive. A tricky combination that.

Impressive stuff all round really. A most worthwhile huzzah to thee girl!

Sunday 2 December 2007

The Singing CIA Agent

Dave Lippman. Or is that Agent George Shrub? Either way, he knows your name. This is investigative satire at its finest:



But wait, there's more:



Huzzahs abound then as the Lippman/Shrub show is coming to Ireland very soon. He shall be performing in Dublin in Seomra Spraoi on Friday 7th December. Admission is a mere €7 and it all kicks off at 8pm.

My sources indicate that a show in good old NUIG is on the cards too. Which is nice.

Dan Deacon. Hero.


There is a hulk of a man, down by his children,
We have his table enclosed, there is a countdown,
"Ethan Hawke! Ethan Hawke! Ethan Hawke! Ethan Hawke!"
That gibberish is deliverance, unable to talk,

Or think.

Or communicate with anybody else in the house without the widest of grins.

Dan Deacon in the Róisín Dubh, 30 November 2007. Quite possibly my favourite gig of the year. Put simply, this man is a hero. He is a singular movement, an intense benevolence. His only desire seems to be to spread some love through the medium of apeshit nonsense. And amazingly tight tunes. And one-liners that most stand ups would kill for.

"The Crystal Cat" lifts the spirits and limbs like no other tune I've heard live these past twelve months. My cohorts beside Dan's desk of goodness would surely agree. "Wham City" is an anthem unparalleled. It unites the audience completely, their collective giddiness mirrored by the transcendent ráiméis on the hymn sheets. These are passed about in a millisecond. The choir is adequate. And loving it... The human corridor works perfectly. Everyone lets go and embraces their inner spastic, and that of their stranger. We all dance through, utterly bemusing the crusty chin strokers in the front bar. Which is nice.

Alas, it was all over far too quickly. Mister Deacon, I applaud you! On your set. On your intentions and trajectory. And the fact that you are a very sound fella to boot. As is Leagues O'Toole... Name drop much?

In summary... Being in an audience of Dan Deacon's? Like being one of the backing dancers in High School Musical, but without the choreography, the gimps, or the sinister Aryan undertones.

And infinitely better tunes. Magic.