#vintageguy

Samba Guy squinted at his iPhone 7. He was glad he went ahead and stuck with Apple. He was close to following through on a new Samsung Galaxy S8 after a particularly positive experience at the Samsung pop up shop in San Francisco. He had been a long-time iPhone user and zealot, but lately some of the choices the company was making had rubbed him the wrong way and he was eager to see how Samsung compared. Thinking back on this now, as he scrolled through Twitter, he was happy he stayed loyal. Besides, the wireless EarPods are too cool looking to pass up. His thumb stopped on a post from an aging media and music writer he still diligently follows and looks up to. (The man is now Head of Quizzes at Buzzfeed, a position Samba Guy likes to daydream about holding himself.) The post extols the virtues of the new book "Meet Me In The Bathroom," by some woman, which, Samba Guy has gleaned, recounts the heady post-9/11 days of NYC indie rock. The Strokes. LCD Soundsystem. Others probably. The book surely held a king's ransom in insider anecdotes and music knowledge from the sweetest era in music history. The beginning of the beginning. The Strokes and the other NYC bands from that time were life-changing for Samba Guy when he first heard about them 4-6 years later. He needed this book.

He'd been seeing posts about it from other aging music scribes on Twitter for the last few days and was very interested. Now, seeing the Head of Quizzes gushing praise before him, he, feeling chatty and a itching to insert himself somewhere, to be, always, a part of things, replied to the tweet: "Should I buy the print edition of this, or am I good with digital? I agonize over this choice with all my book purchases these days" Ha, Samba Guy thought. What a dry rejoinder. He was surely laughing to himself. The "agony" he felt in such decisions was real, but he played it up to comic effect for the Head of Quizzes. Several minutes later, the Head of Quizzes replied, "it doesn't matter just get it" Oh. Well that wasn't quite the caliber of tete-a-tete Samba Guy was hoping for. Nevertheless, he persisted. "Digital, then regretting it, then spending more money on the paperback in a year it is, then!" he shot back. Suddenly feeling very drained, Samba Guy tabbed over to Amazon and ordered the Kindle version, hesitating another agonizing second before finalizing his purchase. He downloaded the book then turned his torso right and left, stretching at his standing desk. He turned up the volume on the new Mountain Goats album, "Goths," which he had been giving a listen on Spotify throughout this entire exchange. He liked it, but thought he was probably good with the digital. Meanwhile, in a barren forest, sitting inside a small wooden house, the hairs on the back of Detective Aging Mountain Goats Superfan's neck stood up. He paused, and to hold his place, put the jewel case of Opeth's 1998 album "My Arms, Your Hearse" in the yellowed pages of the "WWE Encyclopedia" he was rereading. He turned his head, in the direction of San Francisco. Hundreds of miles away. He rose and moved to a small shelf, containing CDs and cassettes, mostly early Mountain Goats demos and a few one-of-a-kind mixes John Darnielle had made himself. (The way he had obtained these personal mixes was something Detective Aging Mountain Goats Superfan was both passionately proud and ashamed of.) He selected a CDr, lifting it to the light with his bony fingers. Through the plastic case, in Sharpie, written, be believed, by John Darnielle's own hand, it said "goths - rough - merge 11/4/16". "Someone...listens. Someone who is unfamiliar with the whole oeuvre," he said. "They must stop. The truth is darker than blood." He pressed the disc to his chest. Sent from my iPhone

I was pretty excited for the long weekend. I got out of work a little early and what else would I do but swing by the new brewery I’ve been meaning to try? I took a seat at the bar and took a good look at the chalkboard menu up on the wall. A hefeweizen, an IPA and a session ale. Decisions, decisions! I asked the bartender for samples of all three drafts and he obliged courteously. He put the three small glasses down in front of me and I took a tentative sip of the wheaty brew.

Just then, a guy in cargo shorts and a shirt with some logo on the breast pocket, talking on his iPhone, walked into the bar. He sat down a few seats from me and, while still talking on his phone, ordered a Bud Light from the affable bartender. The bartender asked if he wanted it in a glass.

“Just a bottle,” he said, still on the phone. I couldn’t believe my eyes, my ears or my taste buds! Who would order such a disgusting (not to mention boring) beer when so many ridiculously better ones exist, right before his very eyes? And the rudeness of talking on the phone in a bar was just appalling. I sipped the session. It was okay, but I needed something a little stronger today. I tried the IPA. Delicious, crisp, hoppy. The bartender appeared again and asked if I was ready.

