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1. Perfume Genius (95)

Every single one of these plays is of “Hood”. One day I listened to it on repeat for an hour; another day I listened to it on repeat while sitting on trams for at least an hour and a half. This makes me think something is up with the scrobbling to Last.fm from my phone, because had every single play been scrobbled this number would be even higher.

This song has gone straight onto my 2012 playlist, from which a mix CD will spring at the end of the year; the one downside of making myself write words like this about what I’ve been listening to is that there will be massive spoilers for said CD. I can’t imagine “Hood” not being on it.

I’m quite literally fascinated. It’s a raw expression of composed terror and longing, longing, longing. Hadreas’ voice rings out so clearly — I’ve waited so long — but then disappears into itself when it comes to the really frightening parts — for your love.

The only other music that has made me feel this way is Antony and the Johnsons’ I Am A Bird Now.

2. The Winter Migration (52)

One of my favourite local bands (and a super-nice bunch of people), The Winter Migration put out a three-song mini-EP last year which is just lovely. Last week I went to see them play for the first time in a while and was inspired to listen to it a whole lot again.1 You can listen to it (and buy it! if you want!) on their Bandcamp page

I’m hoping they release more of their songs this year so I can listen to those all the time as well.

3. The Mountain Goats (47)

I probably won’t have something to say about this each week, but could anything be more important? No. No, it could not. (I’ve had a Get Lonely week interspersed with blasts of the older EPs. Never a dull moment.)

4. King Creosote & Jon Hopkins (35)

The second half of my first flush of infatuation.

5. Tim Hecker (28)

Oddly enough, while I really love both Harmony in Ultraviolet and Ravedeath, 1972 I’ve mainly been listening to Dropped Pianos of late. Must be part of this easy-listening phase I seem to be going through (see also: King Creosote and Jon Hopkins), which has coincided as usual with a terrible insomnia phase. My need for lullabies is much higher than usual.


  1. Because of reasons. None of your cheek, Anneli. 

Link

I guess the last.fm to Tumblr weekly posts don’t work any more after all. As an exercise in actually writing something (anything!) once in a while, I’ll be throwing together a manual version with a few more words every week that I can manage it. Sorry!

1. Hüsker Dü (119)

This week I was strangely not in the mood to listen to most of my music. Fortunately, I have a handy text file for just such occasions: an extensive list of bands and albums that I do want to get around to listening to some day, somehow.

Thus, this was the week in which I finally discovered Zen Arcade.

A year or two ago when I read Our Band Could Be Your Life I went through a bit of a phase of listening to the bands it covered. Most of them weren’t really my thing; I’ll listen to Black Fag over Black Flag any day, my exploration of Sonic Youth has been fitful so far, I couldn’t reconcile the long and wonderfully revolting history of the Butthole Surfers with my memories of listening to “Pepper” all through high school1, et cetera.

And when I listened to the Minutemen’s Double Nickels on the Dime and didn’t get into it at all, I more or less gave up.

Whether it’s because enough time has passed for me to have a fresh perspective, or because Hüsker Dü are just better2, Zen Arcade is great and I’ve been listening to it heaps.

2. R.E.M. (39)

This was me listening to Fables of the Reconstruction about three times and then deleting it. They can’t all be winners.

3. King Creosote and Jon Hopkins (35)

I only discovered Diamond Mine in the wee hours of Saturday morning (at what I suppose must have been a vulnerable moment). Had it not been for the timing, there’s no way I would have had only 35 plays racked up by the end of the week.

I’m completely charmed by this album. It taps into a need I only really developed last year: a need for music that moves slowly, is gentle (or at least subtle), has a prettiness to it, and is also “musically interesting” (for want of a better term) enough to keep me engaged when my mind’s caught up in what I’ve come to privately refer to as some kind of mixed-state hell, or I’m staring-eyed exhausted, or I just plain feel bad.

It’s that need that saw me devour Tim Hecker last year, and enjoy Bon Iver’s latest album a great deal, and spend hours crafting a playlist that might convince me to sleep.

