Dallas Clayton, Author Extraordinaire.

The Greatest Writer Alive from Dallas Clayton on Vimeo.

Jinglin and-a janglin.

The past two weeks have been unfathomly (overwhelming)(busy)(exciting) so I haven't had much time to post, much less share all the (amazing) (wonderful) changes that my life has suddenly made. More on this subject will appear soon, pinky swear.

For now, I'll share my recent music review for the company with which I'm now writing editorials. I was very happy to recieve this particular assignment, since it was one of my favorite albums last year.


Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros,
Up From Below


The debut release from Los Angeles based Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Up From Below, was a sure fire top 10 of ‘09 pick for any hardcore hippie loving indie fan. For the virgin listener, this album poses an assorted collection of sounds, never defining which turn they’ll take next, but rousing a sense of enchantment and unquestionable confidence that it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

Starting off with a bang, the album’s opener, “40 Day Dream” evokes memories of Arcade Fire’s dynamic debut album Funeral; complete with clapping, steady rhythms, strings and compelling lyrics, “She’s got jumper cable lips, she got sunset on her breath now, I inhaled just a little bit, now I got no fear of death now.” Slightly seasoned with the flavor of the 1960’s and backed by a group of roughly 12 musicians, it’s an engulfing kick start that inspires curiosity of what’s to follow.

Ala the immortal style of Polyphonic Spree, “Janglin” opens with a childlike chorus of “mms” and “pops” that eventually intertwine with the song’s refrain, yet somehow each vocal manages to maintain their own anomalous quality of sound. A playful beat only adds to the enjoy ability of the song while impressively balancing heavy piano chords and strong horn interludes. “Janglin” takes a room that’s stacked full of vocals and instruments, then spits out a sound that’s perfectly clear; each element standing on it’s own to build an absolutely encompassing sensation.

The fifth track, “Home,” is undeniably the album’s Ace of Spades. An old-timey folk jam that connects co-ed vocals, horns, acoustic guitars, slap-happy beats, whistles, hoots & hollers with drippingly sweet lyrics like, ‘Home is where I’m with you.' “Home” carries a sense of happiness and simplicity that simply can’t be matched.

It’s tempting to peg this album as falling into indie-folk or alt-country, but let’s not forget the album’s esoteric magic carpet ride, “Desert Song” or “Black Water” in which Ebert’s haunting vocals at times seem to channel the late, great Elvis; or even the Spanish sung “Kisses over Babylon” or “Om Nashi Me,” a Sanskrit chant song. With so many twists and turns, it’s impossible to nail the endless depth of this album to any particular pseudo-genre.

Consistently throughout the progression of Up From Below, each track sustains an air of magic and mystery, and maintains a dizzying sense of wonder, even at it’s darkest moments. With each song acting as a chapter of it’s own, Up From Below is less of a collection of songs, and more of an adventurous storybook that keeps you turning the page, eager to discover where it will take you next.

Album Review - Copyright © Caroline Bolter, 2010.

It's not much, but it's all mine.

I recently was asked to write a review for an online music community that focuses on independent artists and labels. As excited as I am, I'm already feeling the pressure of writing something that I exchange for actual non-Monopoly money. I am completely aware that I have a long way to go in terms of skill, as music reviews are really an art in themselves, with a specific style and nuance different from straightforward editorials.

I've been instructed that ordinarily I will be seeking out indie artists to review on my own, but this time I was given the specific assignment of reviewing Tokyo Police Club's latest LP, Champ. As I close my eyes and jump blindly into a world I'm unsure of, I offer to you, my first review :


"It's good to be back..."

A well anticipated follow-up to their 2008 LP, Elephant Shell, Tokyo Police Club's latest release, Champ, has already proven itself to be a title-worthy winner.

Opening track "Favourite Food," sets the album's tone, but sneakily not until the second half of the song. There's a detectable hint of growth right off the bat as it transforms from a simple intro track into a delicious up tempo pop tune. Even though the formula seems recognizable (gradually building rhythms and upbeat tempos) it's easy to anticipate that each song to follow will be a step away from the TPC we're already so familiar with.