“This one has a really good finish,” I said, pointing to the IPA. He nodded. I thought for a second and then decided to go with a pint of the weizen.

“I spent some time in Germany recently,” I said. “So I’ve been pretty into hefeweizens lately.” He nodded in wholehearted agreement. A moment later, he set the pint on the bar. I raised the glass and made a cheers motion in the direction of the bartender but he had already turned away and was talking to a woman at the end of the bar. I took a sip of the beer. I set the glass down on the bar and took my phone out of my jacket pocket. This may come as a shock to a lot of people, but I’m a bit biased when it comes to Thee Oh Sees, so I’m gonna go with them for AOTW despite so far only hearing “Web” from the new album. It’s currently at an 82 on Metacritic, so that’s a good sign. I’ll listen tonight and see for myself, totally forgot to stream it last week (some fan I am, right). I kinda feel like Thee Oh Sees suffer the same fate as of Montreal, at least ‘round these parts. They put out too much stuff, too often, that sounds a little too similar… but is also still pretty damn good, sometimes great. But it’s really never an “event” when bands like these release records, it’s kinda just another day of the week.

I have an iPhone 6 Plus and go to Coachella every year. I’m thinking about starting a blog and have been really into standup lately. I have a favorite microbrewery because I like my beer really hoppy, whatever that means. I have a fun Twitter feed and interesting theories about what could happen on House of Cards. Clearly, I am no slouch in the ladies department. I mean, I am funny, cultured, well dressed and well read, and any girl would take pride in dating a guy who is so keenly cool. And I have a ton of platonic female friends in my friend group. But, alas, the last few months have been what people in comedies would probably call a dry spell. Hard as it is to believe, I haven’t been with a girl in a long time.

I was devastated when my ex and I stopped seeing each other, except for the fact that when we stopped seeing each other, we couldn’t stop seeing each other, because we followed each other on Twitter and Instagram and were friends on Facebook. So I saw her all the time, her grinning profile picture shadowing my feed. “Unfollow her!” my roommates would roar. “You’re never going to get over her unless you unfollow her on all that stuff.” But I couldn’t. There was something so enthralling about being able to track her social life. Was she seeing someone else? I had to know. Besides, unfollowing her was too dramatic. Remaining friends on social media, however, showed I was unfazed, cool, chill and whatever. But I wasn’t any of those things. I’d find myself scrolling through her tweets and Instagram posts at 2 a.m., drunk. Her Instagram always included photos of other men. Men who, I could only assume, were better than me, knew more about album releases than I did, and had better takes to offer off-handedly during important cultural events, like the Billboard Awards (BTW, props to whoever booed Kanye and Kendal and Kylie, like seriousy it’s about time and LMAO at the censoring). Finally sensing the craziness of all this, I clicked “unfollow” and then “unfriend.” With this tiny act of defiance, I was finally free. “This is closure,” I told myself. “This is moving on.”

So it’s time to get back out there. I’ve been trying. Whenever I’m out with my friends at concerts or even just breweries, I try to talk to as many as possible. I don’t get a lot of positive responses—it’s surprisingly harder than you’d think to find a girl who shares my taste in music and opinions about shows (they need to at least be as caught up as I am because I tend to let the spoilers fly, especially when I’ve had a few beers and am excited by the prospect of someone of the fairer sex actually liking Game of Thrones or whatever show is being discussed at the moment). So many girls only listen to pop and not even critically, like they just don’t even know what they’re listening to. I guess that’s what I’m really looking for, at the end of the day, a girl that really knows her stuff. Like a needle in a haystack I’m afraid. But every once in a blue moon there’s that spark. And it’s truly magical.

I felt that spark last weekend when my friends and I were at a St. Vincent concert. It was there that I met Ellen, the girl who is going to be my date tonight and who, if I play my cards right, might even be my girlfriend. But I’m getting ahead of myself. So there I am with my roommates and we’re all standing around the bar. St. Vincent hasn’t started yet and they’re playing Girlpool over the speakers as the between-set music. It sounds pretty good and it takes me only about 45 seconds to recognize it. I turn to my friend Erik and point a finger at the ceiling, the universal sign for “You listening to this? This is good” (if that’s not in the ASL alphabet, they’re doing it wrong). Erik nods and leans closer to me.

“Trust me,” I tell him. “You’ll see this artist on the Coachella lineup in two years.”

Just then, a girl who was standing against the bar turns to us. She’s attractive and wearing a dark blue top with some pretty big jewelry around her neck.

“You know Girlpool?” she says to me, but kind of looking at the whole group. Clearly, there is a lot of mutual impressed-ness happening between all of us. But she was talking to me.

“Oh, yeah,” I tell her. I’m playing it cool now. “They’re pretty great.” She smiles at me and moves closer, now addressing me only and not so much the group. Already I’m feeling like something could happen here.

“They’re amazing,” she says. “Probably the most heartening band I’ve heard in a long, long time. It’s such special music.” She looks away for a second. “I can’t believe you like them, or even know about them.” Laughing.

“Yeah,” I say. “You’ll see this artist on the Coachella lineup in two years.”

“I already have my ticket,” she says and laughs.

“Really?” I’m instantly jarred back into reality. “When did they announce the lineup? Is presale available already?”

She looks confused for a second and then laughs again.

“You’re funny,” she says. I’m racking my brain for any recent Coachella news I remember seeing. Tickets cannot be available yet. That’s not possible. That’s almost a year from now. I fight the urge to take out my phone and check right now.

“I’m Ellen,” she says, sticking out her hand.

“Tom,” I say, startled.

“Tom,” she murmurs. “Nice to meet you.” I am at a total loss. I can’t focus on anything now. I take a sip of my beer to buy me some time. Ellen is still looking at me.

“You like these guys?” I say, motioning with my pint glass around the venue, indicating St. Vincent.

“Who? St. Vincent? Yeah, totally, she’s amazing, she’s such a badass.” I notice my friends have sort of dispersed into the crowd.

“So badass,” I say, taking another sip of beer and nodding. Just then, St. Vincent comes out on stage and it’s gets loud in here. We are jostled by everyone around us moving closer to the front. I feel, somehow, rooted to the spot, connected to Ellen. I don’t know what to do next. A group of girls come up to Ellen and engulf her. She looks at me and waves and disappears into the crowd. I’m by myself now and don’t see my friends anywhere.

When St. Vincent (pretty good) is over I’m still waiting on the outskirts of the crowd. I can’t believe that’s how it’s going to end with the Potential Girl of My Dreams. I craned my neck to look for her the entire time but couldn’t really see her and didn’t want to be totally creepy and track her down in the audience. My friends come back.

“Where were you, dude?” Aaron says. “We were like four feet back from the stage. So awesome.”

“I know,” I say. I look around one more time for Ellen as we all make our way out into the warm night and then to Erik’s Forester.

“Tom!” I hear a high voice behind me. I turn and see Ellen walking away from her friend group toward me. Under a street lamp I can see her better. She has brown hair and bangs and a round face.

“Hey,” I say, sort of breaking away from my friends as well. “There you are. You totally…vanished.”

“My friends wanted me with them since I basically dragged them here,” she says, laughing. Then, seeing my grave face, she adds, “Sorry though.”

“No problem.” I shake my head. Silence. “Do you want to have dinner with me?” I say quickly. “We could…talk more about…Girlpool,” I add, in what I hope sounds like an appealingly suggestive way.

“Yeah, of course, yeah,” she says. “Yeah.” She takes out her phone and hands it to me. “Put yourself in there.”

I do and then she texts me so I have her number. I add a new contact: Ellen. I look at the name on my phone and smile and then I look at the girl in front of me and it falters.

“Text me,” she says. “I have to go.”

“I will,” I say. In the backseat of Erik’s Forester, my thigh squished up against Derek’s, craft-beer-drunk and riding home, I tweet an innocuous Drake lyric.

                                                             * * *

That was last weekend. I texted her two days later and after some clutch icebreakers (“Hi it’s Samba Guy, the Girlpool guy from the St. Vincent show last weekend”) we made a plan to meet at a ramen place she knew about this coming Friday, A.K.A. tonight. I’m getting ready, putting on my brand new shoes, which arrived just in time, and––most importantly––taking an extra large dose of serum. I can’t think of anything worse than transforming in front of Ellen’s face on our very first date (not that I intend to ever let her see that happen ever). I pick out a pretty nice looking sweater that’s still casual enough for a first date but looks like I obviously put effort into my appearance. I borrow Erik’s Forester and I’m out the door. I play Run The Jewels to get me pumped up and then when I’m a block away from Ellen’s building I switch it to Girlpool to really set the mood. I pull head first into a huge spot (I’m a pretty bad parallel parker and I’m stressed enough as it is!) that’s luckily vacant and jump out of the car. I send her a text saying I’m outside. Twenty minutes later Ellen comes out onto the sidewalk wearing jeans and a green shirt with an interesting neck area and big necklace.

“Hey,” she says. “Sorry I wasn’t ready, and my friend’s were like freaking out.”

“Not a problem,” I say. I passed the twenty minutes catching up on some Stereogum: there’s a new Run the Jewels parody thing that big-name artists are getting involved with called “Meow the Jewels.” They’ve raised a bunch of money for it already on Kickstarter. It’s absurd, but that’s the point. It’s like a joke turned reality. “You look great.”

We drive to the ramen place. Ellen either doesn’t notice or doesn’t comment on Girlpool playing at a good volume in the car. I ask if she’s seen the Mad Men finale yet. She says she still needs to watch the last few seasons first. I smile to myself. There’s a strong smoky almost medicinal smell I can’t place coming off of her clothes. “That’s cool,” I say. “It was really good.” She’s on her phone for the rest of the car ride.

Inside the ramen place it’s packed and noisy and a stressed-out looking middle aged woman is seating people and taking down names for the waitlist. I tell Ellen I’ll go put our name in. It’s about a twenty-five minute wait. I come back to where Ellen is standing by the glass wall and stand next to her. “Twenty-five minutes, she said,” I say. “Want to wait?”

“Where else would we go?” All around us, seated and standing, are other couples. I don’t see anyone I recognize but I feel nervous and exposed. I have no idea what to say to Ellen. I wish dinner was over and I was at home.

“I don’t know,” I say. “We could wait outside?”

“Sure,” she says. We step outside, me keeping the door open as she walks out in front of me. Another couple comes in as I’m still holding the door. The girl knows Ellen.

“Hiiiii,” she says to Ellen. “What are you doing here? I can’t believe this, hi.”

“Heyyyyyyyy,” Ellen says. “How are you! What’s up, have you been here before?”

“Yeah, we come here like a lot,” the girl says, motioning to the guy, who is now talking the middle aged hostess. “It’s amazing.” I smile at her and look straight ahead. Ellen makes no mention of me. I’m still holding the door open. The girl is still sort of standing in the walkway, Ellen is on the sidewalk.

“What’re you doing later,” the girl asks.

“No idea,” Ellen says. “Why? Are you guys gonna be around?”

“Yeah girl,” she says. “It’s likely. Text me later.” She goes inside and walks to a table where the guy is already sitting, his jacket around the back of the chair, looking at his phone. He puts it down when the girl sits down. Ellen sees this happen. It occurs to me they take reservations.

“You should have made reservations,” Ellen says to me. “It is a Friday.”

Twenty minutes later we’re sitting at a small table in the humid back corner of the restaurant. The glass wall against our table is fogged with condensation. Ellen draws boobs in it. And then adds a shaft, turning it into a dick and balls.

“I’m glad we could do this,” I’m saying. “It’s great to see you again.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d text me.” I don’t know what this means. I try to change course.

“You listened to Girlpool lately?” I ask. Ellen looks at me for a moment, placing something.

“Not really,” she says finally, excruciatingly. Another pause. She seems to decide something else. “So what’d you do?”

“I work at a start-up,” I say. “It’s called Winyl, it like pairs drinks with the perfect music.”

Imperceptible interest registers on Ellen’s face. I continue: “Like what’s the best song to play while drinking this IPA, that kind of thing…”

“So what would you pair with this right now?” she says, pointing at her ice water.

“Well I’m not sure, I mean, the app uses like an algorithm. You either input the drink, or you let it listen to the music. It can pair it both ways.”

“Can I see your phone?” she asks abruptly. I hesitate. “I want to try it in here.”

“Oh, it’s not done yet. Like it’s not an app yet. I’m sort of helping out on a freelance basis.” Another long pause. I look up at her. I realize her eyes are green and not blue (the glow of her phone had thrown off their true color) and say, “Do you have Snapchat?”

“No,” she says. “I’m old-school.”

“Oh,” I say. “I respect that.” And then: “There’s a new Run the Jewels parody thing that big-name artists are getting involved with called ‘Meow the Jewels,’” I tell her. “They’ve raised a bunch of money for it already on Kickstarter. It’s absurd, but that’s the point. It’s like a joke turned reality.”

