Or maybe it was St. Peter. Does St. Peter allocate brains? Or just entrance into the gates of heaven? I can't keep my Christian story times straight.Now I'm all changed into stretchy things and my shit's drying by the fire and I get to watch the sky flood from the safety of my wine glass. And the house smells like stew. Life could be worse, I'm telling you.
I'm here to do a rare music review. If Devon still reads this thing, I expect him to choke on his beer at the following.
I can't stop listening to Bon Iver.
Normally I hate this sensitive indie bullshit. It's a well known fact. Anyone mentions the name Death Crap for Cutie and they're in for a tirade. And don't even get me started on Iron and Wine. If you're ONE dude with no band, you're just Iron. You're NOT Iron AND Wine.
I've made a few exceptions before now, namely Pinback and Grizzly Bear, but have mainly stuck to my guns. Until now. I can't stop listening to this album. I couldn't even tell you what it's called, but thanks to iPods, I don't have to know. It really is hypnotic. But you can put it on in the background of just about any event. Or...just sit staring at the wall, fully absorbing it. So versatile! This music is the black pencil skirt of sensitive indie rock.
Looking at the above, I really don't understand why no one pays me to write music reviews. Where the fuck are you, Rolling Stone?! My talent is wasting away over here!
And everybody say happy b-day to Brendan who is now the age I was way back in February. I wonder if he'll ever catch up.
I'm off to find a bible to look up whether or not rain is considered a plague.
