Tag Archive for 'LCD Soundsystem'

LCD Soundsystem Making of “This is Happening” // Clip 5

LCD Soundsystem Making of “This is Happening” // Clip 4

LCD Soundsystem Making of “This is Happening” // Clip 3

LCD Soundsystem Making of “This is Happening” // Clip 2

LCD Soundsystem Making of “This is Happening” // Clip 1 // Manshun

Dear New York City

Let me start by explaining that I am not one of yours. I am an “Angeleno,” by way of Chicago, an outsider, a frequent enough visitor who certainly wishes he saw more of you. But as such I’d also have to believe it’s easier for me to tell whether you’ve gotten slow or gray or skinny or fat, than it is for your husband or sister or mother, a lover or a lifer. And I’ll tell you the truth because that’s all I’ve got.

Some would say you lost your heart a long time ago, well before LCD blew up and Chumley’s fell down, “Gossip Girl” closed streets and brought Hollywood to Hell’s Kitchen, before Interpol started playing arenas and Passerby shuttered and your “cool kids” started going out like suckers, before the LES turned into yuppie town, before Giuliani and the Disnification of Times Square, before most of us were old enough to really know who you were in the first place.

Recently I watched some of your biggest defenders become defectors and have spent much time listening to other exasperated lifers, unhappy with the new you, talking about calling it quits. All the talk was starting to get to me and I disembarked at JFK wondering whether or not you’d be there to greet me again, or if maybe, just maybe, you’d finally become that dreaded city for the rich by the rich, so many worried you’d be one day.

So this visit I took my time. I walked a little slower and looked a little harder and sure enough, found you once again…

in Columbus Park mornings of Tai-chi and mahjong.

in late nights at Lit with Mr. Mustache spinning oldies.

in the new kids with cool haircuts still smoking and swinging at Sway at closing time after all these years.

below the surface, in back rooms, in Chinatown after dark.

in dirty water dog and dumpling vendors.

in the “meat lover’s.”

in the Toughskin 10-year old on his scooter calling out winos in the park.

in drunken Jersey imports cat-calling sloppy, mini skirt girls in the Meatpacking district. Yes, even in them too.

in masterfully constructed late night deli sandwiches.

in your disdain for all things L.A. and your joy in sharing it with me.

in the rats that own, while you still rent.

in long walks home in sweater weather.

in cream and sugar morning coffees at Fay Da.

in the homeless man drying his wet money in the forced air of a JMZ subway grate.

in the hot young tongues wrapped around each other between Pim’s Cups in the dark corners of Employees Only after midnight.

in well-crafted downtown disco sets at China Chalet dance parties, where the bar’s dead and the dance floor’s packed.

in smiles shared with the Indian dude behind the counter at Doughnut Plant.

in falafel stands owned by Arabs 100 yards from the footprint of the Twin Towers.

in the doo-wop group filling duffel bags with cash down in the 14th street station.

in the Upper West Side preps smiling as they lead their Waldo pledge somewhere secret and public that will beg the question.

in a clap along to Phoenix’ last song in the refugee camp outside the gates of Summerstage.

in an endless, backbreaking limbo line after hours in the backroom of Café Select.

in the moon that inspired a Christopher cross song hanging in a batch of blue clouds over the Hudson.

in my girl from Far Rockaway on the A train who shared with me about the loss of her mother at 20 as we admired the weathered graves of The Evergreens.

in missed connections and new discoveries.

in the know.

in the now.

in the everyday.

So for what it’s worth I still love you.

As if you even care,

Sleep Never is Dead

So I got a call from members of the Shiny Toy Partridge Electric Family Circus Posse as they were rolling between somewhere and everywhere. I answered the phone to find a duo of spazzy voices asking me the obvious, if it was in fact me answering my phone.

My affirmative reply was followed by a sigh of relief and an explanation by the callers of the reasons for their strange behavior. Apparently there were “internet rumors” flying around that I died yesterday, though I’m still not sure what the “rumors” were exactly, or the cause of my make believe death. Some girl heard that somebody said that they read that I died yesterday and that person didn’t have my number and they called so and so and so and so was crying…

At first I was psyched. “Internet rumors” about me? Fucking hell! I’ve arrived! But after a comprehensive Google mad search of the world wide web using the following search terms: Chris K., Chris Kostrzak, Christopher Michael Kostrzak, Sleep Never, sleepnever.com, dead, death, deceased, obituary, overdose, suicide, homicide, hanging, drowning, decapitation, murder, slaying and slain in an endless series of combinations, I found no evidence anywhere of “rumors” of my death. And was that a fucking letdown, let me tell you.

Super. Lame. Huge. Bummer.

Anyway, I guess I’m happy to report that I’m not dead yet, but still disappointed that I’m still not popular enough to have rumors circulated on the internet about me.

But for blog’s sake, let’s say today I was dead. Off the top of my head, here’s a short list of suggestions of things one might do to “celebrate my life” properly if they felt so inclined:

1. Burn, but do not bury the remains. (I would have referred to them as “my remains,” but seeing as I’m dead, it makes no sense to take ownership of my decaying flesh now.)