“That’s rad,” she says. “That’s actually rad.” I smile at her and she looks right at me. It feels as if all the most exciting parts of a new relationship have combined with all the ease and familiarity of an old friend. The effect is something like spiked hot chocolate: warm, comforting, intoxicating.

“Do you know who Lord Huron is?” she says. I feel her foot nudge mine.

                                                             * * *

After dinner, I’m feeling sick from the ramen and my face and head is sweaty. I pay the check and we get up slowly and walk outside, emerging into the cool and actually very pleasant night. A dog is barking somewhere and the sun is just setting over San Francisco. We’re walking to the car now and I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I’m much more comfortable now, but now that we’re back in motion, in a new and uncertain environment, I don’t know what the next step is supposed to be. I decide to say nothing and just see what happens. In the Forester we sit for a moment. I almost speak––wonder aloud what we should do––when Ellen asks, “Have you seen the new Game of Thrones yet? I still need to watch it. We could do that. I don’t want this night to end yet. My roommates have HBOGo.”

“I actually haven’t,” I lie. “That sounds awesome.” Ellen actually looks excited. I smile at her and start the car. She plugs her iPhone into the tape adapter and “I Love You, Honeybear” by Father John Misty starts playing. How sexy is that?

Well, my trusty sneakers have finally given up the ghost. I can’t even count the concerts I saw in these puppies. But I can try! Let’s see, The Decemberists, Death Cab for Cutie, LCD Soundsystem, Jack White, Jenny Lewis, Neko Case, The New Pornographers, Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeroes, the Lumineers, Mumford & Suns before they turned to Coldplay-core, Matt & Kim, The Shins (guilty of finding out about them from Garden State like the rest of the world), St. Vincent, Deadmau5 (sad but true), The War on Drugs, Sharon Van Etten, Run the Jewels, The Weeknd, Radiohead (wow), Coldplay, Real Estate, Fleet Foxes, Sufjan Stevens, Flying Lotus, My Morning Jacket (4 times), Alt-J, Lurd Huron and about a million more I can’t even name. My shoes saw ’em all with me. But now, it’s getting to the point where the heel is coming up from the sole and maybe if I was still in high school I’d let that slide, but seeing as I’m an Adult With A Real Job now, I figure I better just bite the bullet and pull the trigger on a new pair. I hate to do it though. Boy, not looking forward to the breaking in period on these. I really don’t like when shoes are super clean. But on the other hand I guess it will give me an excuse to go to a bunch more shows! Nothing breaks in new sneakers like concerts, don’t ask me why.

Currently catching up on music from last week still. Mikal Cronin, Django, Other Lives, Scallop Hotel, and I’m one song into that METZ album, which was my AOTW last week (before you say it, I decided that before Stereogum posted it!). And this week is looking even better. It’s just too great. Looking forward to seeing what next week has in store too. I have a feeling it’s gonna be a strong week. Not only because my new shoes will have arrived by then!