It's hard not to play along once the toe-tapping beat strikes up in "Bambi," an electro-pop mix that combines impressive guitar melodies, clever hooks and start-stop rhythms into a well-blended dance anthem. Don't be surprised when you find yourself clapping along in triplicate form before even finishing the first go-round.

"Your only souvenir is a suitcase full of sand...But when you feel like you're a million, then I feel like I'm a grand," Monks croons in the crush worthy "Hands Reversed." The album's most ballad-esque track is as devastatingly gentle as a warm summer breeze, carrying a sound reminiscent of days spent blowing dandelions into the wind, while drowning subtly in the words of a heartbreaking childhood romance.

As semi-solid as it is, the entire album bears no preparation for the second to last track, "Frankenstein," as it peels back the curtain to show the growth that TPC has undergone in the last two years. Jumping right into a startling, all-encompassing melody with deep bass undertones, hypnotic beats and synthesized instrumentation, "Frankenstein" churns out a sound that's capable of sending goose bumps right down your spine, ten seconds in. I only wish they would have saved this gem to be the final track, as it teases in anticipation for what TPC might have in store next time around...

Champ finds Tokyo Police Club crossing over into a new era; a band noticeably more comfortable in their own skin, having lengthened their songs, strengthened their construction and explored their own capabilities. This record takes you away to an indie-pop landscape filled with dreamy childhood innocence showing signs of maturity as it progresses, leaving you with a band that has begun to ripen, much like their sound.

- © Caroline Bolter

Listen to my favorite track from Champ:

It's always Sunny in Los Angeles.

I've said it before, and I'll shout it from the rooftops again, I have a lot of really amazing friends.

Recently, one of my fantastic gal pals has been integrating me into her group of long-term co-ed besties. I can't even begin to explain how wonderful these peeps are, and how they're everything I look for in good old-fashioned partners in crime. It's one of the biggest factors in what determines the quality of my life; the people that I surround myself with. At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, it's not always the easiest thing to come by in this town, necessarily. I've invested time in people that have seemingly redeemable qualities, and yet still turn out to be self-centered sourpusses in the end. I'm not sure if it's because they're jaded or indifferent, and frankly, it doesn't matter. I just don't see the need to carry a constant air of disdain and there is certainly no need for me to expose myself to it. My latest and greatest palsies are a constant reminder of what constitutes genuine friendship. Plus, they're WAY more fun than anyone else I know.

We're kicking off the summer this weekend with a big BBQ/pool/hot tub shindig. Lucky for me, the forecast is predicting perfect conditions for mirth and merriment. In fact, I have a feeling I should get used to this weather.

Reactions towards stimuli from internal chemical reactions or external environmental factors.

I'll never understand why anyone would want to do anything the way it's already been done before.
The second that my heart starts to violently pound in my chest, that's the instant that I know I'm doing something right.

Ex Machina.

I have a gigantic heart. So huge that it's almost cardiomegaly freakish. Kidding. It's way bigger than that.

Here's how I think of it : I have a tiny little machine in this one corner of my heart that makes my love. I guess you could say the creator of my machine was feeling pretty audacious the day he put my particular model together. To the naked eye, it looks like any other machine of it's kind, but there's more to it than your eyes can recognize. My machine was built with a handle on the side that cranks unusually fast (faster than almost every other version of this same machine), pumping out lots and lots and lots of love; in fact, so much love that it almost bursts the seams that hold my heart together (from being broken, of course.) The funny thing is, that no matter what kind, size or shape of love it is, it all comes from this same machine. Sometimes, anyone within it's radius finds the shape of it hard to make out, even me (the owner.) Not to mention, it's a far from perfect version; sometimes the gears get a little stiff, sometimes the footing is a little unstable, and sometimes what is cranked out that particular day belongs in the "damaged" pile. It doesn't always know when to start and it surely doesn't always know when to stop; but the one thing that's perfect about my little machine is that it sits in a little corner of in my heart, and there it will always be safe.

