Was cleaning up my email yesterday morning, got my monthly email from Rams Head Tavern in Annapolis, I use it to remind me to check for concerts I might want to see. Nothing coming to Rams Head I want to see. The email also has a link to 930, scroll down, scroll down, nothing, scroll down, December 5, wait, Yo La Tengo Turns 30 with opening act Lambchop?
Wait, Yo La Tengo?
with opening act Lambchop?
- Sweet My Sillyass Deserted Island Five Game, one of three permanent members opens for one of the bands in the innermost circle of rotating bands? I've got a ticket, Earthgirl's got a ticket, I've got two tickets, get your claims in! HAMSTER!
- We'll solve the Earthgirl Crowd Issue by getting there early, head for wall on balcony.
- The Iron Way.
- The neoliberal period of capital in all its fetid glory.
- Throw of the dice.
- BroadSnark's things you might have missed.
- well I never.
- ello? ello? Is this thing on?
- A particularly moving experience.
- Canadian spiders are weird.
- The merry-go-round broke down.
- Which put Victoria Williams' merry-go-round sound in my head but I can't find it, have this Victoria Williams song instead. It's been awhile since I thought of Victoria Williams, cascade tomorrow!
- The Mekons: Where Were You?
- Yes, of course there are Undertone songs, given the post title, one here, one in poem.
A LITTLE LANGUAGE
I know a little language of my cat, though Dante says
that animals have no need of speech and Nature
abhors the superfluous. My cat is fluent. He
converses when he wants with me. To speak
is natural. And whales and wolves I’ve heard
in choral soundings of the sea and air
know harmony and have an eloquence that stirs
my mind and heart—they touch the soul. Here
Dante’s religion that would set Man apart
damns the effluence of our life from us
to build therein its powerhouse.
It’s in his animal communication Man is
true, immediate, and
in immediacy, Man is all animal.
His senses quicken in the thick of the symphony,
old circuits of animal rapture and alarm,
attentions and arousals in which an identity rearrives.
particular voices among
the concert, the slightest
rustle in the undertones,
rehearsing a nervous aptitude
yet to prove his. He sees the flick
of significant red within the rushing mass
of ruddy wilderness and catches the glow
of a green shirt
to delite him in a glowing field of green
—it speaks to him—
and in the arc of the spectrum color
speaks to color.
The rainbow articulates
a promise he remembers
he but imitates
in noises that he makes,
this speech in every sense
the world surrounding him.
He picks up on the fugitive tang of mace
amidst the savory mass,
and taste in evolution is an everlasting key.
There is a pun of scents in what makes sense.
Myrrh it may have been,
the odor of the announcement that filld the house.
He wakes from deepest sleep
upon a distant signal and waits
as if crouching, springs