Sorry I haven’t posted anything in a while. It’s been a really busy couple of weeks and I haven’t even had a second to catch my breath. First things first, there was Record Store Day 2015. What a day for music lovers. I’ve been looking forward to RSD since the last one. My top priorities were the Run the Jewels “Bust No Moves” 12” and the Father John Misty “I Loved You, Honeybear” 7” which was pressed on red heart-shaped vinyl, but I was also able to score the Neko Case reissue, the Of Montreal live album, the Grizzly Bear Horn of Plenty reissue featuring new artwork, Metallica’s No Life Til Leathr, a cassette reissue of their 1982 demo tape available officially for the first time, Vampire Weekend’s “Step” 12″, featuring “Step”, the remix featuring Danny Brown, Heems, and Despot, and the instrumental, Cloud Nothings’ album Here and Nowhere Else remixed by Ohio artists, J. Dilla’s Love 7″, which features unreleased material, as well as the “Fuck the Police” 45, which is shaped like a badge, of and of course Courtney Barnett’s “Kim’s Caravan” 12″, featuring the new album track “Kim’s Caravan” back with a cover of John Cale’s “Close Watch” as well as D’Angelo’s “The Charade” 7″, featuring “Charade” with “1000 Deaths” from Black Messiah, which I also bought on vinyl because I felt like that was in the spirit of things and besides I had only ever streamed it on Spotify when it came out and I thought the vinyl of it would sound even better (if that’s even possible!). Oh and I got the 10th anniversary pressing of the Decemberists’ Picaresuqe, which includes a postcard set and a booklet, as well as Four Tet, Jamie xx, John Talabot, and Koreless’s soundtracks for the two-minute film “Continuum”, on 7″. Oh and the  Get Behind Me Satan vinyl reissue which was the first time that album has ever been on vinyl. I don’t really like that one but it was the first time it’s ever been on vinyl for the first time so I was pretty obligated ha. So it was a pretty good RSD. There was a little bit of a hiccup about halfway through, though, when the serum began to wear off and I could feel myself turning back, my body contorting and stretching, fighting to expel this self—this self that I cannot live without but isn’t natural for me and I have to try constantly to keep alive–and replace it with my original, boring self, the self that doesn’t even like Mikal Cronin, the self that has never even heard a Sharon Van Etten song. This self, my true self, I have banished to the depths of my psyche, but only by way of the serum, which is expensive and tedious to make and even more exhausting to take. It’s never worn off in public before, but here, as I was flipping through the Record Store Day releases with my buddies, I could feel the change coming. Quickly, I turned to my friend Aaron (who is also one of my roommates) and told him, as sincerely as I could, “Hey man, I’ve gotta run home for a sec.” He looked at me with a weird look on his face. “What are you talking about?” he said. “That’s far and we’re already here and we were gonna get brunch after this with the girls.” I had, in my slipping-back-to-normal state, forgotten about brunch. My mind felt like a pool of gasoline someone had lit on fire. “Yeah man, I’ll meet you guys…there…,” I was able to spit out without sounding too strained. Aaron had noticed the new Lord Huron album on an eye-level wall shelf and was now walking toward it. “Okay? See you there?” He wasn’t listening. I half ran and half limped to the checkout counter. My body was changing. In another couple of minutes, I wouldn’t want any of this vinyl, would be appalled I was even in a record store on Record Store Day. I put my haul on the counter. The clerk was wearing a tight yellow shirt with a weird line drawing on it and had long hair a similar color to his shirt. I didn’t know what to make of this.. He rang me up quickly (luckily) but didn’t comment favorably on a single one of my purchases (which is normal for me at this place, whenever I come, which isn’t very much). I panted out “thanks, man” and lifted the two plastic bags off the counter. My head was now shaking uncontrollably and I could feel the change almost upon me, like I had to sneeze but couldn’t quite. I emerged, rat-like, into the bright San Francisco sun and ran as fast as I could to the coffee place across the street. They have a bathroom. The stale, wet, burned smell of roasted beans hit me hard and I almost ran into a woman wearing cut-off black jean shorts and a jean jacket with cut-off sleeves who was waiting in the long line. She looked at me with a mixture of fear and disgust. I limped to the bathroom which luckily was unlocked and let myself in. I pushed the heavy door shut and locked it. Turning just in time to see myself in the mirror, the transformation was complete: my face was slightly more handsome, my clothes fit slightly better, my hair was less contrived. I hated this self. I had never felt good like this. Something always was missing. I hated my mind. My new (real) self now looked down at the shopping bags I had set on top of the sink and picked them up. Looking inside, he sneered. This person now walked out of the bathroom and straight out of the coffee shop (I would have liked a coffee) and 15 minutes later was back at my apartment. He watched a little reality TV, drank a glass of water. It was at least a week before the urges of my half of the self took over enough and we were able to finally, quietly, locked in the apartment’s half-bath near the kitchen, drink another vile of serum. After the painful transformation, I emerged, looking like myself, licking my lips. I went into my bedroom and picked up the bags from Record Store Day that had been dropped in the corner by my trash can. I can’t wait until RSD 2016.