-C.

Calamus Gladio Fortior.

I read a lot, mostly non-fiction. Every once and a while, I come across a written page (or series of) that forever changes my course; I equate it with those tiny intersections on the palm's life line. I picked this book up recently and the instant I started skimming the pages, I was affected by the relevance that it held with my own current personal battles.

In Russia circa 1882, Tolstoy's memoir discussing his struggles between belief in nothing vs. faith in something; a journey to understand the meaning of life, was subject of such controversy that it led to his eventual ex-communication from the Catholic church. What I have found is nothing less than a letter of recognition of sorts, a piece I feel has been written specifically for my guts to devour, my brains to absorb; one that defines my own internal conflicts, and couldn't hold more relevancy some 100 years after it was written.

- C.

A price for peace.

Since last Friday's Iranian Presidential Election, cities across Iran are are up in arms over suspicions of fraudulent voter tallying in order to re-elect Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the president. Supporters of reform candidate Mir Hossein Mousavi, are taking to the streets with both peaceful and violent protests against the Iranian government. In Tehran, amongst other cities in Iran, police and security are attempting to forcibly control and end all demonstrations. As of right this moment, 19 civilians have been confirmed deceased, but hospitals report the tolls could be as high as 150. News organizations around the world are airing footage of protesters being arrested, beaten and injured by Iranian police forces. Keep in mind, that many of the protests are peaceful and some even silent.

- C.

Read about the current situation here : http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/meast/06/20/iran.election/index.html

Sign the petition urging the United Nations to step into the crisis : http://www.petitionspot.com/petitions/omidadvocatescom/

Visit the International Campaign for Human Rights in Iran website : http://www.iranhumanrights.org/

Watching this situation the past few days has allowed me distance from any of my own personal troubles, and to reflect on precisely how fortunate I truly am. In a time when there seems to be so many things wrong with my own country, I've never been more thankful to be an American.

Current reads.

My Stroke of Insight by Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, PhD.




A brain scientist's journey from a debilitating stroke to full recovery becomes an inspiring exploration of human consciousness and its possibilities :

On the morning of December 10, 1996, Jill Bolte Taylor, a thirty-seven-year-old Harvard-trained brain scientist, experienced a massive stroke when a blood vessel exploded in the left side of her brain. A neuroanatomist by profession, she observed her own mind completely deteriorate to the point that she could not walk, talk, read, write, or recall any of her life, all within the space of four brief hours. As the damaged left side of her brain--the rational, grounded, detail- and time-oriented side--swung in and out of function, Taylor alternated between two distinct and opposite realties: the euphoric nirvana of the intuitive and kinesthetic right brain, in which she felt a sense of complete well-being and peace; and the logical, sequential left brain, which recognized Jill was having a stroke, and enabled her to seek help before she was lost completely.

In My Stroke of Insight, Taylor shares her unique perspective on the brain and its capacity for recovery, and the sense of omniscient understanding she gained from this unusual and inspiring voyage out of the abyss of a wounded brain. It would take eight years for Taylor to heal completely. Because of her knowledge of how the brain works, her respect for the cells composing her human form, and most of all an amazing mother, Taylor completely repaired her mind and recalibrated her understanding of the world according to the insights gained from her right brain that morning of December 10th.

Today Taylor is convinced that the stroke was the best thing that could have happened to her. It has taught her that the feeling of nirvana is never more than a mere thought away. By stepping to the right of our left brains, we can all uncover the feelings of well-being and peace that are so often sidelined by our own brain chatter. A fascinating journey into the mechanics of the human mind, My Stroke of Insight is both a valuable recovery guide for anyone touched by a brain injury, and an emotionally stirring testimony that deep internal peace truly is accessible to anyone, at any time.

Take a look, it's in a book.

Sedaris.
Gaiman.
Barry.
Ware.
Atwood.
Ward-Harrison.
Salinger.
Palahaniuk.
Tolle.
Bukowski.
Vonnegut.