Natalia A.

Monday Music: the vague stab at Europop/the shadow of the past edition

Because Safiya has been on my case about this (she’s been on my case about lots of things, which is nice of her), this Monday Music edition will feature some electronic and not so electronic Euro-poppery. With special thanks to Helen.

Starry Eyed (Jakwob remix) – Ellie Goulding
Triangle Walks (Rex the Dog remix) – Fever Ray
Only You – Yaz
Saturday Night – Stray & Grass
Take On Me – a-ha
Halcyon & on & on – Orbital
Sash! – La Primavera
LDN – Lily Allen
Despre Tine – O-Zone
Lollipop – Mika

I need to give you some background on “Halcyon & on & on.” I’m not going to talk about how it’s a remix and stuff. You can find all that information on Wikipedia (and while Wiki doesn’t feature my cleavage in the banner, it more than makes up for it in other ways, ha). I need to tell you about a certain point in time that this song was the soundtrack for.

One night, at a party, me and my friends decided to take off and drive to this guy’s beach house on this obscure island on the coast. We got lost maybe 25 times [citation needed] on the way there. The darkness was immense. I kept trying to nap and couldn’t, because the situation felt like a set-up for the most gratuitous made-for-TV horror film of all time. The guys kept saying stuff like – ” and now we’re going to turn this corner, and it will be a dead end, and there will be a chanting mob carrying torches and stuff” – and I kept screaming at them to stop.

When we finally made it to the beach house, the night was ending. The ocean waves were like little cat-tongues. We smoked, and took turns freestyling, which I actually joined in that one time, albeit in Russian (so no one could tell if I was Andre Nickatina or Vanilla Ice), and as I looked out onto the water and the moon doing whatever it that it was doing (you can never tell with the moon, is it rising? Is it setting?), I put on my headphones and listened to Orbital. And the less night there was left, the more I realized that I was falling in love.

It was, I think, the happiest morning of my life. It was completely random, and nothing epic even happened, unless you count an alleged “battle between a dolphin and some sharks” which I’d missed anyway. But there it was.

Life is in a wholly different chapter right now, a chapter I think I’ll title “WHAT THE SHIT & WHO STOLE MY TABASCO” in my memoirs, and in keeping with that theme, and the theme of this post in general, here’s Erika:

Speaking of classics, here’s Techno Viking (yes, I know that’s not POP music, whatever):

I’ve always believed that the Techno Viking should run for European Parliament. Maybe he still will. The days now are short. Either our hope cometh, or all hopes end.

Good to know I’m not the only one depressed

Ropo has it pretty bad too, apparently.

Shucks.

Now, because Rapey Ropo is a brilliant artist, his suffering matters. While you guys have naturally been busy stampeding to the post office with care packages to Zurich, I’ve been trawling the web for something to cheer him up with. I think I have found it:

Depression: at the Black Gate with Anton Chekhov and Leroy Jenkins

I admire Chekhov, and not just for his writing, and not just because he was startlingly hot either. To paraphrase Ivan Bunin, Chekhov was not a little bitch. Even when he knew he was dying from TB, he didn’t whine hysterically from the pages of Russian literary journals. He didn’t ask his readers for hugs. His last words were, “I haven’t had champagne in a while,” as opposed to “OMG OMG IS DYING HALP.”

Dear sheepie, won't you hold me tighter. — Dearest sheepie, won't you hold me tighter in this winter of discontent (and sketchy hot water issues)

As you can guess, I admire Anton Pavlovich for qualities I lack. It’s like admiring a purse on someone else’s shoulder – a heart-patterned Moschino, maybe – something you couldn’t afford if you pimped yourself out to every halfway-decent publication in this city. It’s not jealousy per se, it’s more like awe. “Anton Pavlovich, where did you get that heart-patterned… I mean, Anton Pavlovich, how on earth did you manage to keep your cool like that? Is it a genetic thing? An ancient art?”

Because of passport issues, I’m grounded in Ukraine right now. On one hand, this is good, as it forces me to save money. On the other hand, this is bad, because there is nothing that I can physically do to escape the soul-crushing, cold, deep, starless darkness that blooms in vivid, elaborate splotches all over my being, like the bubonic plague. I’ve been depressed since last year, since moving to Amman. But it’s like a fever that’s spiking now. I knew I’ve lost some weight recently, but nothing could have prepared me for the actual numbers when I finally stepped on a scale. It affords me with an excuse to go shopping, and I can’t even muster up enough energy to rejoice about that. Unmoved by bright-lit shops and the swish of plastic. The seventh seal has been opened.

A Vulcan would be bemused by depression. There’s nothing logical about it. Friends will say, “you have a job, a family, and your tits are still fairly perky. Snap out of it.” By all rights, you should. The world does not suffer from lack of tragedy. Your grandmother is in hospital with a crusty rash on her skin that makes it hard to move. Someone tried to rape your friend, and there will be no legal repercussions. Your aunt’s heart has been reduced to a vaguely pitter-pattering piece of gristle after her daughter’s death. Ralph Lauren is threatening people for making deserved fun of its “X-Files”-inspired Photoshop disaster. “Peace is an illusion, says Israel FM.” And so on.

Ultimately, it’s hard to get depression to kick off the blinders and be appraised of its own insignificance. Pain is narcissistic. It’s the belle of the ball. It’s a douchebag with spiky hair, a miasma of Axe, and a publicist.

Continue reading “Depression: at the Black Gate with Anton Chekhov and Leroy Jenkins”

So APPARENTLY we’re having a bit of an ecological catastrophe around here

Something called “sludge fields” at an “aeration station” burned recently, meaning that all of these harmful chemicals have been released into the atmosphere. The headline on that piece, by the way, starts out with “Kievans are being advised not to go outside…” LOL.

Well, I’m still breathing (if you can count it as breathing, I have the cold to end all colds). Will let you guys know if I stop.

Monday Music: the well-trod lung edition

*cough* *wheeze* *flail*

Why Can’t I Touch It – the Buzzcocks
Once Around the Block – Badly Drawn Boy
I’m Like a Bird – Nelly Furtado
Almost Lover – A Fine Frenzy
Maps and Legends – R.E.M.
I’m Still Remembering – the Cranberries
Bessie Smith – Emily Jane White
Dog’s Got a Bone – Beta Band
Sherry Fraser – Marcy Playground (there’s a Charlotte twilight in this song)
Dirty Knife – Neko Case

Here’s the original Canon Rock, just because dude still rocks my world: