Kim's River Myth
I trust you shall forgive me for what has been a relatively quiet week thus far. The fact of the matter is that this week has been anything but quiet on Planet Marylebone and also I am surround by books. More so than usual. In addition to these startling, nay thrilling factual tidbits, it is occasionally a good and refreshing idea for me to shut the hell up and - I’ve said this before, for certain - lie down in a dark corner and not talk to anyone for six hours at a time. Perhaps even eight but at this stage that just seems too decadent for decent company.
A few peoples have asked me for more 35mm and so I proffer the above for your satiation. Drummer and I accompanied another friend of the French variety to witness the audible proficiency of Okkervil River, live at The Garage on Wednesday. They are a supremely confident band, keenly aware of their harmonies and timbre. I couldn’t say for certain exactly what their guitarist was doing in tandem with the bassist but I would almost swear blind that there was a bit crush involved. I eventually cornered him backstage after their set, turned on the inquisition bulb and gesticulated madly with a blowtorch but he insisted that it was just some kind of delay. I slunk off into the night with my questions unanswered and an empty camera in tow.
Did I mention that I’m surrounded by teetering towers of tomes? There was a point earlier today where I simply assumed the door existed although I could not see it for these books and simply had to bark instructions to any would be adventurers from within the warren. I am Mrs Kim’s crazed house. The really astounding thing is that there aren’t even enough of them yet and many meters of seriously serious shelf to fill.
The gang of Vitsœ don’t mess about and the entire thing went up in one Saturday afternoon. Now they long for literature to clothe their naked form and I am not helping. I would go so far as to say that I am my most unkind foe. Look at this book. Look at this tiny, tiny book. How shall I furnish an empty house with the like of ‘Six Fairy Tales’? Hockney, the brothers Grimm and I need to have a serious chat. Also, I desperately need to Tracy Island a miniature bookmark for that is what shall make my heart to soar.
How do I love the Pixies? Let me count the ways. If you’d like a dipstick with which to measure the point at which a sectioning might be appropriate, I shall divulge the following: Every time (every time) - at least for the past couple of years - that I put a bunch of tracks on the jukebox, be it three or six or seven, I must play at least one track by Black, sometimes Deal & family. I can’t help myself. I have their brand on my skinny white boy arm and that’s a commitment I’m more than happy to live by.
‘Surfa Rosa’ May well be my favourite album (never hold me to that for more than a day) but ‘Doolittle’ has always had that special little apartment on the upper east side of my hollow, muscular organ and for that reason, I’ve always daydreamed about having a copy on vinyl. Especially when the press is as nice as this. Forever with speakers and a system as toasted as this.
JD - TACOCAT
[Props to Goodreads for the thumbnail photo.]