New Music

Mike Jones feat. Slim Thug and Paul Wall | "Still Tippin'"
Every once and while a new hip hop anthem pops up from a neglected corner of the US. Maybe it's the hunger of the artist(s) to make it, to pay off the lease on the Escalade and start buying real diamonds, but it's what makes Mike Jones' "Still Tippin'" fresh and 50 Cent's "Candy Shop" derivative. Between a thick bass and violin sample, it captures something laid back and Texan, and Paul Wall's lyrics ("My chain light up like a lamp cuz now I'm back with the camp / I'm crawling similar to a ant cuz I'm low to the earth / People's feelings get hurt when they figure out what I'm worth" ) deliver that brilliant combination of something is both commercial yet poetic.

Jarabe de Palo | Un Metro Cuadrado
Meanwhile, I picked up a copy of Jarabe de Palo's new album, Un Metro Cuadrado, in Madrid. The singer-songwriter is the Spanish equivalent to Jack Johnson, except much, much better. He draws on rock, pop, folk, flamenco, and latin sounds, and this album is solid from start to finish.

Ben Watt | Buzzin Fly Volume 2
Funky house music with electro flourishes, blurring the lines between street poetry and electronic music.

The Voice of God

Marc sends me this article on the changing state of voiceover work after I mentioned I'd begun to pen ads for copywriting class in the voice of Wilford Brimley (you know, the guy who hawked Quaker Oats for years).

The course of true love never did run smooth

Sergio posts (in Spanish, no less) about a recent Levi's commercial from BBH airing in Europe right now, that brings Shakespeare's A Midsummer's Night's Dream to urban streets. To watch the ad, go here.

Jump On It

New blogger Kyle notified me of this fascinating article that traces the history of a record sample from its first release in 1960 in England to its appearance in music from the Sugarhill Gang to Moby to The Roots.

In other words, a record written by a white Englishman imitating Native Americans as portrayed by white Americans and made famous by a Dane with a vaguely Hawaiian sound, arranged by a Canadian, became the biggest record in black New York.

Welcome

I've added links to the sites of my lone Canadian pal, Kyle, and fellow ad school student, Dayna.

Every once and a while, we stumble upon a beautiful song with a beautiful melody.

Caruso
Qui dove il mare luccica
e tira forte il vento
sulla vecchia terrazza
davanti al golfo di Surriento
un uomo abbraccia una ragazza
dopo che aveva pianto
poi si schiarisce la voce
e ricomincia il canto

Te vojo bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
e' una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint'e vene sai

Vide le luci in mezzo al mare
penso alle notti la in America
ma erano solo le lampare
e la bianca scia di un'elica
senti il dolore nella musica
e si alzo dal pianoforte
ma quando vide uscire
la luna da una nuvola
gli sembro piu dolce anche la morte
guardo negli occhi la ragazza
quegli occhi verdi come il mare
poi all'improvviso usci una lacrima
e lui credette di affogare

Potenza della lirica
dove ogni dramma e un falso
che con un po'di trucco e con la mimica
puoi diventare un altro
ma due occhi che ti quardano
cosi vicini e veri
ti fan scordare le parole
confondono i pensierei
cos diventa tutto piccolo
anche le notti la in America
ti volti e vedi la tua vita
dietro la scia di un'elica
ma si, e la vita che finisce
e non ce penso poi tanto
anzi, si sentiva gia felice
e ricomincio il suo canto

Te vojo bene assai
ma tanto tanto bene sai
e una catena ormai
che scioglie il sangue dint'e vene sai


Caruso
English Translation
(L. Dalla)

Here, where the sea shines
And the wind howls
On the old terrace
Beside the gulf of Sorrento
A man embraces a girl
After the tears
Then clears his throat
And continues the song:

I love you very much
Very, very much you know
It is a chain by now
That heats the blood inside the veins
You know

He saw the lights out on the sea
Thought of the nights there in America
But they were only the fisherman's lamps
And the white wash astern
He felt the pain in the music
And stood up from the piano
But when he saw the moon
Emerging from a cloud
Death also seemed sweeter to him
He looked the girl in the eyes
Those eyes as green as the sea
Then suddenly a tear fell
And he believed he was drowning

I love you very much
Very, very much, you know
It is a chain by now
That heats the blood inside the veins
You know

The power of opera
Where every drama is a hoax
With a little make-up and with mine
You can become someone else
But two eyes that look at you
So close and real
Make you forget the words
Confuse your thoughts
So everything becomes small
Also the nights there in America
You turn and see your life
Through the white wash astern
But, yes, it is life that ends
And he did not think much about it
On the contrary, he already felt happy
And continued his song

I love you very much
Very, very much, you know
It is a chain by now
That heats the blood inside the veins
You know

Chocolate Wrasslin'

Super talented, former Nexites and current good friends, Downs and Lister, bring us this piece of magic on chocolate syrup wrestling in San Francisco.