2. Instead of putting the ashes in some unreasonably expensive, ugly jar and hiding them in a city code complying and so not green cement vault (which will only delay my inevitable return to the earth), divvy said ashes up into tiny Philippe Starckesque bullet-size containers (approximately 2.5 inches in length). Number of containers and list of recipients can be found on my desktop in the “What To Do When I Die” folder that I’m making now.

Give said containers to listed recipients. And at some point in the future, when recipient is moved by a moment that reminds them of me (lovely, disgusting or otherwise), scatter the fuckers on site be it on the floor of a dirty bathroom stall in a seedy Tijuana nightclub or in the seat back of an Southwest Airlines flight from Shitsville to Pleasure Town.

3. Drain my bank account. (There’s not much in there, but enough to throw a decent party).

4. Plan the best party EVER.

5. Rent house on hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean (within walking distance or short golf cart ride of the actual beach).

6. Purchase booze, drugs, condoms, art supplies, fireworks, toys, fun stuff, but no glow sticks. This isn’t a fucking rave.

7. Order food. (Catering to be provided by Julia and Greeney.)

8. Book the following bands perform live sets: Radiohead, Modest Mouse, The Presets, Scream, Daft Punk, The Stone Roses, the Rolling Stones, The Clash (to be fronted by the ghost of Joe Strummer), M83, Grizzly Bear, BJork, My Bloody Valentine, David Bowie, Dizzee Rascal, Ride, Kid Cudi, Cornelius, The Shins, Santogold, MIA, Broken Social Scene, MGMT, Friendly Fires, Blur, !!!, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Hollywood Holt, The Stooges, Brian Wilson, Tom Jones, Interpol, Soulwax, the remaining Gaylords, Primal Scream and LCD Soundsystem or whatever James Murphy can throw together on a moments notice. They’ll be more, but let’s move on for now. Tommie Sunshine will spin in between.

9. Invite my friends and family.

10. Invite my enemies.

11. Invite strangers.

12. Invite the homeless.

13. Proceed to throw the best party EVER.

14. Meet new people.

15. Make new friends.

16. Remember to be yourself and say what you mean.

17. Spike the punch.

18. Take drug of choice.

19. Dance.

20. Drink.

21. Eat Julia and Greeney’s food and remember to them how great it is.

22. Dance more.

23. Draw pictures.

24. Paint things.

25. Paint each other.

26. On second thought, don’t paint each other. That’s lame.

27. Sit on the roof and look at the stars or convince everybody else around you that they can see the bag of tools orbiting the earth that the Endeavour astronauts lost during the space walk a few weeks back.

28. Share your lives. Talk about things that matter, but don’t bring you down.

29. Smile, but don’t take pictures. This is to be remembered.

30. Sing along to the music of your favorite bands.

31. Talk about what a self-hating, pseudo nihilist, closet hippie I was.

32. Make sex with each other.

33. Do sex to each other.

34. Get freaky.

35. Get wild.

36. Go swimming or climb a tree, but don’t drown or fall.

37. Lay on the grass together and listen as Azure Ray plays a sunrise set or retire to the screening room where you can come down watching an ridiculous movie like “The Swimmer,” or an awesome one like “Mr. Lonely

38. Gnaw on something tasty until you are full and…

39. Fall asleep.

For a free pre-invite invite to the official “Sleep Never is Dead Memorial Party” hit me on the email and give me one good reason why you should be invited. Or don’t.

And come anyway.

Finally, to the departed I dedicate the “Track of the Week,” Ashtar Command’s epic cover of the Mazzy Star classic “Into Dust.”

Part of the Weekend Never Dies

Flux screened the U.S. premiere of the Radio Soulwax “Part of the Weekend Never Dies” Tuesday night at the Montalban.

The film, shot on a single camera over 120 dates in 5 countries by Saam Farahmand, opened with an unexpected, charming half-spoken/half sung animation that introduced the Dewaele brothers overlapping projects: Soulwax, 2 Many DJ’s and Soulwax Night Versions. From there, Farahmand’s flick blasted out of the gate with sick footage of people around the planet universally losing their fucking minds at Soulwax shows.

To its advantage, the movie played like a two-hour extended remix of a what a typical three act documentary would be.

Simple effective sound-driven imagery and electric editing stood in where many of the talking head interviews might normally be. It appeared that, whether the decision was made in production or the editing room later, Farahmand chose to take the viewer on tour rather than explain life on the road to the them. Good choice.

Farahmand employed some simple successful techniques to keep the film in motion and the viewer engaged like that of a slow pan that transitioned from scene-to-scene, show-to-show, city-to-city and gave us the feeling we were globetrotting with the band.

‘One’ could argue that Farahmand did little to provide the viewer with any information about the backgrounds and lives of his subjects outside the world of Soulwax and ‘one’ would be right, but that’s not to say the movie isn’t a success. When you assume the life of a touring musician you’re constantly looking forward. You’re forced to. And reflection for many artists, impossible to achieve without solitude, ends up becoming part of the sound.

I expected nothing and had a blast. I was bouncing in my seat throughout and cheering along with the crowd. But that being said, seeing this flick in a proper theater on a huge screen with a few hundred people buzzed on tons of free booze, definitely added to the overall movie-going experience.

Have to wonder if it will translate to the small screen. Guess I’ll have to wait until it comes out on DVD and watch it a second time to find out.

I actually don’t think the trailer does it justice, but here it is anyway.