In case you can’t tell, I’m forehead deep in my thesis/colloquium/whatnot, and encasing these flickers of joy from my studies in some tumblr-amber is a simple pleasure. The complex pleasure was reading three books today. It’s complex cause I’m still trying to find out what would make that pleasurable.

If one has occasion as a doctor to make the acquaintance of one of those people who, though not remarkable in other ways, are well known in their circle as jokers and the originators of many viable jokes, one may be surprised to discover that the joker is a disunited personality, disposed to neurotic disorders.

Sigmund Freud, Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious

Well, good thing that Freud dude’s stuff turned out to be bunk in the face of modern science and comedians, right? ehe

One person procreates a thought, a second carries it to be baptized, a third begets children by it, a fourth visits it on its deathbed, and a fifth buries it.

Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

Freud employs lots of Lichtenberg’s wordplay in Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious but this one stood out to me.


Chapter title in Gulliver’s Travels by Johnathan Swift

Probably the only time I’ve ever laughed out loud at a table of contents.

Major Lazer, “Get Free feat. Amber Coffman”

Speaking of Diplo, I’ve seen him hyping this track on Twitter for the past week and retweeting fans’ reactions (“EPIC,” “is listening to this 100 times straight overkill?”) so I sat down to listen fully expecting to jump right back up like I got a dancehall in my pants-…all.

I cranked up the volume at the first notes, wondering where the beat was. The reggae carousel sound kept spinning along, and Amber’s vocals hopped on. My brain caught up, and after I clicked into what I was actually listening to, I got so pumped! One of my favorite Major Lazer songs is “Good Enough,” which has a similar stoned melancholy to it. Both of these tracks are wanting something more, but the unique timbre of Amber Coffman’s voice, (unique enough to hold its own amidst the rest of Dirty Projectors’ components,) trickling down each verse, makes her plea for freedom hold a little more weight than “Good Enough’s” relationship woes.

(And holy shit I just downloaded it from their site and it comes packaged with a remix by Bonde Do Role. Listen to that too, a fantastic example of remix as reinterpretation as opposed to genre shift.)

Oh good, I reached the final chapter of today’s Internet usage. Now I may rest my weary brain for the night.

Some Thoughts on Coachella (and Music Festivals) That I’ve Been Kicking Around For About A Year Now

Pitchfork’s Ian Cohen concludes his week one (and maybe week two?) coverage of Coachella by noting that “buying a pass to Coachella is something akin to investing in the ability for music to still deliver something close to a monoculture.” This comes after an appraisal lacking in excitement, noting fault after fault in the shows with very few polite, dry love-notes to particularly inspired performances. (And the reunion sets by Pulp and Mazzy Star. Could Pitchfork be getting *gasp* old? *heavy wheezing exhale suggesting, yes, yes it is*)

But, well… Let me pre-defend myself against (totally valid) cries of contrarianism: I would love to go to Coachella. I would freak the fuck out at the chance to see a lot of new, exciting artists and a few old faves. I imagine I would take the time to learn about all the performers I don’t recognize or have a passing interest in. I’d go with friends. Make out with Lindsay Lohan. Never call her. Regret never calling her. BUT I don’t have the money for it saved up in a lump sum like that, and if I did, I’d probably feel guilty for spending it… And… Well…

Assuming I took the $300 for a Coachella ticket and instead put it to $20 concerts over the span of a year, I could see fifteen acts that I specifically care about (as well as their opening acts) perform full sets in intimate, climate-controlled venues with more opportunities for friends to join me and a crowd that has shown up for this show. With some rough estimation that would give me Death Grips, EMA, Kendrick Lamar, Azealia Banks, The Vaccines, araabMUZIK, Frank Ocean, Dada Life, Madeon, R3hab, and A$AP Rocky, then I’d take what’s left over and splurge on Santigold and The Weeknd. If you’re gonna argue that it would cost more than $300, then fuck you and tack on airfare and cost of living.

We live in a world where if you care about music, you have the tools to get whatever you want to listen to and critical opinion is easier to find than ever. The entry-level costs of production have gone down enough that anyone can be a musician. When Pitchfork describes Coachella as appealing to a musical monoculture, they’re saying that people still want to throw down their money for an experience that’s being made obsolete. Coachella creates this event that harkens back to the past: for my Georgia folk, remember Music Midtown? Freaknik? They died out because listeners needed something bigger to gather for— they needed to be convinced that the event had cultural capital beyond just seeing the artists.

I’m not saying you’re stupid for liking festivals. Electric Zoo has strobed two of the best weekends of my life at me. (I would argue that there are differences between E-Zoo and Coachella/Bonnaroo, but that’s another delirium-fueled tumblr rant.) I just thought that Pitchfork’s idea really clicked with a thought I’ve held onto for awhile and never bring up because I’d be a real dick to do that to someone excited about Coachella.

on the meanest dope there is: DOPAMINE! LOOOOOOL (laughing out over others or often offensively loud)