I was sitting on a frozen pile of 2×4’s, battling the winter air, a crossword puzzle in hand, a new found way to pass the ‘mud hour’ at work: 4-5pm; most contractors have already claimed a stool at the local bar.
6 across: ‘contains the motherlode’
I began running the basic solving processes through my head: *8 letter word, 7th letter is ‘n’, hmm, motherlode, the name of an old video game my brothers and I spent endless hours on which involved operating a mining vehicle on Mars*
The Aftermath has often discussed ways in which we discover music. It’s become an important riddle for both the basement music scourer and the industry giants, both seeking a way to find the next rich lode, the next profitable source or supply, the next rare gem, the place that will contain the motherlode, the, goldmine.
Whenever a Spotify link pops up from him in my texts, I get excited and grab my headphones. He knows it when he hears it. A similar ear for music and countless memories created through sound makes his read on it a good one. He’s a consistent source and has a knack for finding the gems, a goldmine for my music library:
I’ve been wrestling with an idea for a while now and can’t shake it. Our lives have become detached from unbiased experiences.
Yelp tells us if we should expect a good meal, Rotten Tomatoes dictates our viewing choices, Airbnb photo galleries are the basis of lodging selection, dating apps remove any mystery around meeting someone, and Instagram gives us utopian expectations of vacation destinations long before we step on the plane. The list goes on.
Put simply, we actively avoid going into things blindly. And this is a problem. Our bodies and minds need elements of the unexpected and unprejudiced; of this I am certain. Without them, how do we stay sharp. How do we remain curious. How do we feel alive.
Think on this, and dive blindly into the sounds of Volta Jazz. Let it take you wherever it takes you.
Volta h/t Tommy
“Three is my guess. Three or three-thirty,” said the man in a bright yellow polo tucked into khaki shorts. He drifted by our window, circled his car and stopped to lean against the guard rail. Two older women sat inside — one with a Tom Clancy novel spread across her lap, the other eating a bag of tortilla chips as she searched for a cooler of beer.
“Think they’ll be cold?” said the woman.
The man laughed. “Not a chance.”
Two miles up 1-80, a car was on fire. Behind us, were two more accidents. “That’s what happens when people slam the brakes on a two-lane highway,” said the man to no one in particular.
Beyond the guard rail was a drop off, a steep ravine lined with pine trees bending up to the clear, blue sky. I kicked off my shoes. The hot cement felt good pressed against the arches of my feet.
A car door slammed. A family of three jogged by — sweating. The woman in front of us let out a shrill yelp, tipping a beer can back, frothy liquid dribbling down her cheeks.
“Time to go!!” she shrieked.
A David Guetta (he’s got grey hair now) show last week, Ultra Miami this week – there’s no fighting it, I’m back to the basics in a big way:
I like this band. They’ve got something going on. And it’s not just because they’re #1 on Hype Machine right now. I promise.
We’ve been a bit wordy as of late, so I’ll try to cut to the chase. Saltwater Sun is a British band that combines the elegance of Elder Island with the grittiness of DIIV. Lofty guitar riffs create a thrashing tension that seems to stretch as far back as it rushes forward.
Feels good doesn’t it?
Fans of The Office love the show for the jaw clenching moments of missed social cues and over the top irreverence. Ironically, the greatest perpetrator is the boss himself. Self-centered and clueless, Michael Scott gives us a million reasons to roll our eyes.
Despite his antics, Michael is able to gain the loyalty of his subordinates. While his corporate peers try to wrangle profits, Michael focuses his attention on birthday celebrations and recreational non sequitors, like Cafe Disco.
In Season 5 Michael uses a vacant space directly beneath Dunder Mifflin to play disco and iron out his awkward dance moves. He outfits the space with an espresso machine and a set of portable speakers. When the new receptionist goes looking for Michael, she finds him caffeinated and flailing.
With shots of espresso and Everybody Dance Now blaring through an air-vac, Michael tries to lure the rest of his co-workers out of their desk chairs, but despite a few tapping toes, they’re hesitant to cut loose. Just as Michael is on the verge of giving up, his caffeine buzz lapsing, he hears the muffled tones of a disco beat and rushes downstairs to see Cafe Disco in full swing.
Anyone who’s sat stoically in a dry meeting has at one time or another, fantasized about Cafe Disco. Maybe not exactly to Michael’s specs — espresso and dance music — but a brief reprieve from the safe harbors of marinating on a few action items, for something more fabulous.
Which got me going on a Cafe Disco playlist featuring a track from a Nightmares on Wax Boiler Room set, a Deliceuse Musique premier and a little something jacked from WalterCronkTight’s DJ playlist.