Recent Drops

New albums out by Jungle, Caribou, Glass Animals & TOPS. Time to crack into Indian Summer.

They’re bonafide!




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Friday’s Song: A French Set

My apologies for the delay, folks.

It’s Bastille Day on Monday. Today, let’s celebrate some of the sweetest and smoothest Francophone jams. This one’s for the Frenchies.



Tame Impala’s Five Fridges High!

Five fridges? What the hell’s that, you ask? It’s surfing parlance. A measurement for wave height. Stacked atop one another, five fridges measures out to about 18 feet or so. Depends on whether you the surfer or the bystander, I suppose. Anyway, Tame Impala, another musical act from the fabled Perth, Australia, aren’t actually the height of several refrigerators high. But their sound is.

Their songs hit like a Nerf football to the face. Enough chit chat. Here’re three “variations” of Tame Impala songs to give you a sense of why I’m babbling so. First, the good folks at Modular People‘s titillating remix of the smash-hit “Elephant”; even after 7 and a half minutes this live version of “Be Above It” will make you cry out for more; finally, the sneak attack: a praiseworthy cover of Andre 3000’s “Prototype”.



Gooey, Sticky, Dirty

Some, like Ol’ Marilyn, like it hot. Lucky!

When it’s sweltering out and the flat you’ve rented is sans air conditioning, these three tunes are your companions through the dogged summer heat. Here’s to empathy and staying cool. Or, hot…if you like that.



Not Over ‘Til The (Fat) Lady Sings

That’s how I came to open an upscale jazz bar in the basement of a brand-new building in Aoyama…The bar was more successful than my wildest dreams.

There, at the counter of the Robin’s Nest, she sat, quietly sipping a daiquiri…A woman this beautiful would not be out drinking alone. A woman like this wasn’t the type to be thrilled by men making advances. She’d just find it a pain.

Her beauty took your breath away, but I didn’t figure her for a movie star or a model. Those types did frequent my bar, but you could always tell they were conscious of being on public display, the unbearable meness of being clinging to the air around them. But this woman was different. She was completely relaxed, totally at ease with her surroundings. She rested her chin in her hands on the counter, absorbed in the piano trio’s music, all the while sipping her cocktail as if lingering over a particularly well-turned phrase.

Every few minutes, she glanced in my direction. I could sense it, physically. Though I was positive she wasn’t really looking at me.

All quotes, slightly abridged, appear in Haruki Murakami’s South Of The Border, West Of the Sun.