I have discovered a new favorite half hour of television. The Dive, weekends on Fuse. A half hour of indie videos of indie music featuring indie boys....hubba. Videos sans fx and disco lighting and scantily clad barely-legals. Videos that harken back to an era when video could have, in fact, killed the radio star. I only wish it were on longer and every night.The problem with The Dive, howeve
www.lulu.com/thebentspoonWell, it is official. I have joined the ranks of those who have struck out alone to bring their art to the public on their own terms, not the terms of a big, in my case, publisher. Nothing too fancy, just a small collection of small stories, and a few poems. Above is the link to where it can be purchased ($9.75USD + S&H), below is the dust jacket summary:There are many
GAH!!! This concert is beginning to stress me out. I live in a desolate hole on the very edge of the cultural universe (although we did get the Reverend Horton Heat and Big Head Todd and the Monsters within two weeks of each other, which was a bonus). Everything I want to see only hits Denver. At least mostly. So that's four hours. Or five for those of us damned to the dog-mobile (i.e. Greyho
It seems that in recent years (maybe the last ten, the past all blurs together for me), television producers have been just as concered with what they underscore their stories with as they are with the stories. It has been a very common practice in the last few years to produce soundtrack albums from popular TV shows: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Smallville, The OC, Grey's Anatomy. The producers of
As much as I fight to avoid labels - punk, emo-kid, elitest indie chick (okay, that one I embrace) - I find that I am very much an emo-kid. It's amazing what you learn about yourself by looking at a list of the last 10 songs you've played on your digital stereo. I listen to a lot of heartbreaking music - Her Space Holiday, the Decemberists, Something Corporate, Jack's Mannequin, the Elected, Our