My Wednesday was divided into four, very distinct parts: the earliest part consisted of coffee, cigarettes, and cooking brussel sprouts (fried in bacon grease, yo) and fresh asparagus. Part A was decent enough — I’m not a cook but I made due. Spaghetti-Os at the work Thanksgiving feast I myself had organized would have been rude as fuck. Part B consisted of said dinner at work. I spend my days making money to feed others who cannot feed themselves and so, to me, it feels like we should all have a day where we sit together as a work family to laugh and feed each other instead. It was lovely. I love lovely.
Part C came after the dinner. I was at work, still. There were hours more of the day left and I realized I was due at a staff meeting. I hate meetings, dude. They can be awkward and I hate awkward more than meetings. There’s potential for it and that alone skeeves out my damn brain. I had to drive to this meeting and the weather here is losing it’s damn mind, which also triggers a severe flight or fight response on my part. Part C was the definition of ‘BALLS!’.
And then. Then there was Part D. Part D consisted of me standing in a circle, arms linked with people ranging in age from 16 to 82. This last part was spent witnessing the inner workings of our program to hand out Christmas gifts to over 750 children. This last part centered around 22 overworked people giving their best and their all this season to help our community’s most needy. Really puts your shit in perspective, man.
After the meeting, in the rainy dark, I walked to my car alone and I felt really fucking good. Like, “fuck yeah, life!”. How stupid we all can be sometimes, you know? Good shit happened to me today (dude who writes Muzzle of Bees said I knew my shit (!), I got to blow off an hour of paid work time to be with friends I genuinely care for, and I’m friggin’ alive so there’s that) and I let a damn meeting blow it out of the water.
On the way home, driving miles along a crowded interstate, weaving through the cars full of families making their way here from distant states to sit at tables with loved ones and gorge on ugly birds, I picked a random disc from the pile covered in sugary soda juice in my car’s console. My ride was dimly lit and I could not make out my writing on the upside of that mix but I inserted it anyway. And there it was. It was all fine. It had all gotten better. I had moved on. Music was the icing on top of the cake that represents my day and it just went and un-fucked it all.
Some jams from that mix, if you please.
When I was little, there was more Willie in our house than anything. Willie is our man. We will travel for Willie, we will gather in familial groups larger than the one we had at Thanksgiving (we did last year) for Willie, we are a devoted Willie fan base within ourselves. Also note, Willie is the only man I will accept covering The Allman Bros. Look it up.
[BUY Red-Headed Stranger]
Jam came on, I (re-)remembered how much I love the damn Rosebuds and then I started wondering whether or not Jude could draw a nice little fox. He’s working on it right now under my feet as I type. Also, tune’ll change your broad view of the shittiness of your day in a heartbeat: at least you’re not a dead fox. For real.
[BUY Life Like]
Seriously assholes, this song saves the day. EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. Mastadons, glaciers, river, and most importantly, moms. In short, it’s really hard to be a pissed off grown up when you’re listening to music that makes kid’s dance.
[BUY Ghost Glacier EP]
The moral story is: SVE is badass. Every time I listen to Van Etten I get newly pissed that some dude, a total fuck no doubt, ever felt like it was okay to make her feel like she wasn’t good enough. The consolation prize there is that he surely now feels like the biggest dolt this side of indie chick rock.
You cannot touch my love for Dwight. My first concert was Dwight when I was in my early teens: a tornado ventured into the outdoor venue, my little brother cried and lost his cowboy hat, our chairs blew away, and we begged my mother to let us leave as we watched a funnel cloud make it’s way towards us in the distance. She refused. Because of her refusal, we got great seats when everyone else left fearing for their lives. You cannot touch my love for Dwight. Don’t even try, hipster.
[BUY If There Was A Way]
Wade on? Yes, I think I will.
[BUY the Self-Titled 7″]
The Black Keys could literally un-fuck any day. I do not like overtly sexual jams (on the other hand, overt sex I’m down with) and that’s not what this is but dude. DUDE. I think Stephen Hawking himself would agree that there is something in the musical combination of Dan Auerbach’s vox/guitar and Patrick Carney’s drumming skillz that make (good, smart) people wanna make babies with other (good, smart) people.
This is how you know I’m odd: I make mixes that include The Black Keys followed by Justin Vernon.
[BUY For Emma, Forever Ago]
The War On Drugs are my incredibly modern Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. ‘Baby Missiles’ is to my 2010 what ‘Taking the Farm’ was to my 2008.
[BUY Future Weather]
Folk. Chicks. Eau Claire. Fuck yeah.
[BUY Flora EP]
I have not seen your ghost, dudes, but I see those goddamn clouds…
[BUY New Inheritors]
Aw shit, if a dude’s woman NOT being alone when he gets home doesn’t make YOU feel better about your life then you’re just an ass. As a sidenote, you’ve got to wait for this song to take off. It will, a minute in. JUST WAIT.
Sometimes the simplest of words and phrases make you feel like someone knows, like someone out there gets it. Sometimes the words that you make you feel as such are “go on, it’s alright. We all feel something similar sometimes.”
[BUY Break In The Clouds]
We all feel something similar sometimes. On that note, until next time, kids. Happy mixin’.