Miami Is The Worst City in the World for Clubs

I am making it official: Miami is the worst city in the world for clubs.

Oh, but Jenne, you plead, Miami has world class nightlife! I read it in InStyle! I saw it on Vh1's "The Fabulous Life"! Not so, my deluded friends.

Anyone who believes that Miami has anything even remotely close to the nightlife of any other major city is either totally kidding themselves, or has never actually been to a nightclub anywhere else.

Sure, maybe it's great if you're Paris Hilton and will be treated like royalty wherever you go (no offense, Miss Hilton, I would live your life in a heartbeat). But to anyone who's actually been to a nightclub elsewhere, partying in Miami is like Scandanavians making country music, or Asians writing polka tunes.

I've been to clubs in the following places: San Francisco, Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, New York, Boston, Madrid, Barcelona, Marbella, Mallorca, Nice, Prague, Budapest, Brasov, Sofia (Bulgaria), Zagreb, Dubrovnik, and Istanbul. And I've been going out to such places since, admittedly, before I was 21. Somehow these cities have it figured out about how to treat people. Are the bouncers and bartenders in Los Angeles totally arrogant and rude, just because there are rich and famous people living in the vicinity? No.

So what is wrong with the Miami nightlife scene, you ask.

It gets back to my original complaint -- that people in Miami do not seem to think you've been anywhere else and should therefore tolerant my biggest pet peeve: being served a cocktail in a plastic glass.

A scenario: You arrive at a giant, vast, famous nightclub full of girls wearing silicone and backless silky shirts. You pay $20 to enter. Unlike in clubs in Europe (or, according to my roommate, in India), you don't get a free drink. No, you approach the bar and order a vodka-and-cranberry. The bartender then fills a plastic cup with ice, a splash of cheap vodka and a lot of cheap cranberry juice. I don't care what nightclub thinks it is -- isn't it tacky to treat customers like that? Are you cheap? No, glasses come with table service. Who cares?

Needless to say, I don't go out very often here for this reason. The last time I was at Opium Garden in the fall (we entered for free, I might add), I stood there, plastic cup in hand, looking around at the crowd and realising, "Absolutely none of these people have any idea what it's like at a real club. People at clubs in San Francisco, New York and Madrid are not rude and snobby and pushy. They also are served drinks in glasses like adults."

Flash forward to last night. At the beginning of every quarter of school, it's a tradition for the entire school to head over to Crobar, one of South Beach's worst offenders. We get in for free, and receive 2 free drink tickets out of an arrangement the club makes with our school.

I get my first drink, no problems. I'm standing around and actually having fun. Also I am impressed by the fact that Crobar actually serves its drinks in glasses and not plastic cups. I am beginning to think maybe I'd cruelly judged Crobar as a place that survives only by luring out-of-touch tourists in with dance spectacles and appearances by Playboy models.

I go for my second drink with a different bartender. She makes the drink (a vodka-and-cranberry) and I hand her my second drink ticket and a two dollar tip.

She takes the tip and ticket and says, "Oh, I didn't realise you had a drink ticket" and proceeds to pour my drink into a smaller cup half the size.

"Oh. Well then can I have my tip back?"

"No."

My next two words were literally two that I'm not going to print because my parents read this. Let's just say it starts with 'F' and ends with 'u.' I couldn't believe it came out of my mouth, directed at her. I've never said that to anyone before in my life, and don't plan on ever saying it again.

So I complain to another bartender. He says, "Yep, she's a b***ch."

We laughed.

Just another incident to add to my growing list of bad treatment by Miami bartenders -- last quarter I went out on a Wednesday night with a friend to a local South Beach bar where it happened to be ladies' night. My companion not being a lady, I paid for his beer and received mine for free -- leaving a two dollar tip. I return to the bar for my second free beer (it was being served in a small plastic cup). I realise I only have fifty cents in change or a twenty dollar bill. I think, "When my friend gets his next beer, I'll leave a larger tip," and set the fifty cents on the bar. A second later, something hits me in the back of the head. I turn and the other quarter hits my cheek! Wait, am I living in a cave? Did we suddenly regress to Neanderthal levels of civility?

Ugh. Anyway, last night I went home at the reasonable hour of 1:20 am. Who wants to hang out in such wretched places? Is there anyone there interesting and cool, other than the folks from my school? No. I used to go to Ruby Skye some when I was working in San Francisco; I feel like the patrons of that vast, expensive club were always interesting people living and working in San Francisco. There would be some yuppies spending their days in the financial district, but usually the deejays were good enough that people involved in different scenes, such as fashion or art or writing, would be there as well. That's how I picture a real club -- full of real people, interested in the actual music and meeting each other in a non-sleazy, non-aggressive way.

