Pop: … go the weasels who run laps ’round that fabled mulberry bush. Why? They’re thirsty for profits from new markets. I remember when Josta was the next big drink, and how quickly it went down the drain. Wonder if Busta Rhymes will be tapped to push this? And why am I not surprised that convenience stores and gas stations are where this stuff will be sold? John Singleton’s “Poetic Justice” hipped viewers to the urban vs. rural retail beverage bait-and-switch a ways back.
Sunday papers: … Inside Immaterial Incorporated � Issue Two, Andrea Codrington on beige. (Cabinet has this column called Colors “in which a guest writer is asked to respond to a specific color assigned by the editors of Cabinet.” Codrington points out the obvious Hannah Arendt-John Mellencamp continuum, a Web site devoted to the color and riffs all high-crit on khaki uniforms and pre-iMac Apple ‘puters.)
What else? In an interview at Junior’s Restaurant in Brooklyn, N.Y., Colson Whitehead’s a little full of himself, but Walter Mosley, as ever, is gracious and expansive. Thanks, Book magazine!
Vikter Duplaix in XLR8R recounts his impression of Berlin and vibing with Britain’s “broken-beats crew.”
Critical Mass: The Chronicle has an article about yesterday, which I overheard people talking about in Cafe 1428 this morning.
I was in the office last night, getting ready to leave, when a coworker explained what all that noise down on Fourth Street was.
I looked out an east-facing window and down onto the intersection of Fourth and Mission and saw them surging along, cars stopped on both sides — lots of yelling and stuff, seasoned with sirens and honking horns.
And it was really cool to watch them riding down toward Pac Bell Park, strength in numbers, support against roadway hogs and a reassertion of human-powered modes of travel.
The memory was just what I needed to put some perspective on the BART train backup I ran into minutes later while trying to get home.
I’d rather take the train, I’d rather bike, I’d rather walk than get behind a car and drive anywhere. I’m so grateful I can choose to do so whenever I feel like it.
Have you ever been fond of a font?: … He has. And so have I.
Proverb of the week: … “The tortoise knows how to make love to his wife.”
Where do you want to go tomorrow?: … or rather (clears throat) “Do you know where you’re going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you? Where are you going to? Do you know?” No, I haven’t entirely lost my mind. Context is here; noticed it over here; lyrics to “Theme from Mahogany” now playing in your head are right here.
Black skin, white skin: … and all the skin in between, according to one Australian researcher’s explanation.
After the day I just had: … it sure feels good to lock “Beautiful Night” (7.3 MB) on repeat in the iBook currently known as Orange Moon, plunge down into Powell BART after a short skitter along the San Francisco streetscape and head home to my honey. And no, it’s not a cover of “It’s Gonna Be A Beautiful Night,” that sublime live Prince track off his “Sign o’ The Times” album.
Listen to it: six minutes and twenty-five seconds of hip-swaying high-as-hallelujah head-baked noodling, mellow as wine and mildly sensorily psychoactive. A crisp tabla, what sounds like thumb piano or tuned percussion, an amusingly oblique vocal sample, a floaty electric guitar riff, rounded bass, drums and trumpet: all those ingredients, and man do I love the taste. It’s not un-post-rocky, un-Tortoise-like.
It’s the last track on Ani DiFranco’s new album “Revelling,” the first of the two CDs that make up “Revelling/Reckoning,” the Righteous Babe’s latest project. Walked home from Lake Merritt BART listening to it last night; the next-to-last track, “Rock Paper Scissors,” had ended just as my train pulled in. “Beautiful Night” made for a great soundtrack for walking home through the dusk along Madison Street, glancing west at intersections to see the fog like a high wall of surf frozen miles high by some celestial remote.
I do like my walking-home soundtracks, as you know. Maybe it’s just that my barriers are down, and any ol’ thing sounds good to me. But I loved it last night, and now that the fog is socking the city in and fading the skyline outside my window to grey, I can honestly say that it’s all I want to hear. That is, until I get around to the other songs.