None of that is really about Diamond Mine itself, but so far my listening hasn’t been either. It has piano and acoustic guitar and field recordings and quiet crackling and folk songs and Scottish accents and I like it.

4. The Mountain Goats (33)

About as low as the Mountain Goats ever get on my charts. And it only happens when I have a terrible thirst for new music upon me, and I always come back to them again. It was all Full Force Galesburg and Devil in the Shortwave this week. If I had to pick a really small number of Mountain Goats releases to retain access to and lose the rest forever, I doubt I’d ever leave these out. <3.

5. Tim Hecker (27)

This must have been near the beginning of the week, because I can’t remember listening to Hecker at all recently. I suppose my memory is not at its best. Still, he’s become my go-to artist for quiet times when I can’t stand music with words.

Also-rans

Other listening of note this past week: Jay-Z (Reasonable Doubt, inspired by One Week One Band), Current (Discography, inspired by Andrew), and Perfume Genius (“Hood”).


  1. I really loved that chorus. 

  2. Trololol. 

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"It’s monolithic and needy at the same time, like a godlike being who just wants a shoulder to cry on."

Dave Bloom on Tim Hecker’s Ravedeath, 1972

Text

Remember Your Week/Remember You’re Weak : a fake mix tape

I’ve been stretched lately.

This started out as “songs to hang out laundry to while home alone on a cold evening”. As I put it together I realised that it’s actually “music that I can listen to and not have to stretch any further”.

Unlike most fake mix tapes that I make, there’s little or no overlap with my evolving soundtrack-of-the-year playlist and there isn’t a single appearance by the Mountain Goats. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

black and white photo of a sleepy person's face squished into a pillow

Remember Your Week/Remember You’re Weak
a fake mix tape

01. Bon Iver - Calgary
02. Efrim Manuel Menuck - August Four, Year-of-our-Lord Blues
03. United Waters - Platectonics
04. Boduf Songs - Down Among the Mashers
05. Tim Hecker - Chimeras
06. Moscow Olympics - Carolyn
07. My Friend the Chocolate Cake - Talk About Love
08. DeYarmond Edison - Epoch
09. Iron & Wine - Lion’s Mane
10. Slowdive - Cello
11. Bill Callahan - Rococo Zephyr
12. Dirty Three - Sea Above, Sky Below
13. Andrew Bird - Yawny at the Apocalypse
14. Radiohead - Videotape

download (92.5MB zip file)

Audio
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Tim Hecker - Radio Spiricom

I’ve been listening to Tim Hecker’s Harmony in Ultraviolet.

It’s ambient enough that I can listen to it quietly when I’m winding down, and engaging enough that I can listen and be awake at the same time.

I feel like saying it’s impossible for me to listen to it and feel stressed, but that’s probably because if I do feel stressed I can’t stand to listen to anything this chilled out. Still — it’s relaxing. It makes me think of oceans.

On a recent workday morning I listened to it while I waited for a train at Box Hill. I somehow couldn’t shake the feeling that the music was echoing quietly through the entire station. I had to pause the music and take off my headphones to make sure it wasn’t. I felt like I was in a huge, underwater cavern1, and the echoes of some larger music were filtering down to me and becoming something entirely different.

After I got off the train I walked along the path that takes me to work (and eventually past this incredible sign, incidentally). Sunlight filtered through the trees and glinted off the railway tracks. I breathed deeply. It still felt like the music was coming from everywhere around me, only now that meant it was everywhere, maybe covering the entire world.

I walked past some houses and magpie song mingled with the sounds in my headphones. Something, maybe my subconscious, filtered out everything else. I felt like I was remembering my childhood in suburbia2 in a strange, indistinct way that didn’t have anything to do with any actual memories.

Filters and echoes and and oceans.


  1. While being mysteriously able to breathe. Maybe I’m a frog! 

  2. The same suburbia, actually. No more than two or three kilometres away.