But here in Miami, particularly Miami Beach, it's such a different atmosphere. There are a few cool places I've been where the clientele seems genuinely interested in the music and have hobbies and interests that don't involve plastic surgery or suntanning (well, I like suntanning too, but I do have other things to talk about) -- Blue, I/O, The District, Buck15, Pawn Shop, State. Everywhere else is full of surly, incompetent bartenders, idiotic clubgoers, rude bouncers -- all places that overcharge and mistreat under the misguided assumption that somehow paying too much and serving drinks in plastic glasses makes a place desirable, exclusive, and totally, totally cool.

La Dolce Vita

As I stood on my balcony this evening, starring off into the tranquil waters of the bay towards downtown Miami, watching the airplanes soar up behind the high rises and cruise ships, I thought about how lucky I am. I’ve just returned from a great two week vacation in Spain seeing some of my best friends, taking photos, eating the best of Spanish cuisine, savouring cafes con leche, buying cute new clothes, and embracing my old life. It was bittersweet, to return to a place at once both foreign and familiar, but necessary, to reconnect to a world that’s no longer my home. Meanwhile, I’ve had my first day of proper classes back in Miami, and again I feel totally inspired and excited to get to work on the assignments so far -- one for publishing (the Miami Herald) and the other for cars (the sexy, sexy Maserati). Miami might lack what I love about Spain, but I love what I’m doing in school so much that it brings a totally different sort of happiness -- the sense of being continually challenged, stimulated, and creative. When I returned from Spain on Saturday, I looked out from my balcony and was greeted by a beautiful sunset. I lay by the pool Sunday for a few hours, working on my tan. Miami Beach might be a little slower than Spain, definitely more American in ways that I can’t stand (all the driving, all the fast food, all the television), but I do enjoy some of its luxuries -- such as walking home in gym attire and my functioning shower (oh the endless stream of hot water and strong water pressure). I’ve only got six more months here in Miami Beach. With sunsets like these, life isn’t bad.



In fact, it’s close to perfect.

Back to BCN

I got back to Barcelona late Thursday night and spent Friday taking photos with my manual camera and shopping. Later that I night I went to see Viktorya's band, the Los Los Los, perform at the Sidecar, a bar in Plaça Reial. They rocked.








Valentin.


Bass.































Later we went to a big, huge, famous Barcelona club called Razzmatazz.

Raul, Antoine and Pau.


Raul & Antoine.


Deejay at Razzmatazz.


Crowd at Razzmatazz.

Madrid/Barcelona

I arrived back from my trip to Madrid and Barcelona today. Hopefully I'll have the energy to post some thoughts about my trip tomorrow; in the meantime, here are some photos from Madrid.


The night that I arrived, Sarah and I went to La Burbuja Que Rie, a great Asturian Cidereria. You get a bottle of hard cider and have to pour it in this special way so that it carbonates as it's poured. Neither Sarah or I were very good at this techinque.




Later that night we walked down a street near Plaza Santa Ana on our way to Finnish bar to have special cocktails. On the way, we saw the Procesion. It dawned on me that it was the third Procesion I've seen in Spain; I moved to Madrid just before Easter three years ago, and witnessed the Procesion in Marbella last Easter.








The scene at a Spanish bar in Madrid.


The view from Sarah's apartment.


More view.


And more view.


La Latina.


La Latina.


Sarah smiling.


Church goers.


Sarah near church.


Sarah and me. Note my new, green sweater from Mango.


A café near Plaza Mayor.




Later that day we went for tapas at La Casa de Abuejo.


Mario and Sarah.






Aaron, Sarah's friend from her Middlebury program, demonstrates his aerating system.


Aaron poses.


Building in La Latina.


Window of a pastry shop.




I went out a few nights later with Christina to meet up with Adrian.




Adrian and Christina.










On Wednesday, I met Chisco, my old landlord, and Catrina, my old roommate, for lunch near Plaza Espana. After, we stopped for a coffee together, then headed back to my old apartment in Tirso de Molina, where I checked my email and felt very reassured that Chisco is indeed still Chisco, as he managed to fix/repair about 20 things while I was there. I was also pleased to notice that my egg pan was in good condition, as well as my tupperware set.


My old room, slightly rearranged to the preferences of the new occupant.


Street near Sol.


View from a balcony on Avenida General Peron, near Santiago Bernabeu.


Shavon and friends.


Shavon's friends have a great view of the Windsor building, which burnt back in February (I think).

More Barcelona Photos