Wilco played a new song at Lollapalooza this weekend, and you can listen to it at You Ain’t No Picasso. I wonder how many other people discovered their Wilco fandom in the same way I did- a slow buildup of Wilco songs in the iTunes and CDs on the shelving until suddenly you find that this band is the air you are breathing, the water the fish are swimming in, the codes through which you build the poetry to speak. It’s like a long, silent dance with radon, with peeling lead paint, a marriage to a homicidal housewife with access to arsenic- take any one of these things and turn it into a positive experience that slowly ushers in a total change of state in your being.
Next, the Vivian girls are very hot.
They have this sixties black magic soul/garage thing mixed with the distant romance of the magnetic fields applied to the beautiful girl gospel they belt out and the nearly but not quite totally restraining ambivalence of delivery of Electrelane.
And, also, forget about it. Most brain-ing is deactivated at this point, post-photograph. No more can I say.
Also, the world is your clam. Make some pearls.