This song makes me happy. You can download a version of it and more "leaked" (but not really) songs from Ben Folds' new album Way To Normal here and here. (via)
I had this stunning dream the other night: it featured a vivid room, and puppets dancing around each other. And then I found this video: a vivid room, and puppets dancing around each other. It must be a sign. Plus, it's My Brightest Diamond, which I can't personally get enough of. That woman's voice clings to the walls of a room like mist.
YaaaaaaHOOOO! David O'Doherty just won the If.comedy Award at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival! HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THINGS BRILLIANT!
Ok, fair enough, for those of you who don't live in the UK (and for some who do), that's a wee bit like saying my friend Jack won the Best Combustible Garden Gnome Award on the Left Corner of Shaftesbury Road, but trust me: this is a HUGE deal. HUGE! It's probably the most highly respected award you *can* get in comedy. Awards don't mean everything, but this one means a lot.
Monsieur O'Doherty writes quite lovely, deceptively silly songs, and performs them onstage on his 1980s Yamaha keyboard. It's all very low-key and sweetly lobsided. It's also very, very good. Check out the video of him in his white-suited splendour, and have a mooch around YouTube for the rest - it'll make the whole rest of the day a wee bit brighter.
What birthday isn't complete without words and cake? Peer through the keyhole and watch a man play drums with rolling pins, a woman do a dance in flour, and people making music with cups and plates and silverware. So, a very merry un-birthday to all of us, courtesy of Faun Fables. Unless it's your birthday today. In which case, you're welcome.
Ps~If you know of any songs out there involving only voice and percussion, leave me a comment! I'm on a kick right now, you see.
Lovely mad band creature sounding something like Antony & The Johnsons, something like the Smiths, all against the backdrop of a beautiful orchestra and looking like they stepped out of the circus. The Irrepressibles are currently trying to raise money to press copies of and run a PR campaign for their forthcoming album, In This Shirt. Go give em a couple of your pennies; they're too pretty not to see what they might do next.
A 50 pence piece, and my stomach bottoms out. I see your face in the rain, and the look in your eyes before you turned away.
It feels like a fall, the half-second before trip and impact. The foot crumples, and then a downwards lurch. You are everywhere, and follow me: rigid, tight, dense.
I'm finding it very hard right now to find songs that fit. The ones that pull me are creased through with darkness - like love letters powdered black, they leave a fine, smudged residue that mottles my face and hands. I'm doing fine, but my listening material betrays me with ash on my fingers. It streaks through whatever I touch. I'm surprised, too, by the blackness.
While it lasts, it lasts. Songs like 'Long Goodbyes' bring me back again. The song invites the bleakness in, then pours it out again, filtered in fight and colour.
The power and pain is still there, but it feels more bearable, something transformed. It is knuckle straining against skin, a whitened face in a pool of light. It takes all that emotion, gripped so tightly, and casts it into the sky. All that is grit and grain becomes soft earth once more, scattering gently as it falls. Line by line, the song has ground it down, until the emotion itself is grounded: safe now, earthed, returned to loam. Earth to earth, and ashes on my fingers no more.
Watch above for a lovely bear-infused take on the song (sad panda, bad panda, bit of a cad panda). Also? I happen to know that the lead singer makes damn fine cake (if you ask nicely), and the best hot whiskeys in London. And if that weren't enough, the band, I am not lefthanded, is named after one of my favourite scenes from The Princess Bride. Rock.
A song to hold to yourself, to sing to the north-east wind until the dust is out of your eyes.
We fell off the world for a bit there-- a couple of us got lost in a playground in Scotland, but we're back now. (Mostly.) To make up for it, we've reached our tiny fingers deep into the fun-filled sack that is the Fabulist inbox, and brought up some sparkly gems for you to enjoy. (The Submarines are making me happier than most things, this week.)
washthis on 
