Waters of Fairmount
On the music concrete tip, which really if you're not on..., anyways I've been trying to attune myself because a lot of not necessarily funny, sometimes it's funny, sure, but at least interesting things are constantly sonically colliding. Here are a few instances I remember well enough to recount.
So the new place that we moved into is right next to a construction site, and in particular my room is nearest it. So every morning sometime between 7:00 and 7:30 I am woken up by heavy machinery moving on rusty treads. And every morning I say to myself "that fucking Justice song." ("Waters of Nazareth)
Now I don't want to come off prejudiced against construction equipment. About a month back walking up Penn. Ave, right outside the Philadelphian, I'm listening to !!!'s "Heart of Hearts" (which by the way I think is going to be my favorite song of the year), right at that part of the chorus when the female vocals fade out ("heart of heart of heart of") and the guitars start going crazy, a fucking power saw turns on right above me and complements the guitars and drums so perfectly that I go back to my room and bang my head against the wall for the rest of the day.
Or take the time when an insomniac me went to the gym at 5:45 in the morning. Everything was so peaceful on what is usually such a frenetic walk that I could actually listen to some Panda Bear. With "I'm Not" playing, I heard these birds start to chirp, my guess would be sparrows or hummingbirds, which I think are only pedestrian singers in the bird world (hey one thing T.P.O. never claimed to know about was ornithology), but they started doing this like harmony part with the "ooh"s that was so pretty that when I finally got to the gym, which was packed (I guess there's either an insomnia bug going around or some people are just way too fucking vain), I spent the entire work out banging my head against the titty bike and crying my eyes out.
But the without doubt coolest instance of this was when I was driving back one night from I have no idea where, when what must have been an accident forced me off the crosstown express and onto Vine St. local at Broad. All the sudden into audio range came this helicopter and it landed on the roof of adjacent Hahnemann Hospital (so there are all these crazy lights going off too (concert stage efx concrete?)) at the exact moment when the guitar switches chords in The Rapture's "Love Is All."
Eureka!
I spent a large part of my recent hiatus doing some serious research, some investigative blogging if you will, and will now reveal my findings at the risk of really pissing off some people in Philly.
You may recall in my recent accounts of nights spent at Silk City descriptions of a character who wears leather pants and cut-off t-shirts, who has a $500 dollar haircut, and who obviously considers himself really good looking. I've found out that this guy goes by the letters Jhn Rdn. If you google Jhn Rdn, the first two hits are a myspace and blog for our man, in which he masks his real name, going by the pseudonym John Redden. But if you just take a look at this guy
clearly you'll see a resemblance to 80s rock icon and Philadelphia native Joan Jett. Now poring over her Wikipedia entry, you'll see that Joan appeared on the hit TV series The Highlander. Everyone knows that show only casted French people. So our man Jhn Rdn, clearly Joan Jett's son, must also be French.
Now, we've all read The Da Vinci Code and we all know that letters (in this case vowels) can be arbitrarily attributed any way we want. Who said that the understood vowels between r and d and d and n had to be e. Now the first name I can't come up with anything else, I mean I could say suppose an a came between the j and h, making this cat's first name jahn, which if you throw a macron over the a could be pronounced jane, but that'd just be ridiculous. But there's definitely something up with the last name-- clearly this guy's name isn't Redden-- Rdn only has one d. Suppose an o came between r and d and an i between d and n. That would spell out Rodin, as in Auguste Rodin, Frenchman, who spent time in Philadelphia, who in that time must have sired Joan Jett, Auguste Rodin being the only French guy besides Lafayette to ever set foot in our city. Joan Jett in turn bears Jhn Rdn, who's last consonant cluster cleverly conceals the fact that he is Auguste Rodin's grandson.
On Solecisms
To sound like a stickler, does anybody over at CityPaper give a fuck about proofreading? Ha, maybe you guys thought there were no mistakes in last week's edition. My bad. I'd gladly lend my services. I'm currently getting sixty a bag.
How Many H4s?
4
No comments:
Post a Comment