The new My Morning Jacket might be my AOTY. Definitely my AOTW I think. I mean, it’s just totally gorgeous. It’s not even possible to describe. I haven’t heard anything better than it all week I don’t think. METZ is a strong option too but I haven’t really had the chance to listen to it all the way through because I’m saving it for the gym and I don’t go to the gym. The Best Coast album is pretty good (her performance on Jimmy Fallon was all I’ve heard from it though) and the Mikal Cronin is amazing. Also the new the albums by Torres, Django Django, Downtown Boys, Hop Along, Superchunt frontman, Palma Violets, Turnoever, Thin Lips, Michele Route, Dendritic Amor, Scallop Hotel, Gacha, Oddisee, Battle Axe and Nosaj Thing are all really, really good. And there’s a Compilation by PC Music that I still need to really listen to. Don’t know if I am really on board with them or not. I get it, but it still seems basically pretentious and the only things I’ve heard sound like the music was made by the chipmunks in those Kia commercials on crack. Also I know Rich Homie Quan’s new mixtape is pretty all over the place and boring, but I am not really actually too much of a rap guy. Or at least I haven’t felt like listening to much rap lately. Also really excited for new Tanlines. I can’t wait to sip some lemonade and listen to their new album all summer long. I’m just looking forward to whenever the entire new Tame Impala album comes out. They are a band right on the cusp of being one of the biggest in the world. Not that that’s hugely important, but it’s still fun to watch. But I’m sick of hearing all these little bits of it! But all the songs released so far have been incredible pieces of art, so I can’t wait to hear the whole thing at once like it’s supposed to be heard. The newest song they released “Eventually” (get it? Sorry) is my least favorite song released from the album so far but I still like it. It’s my second favorite after the perfection that is “Let It Happen.” Basically: “Let it Happen” > “Disciples” > “Eventually” > “I’m a Man”. But really, listening to new Tame Impala in pieces as opposed to sum of its parts might be the most aggravating auditory experience. It’s like hearing The Wall on random play. All I wanna do is highlight track one…and push play.

First of all let me just make something clear: I. Love. Music. Festivals. I don’t know what it is about them, but every single time I’ve gone, I just have the time of my life. It’s got to be something about the combination of fresh air, the fantastic music and sharing it all with some of my favorite human beings on the planet. I mean, you have to go with your friends. Every time I’ve been to a music festival, it’s been with the same group I’ve gone with since high school. Sure, we’ve added some people here and there since college, but everyone gets along, and now the college friends are just as much a part of it as anyone. We’ve all done Lolla like four times, Pitchfork twice and some of us were even lucky enough to get to Bonnaroo once…but this was our first Coachella. We were pumped.

It’s a lot easier now though because we all live in the Bay area, so Coachella just made sense. We’ve had a group text about it for months. Any schedule changes or additions or even outfit suggestions (it’s a well known fact you have to look cool at festivals) or anything, we’d just put it in there. It was hilarious.

So we knew the lay of the land really well when we arrived. I for sure wanted to see Tame Impala, Azealia Banks, Flying Lotus, Raekwon and Ghostface, Lykke Li, Caribou, Todd Terje, Action Bronson, Cloud Nothings, the Weeknd, Belle & Sebastian, Ratatat, FKA Twigs, SBTRKT, Tyler the Creator, Father John Misty, the War on Drugs, Run the Jewels, Swans, Parquet Courts, Perfume Genius, Florence and the Machine, St. Vincent, Jenny lewis, Jamie xx, Lil B, Mac DeMarco, Built to Spill, Panda Bear, Angel Olsen, and more. Lucky for me, the whole group was pretty much on the same page as me, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. We had to make some tough decisions about who to see, since so much was scheduled at the same time. I couldn’t believe they would put Father John Misty at the same time as the War on Drugs, I would really like to have been the guy who makes the schedule at these things. I think I speak for everyone when I say it’s impossible to see everything you want.

The standout performance of the first night was definitely Perfume Genius. He (she? I think he’s a transgender right?) was so moving I couldn’t look away the entire time except when I was hit in the head with a Hornitos beach ball, which really sucked and actually kind of ruined that entire night of shows for me. Who would do something like that, like and if you are, at least save it for SBTRKT or something a little bit more upbeat. On Saturday my highlights were St. Vincent (duh) and Run the Jewels, who brought out everyone Run the Jewels could have brought out and it was beautiful. Tyler the Creator was also surprisingly good, I had never seen him live before but the people I was with at that time wanted to see him. Did I mention how good Run the Jewels was?

On the last day of the festival we were all pretty exhausted. I thought it would be a good idea to drink like 3 beers as fast as possible before entering. I’m so smart. Turned out it was a good idea and I was pretty drunk for Mac Demarco which I think was probably the best thing I could have been drunk for. It was really laid back but actually sort of bad, so I’m glad I was drunk. We went into the T Mobile tent to cool off for a while end so we could charge our phones. The last person we saw was Tame Impala. Wow. They might be the best band out there right now. And the whole atmosphere was so perfect for it. Just me, my friends, thousands of other passionate music fans, and the California dessert all around us. It was a very fitting end to a very, very special weekend. We’re already planning for the trip next year. I can’t wait till they announce the lineup.

Until next year, Indio.