Soy Vay Fusion Perfectly Represented On Grocery Store Shelf

Soy Vay is an awesome little company that makes hands down the best terriyaki sauce that you have ever in your whole life had. The story is that a Chinese girl met a Jewish boy, and Soy Vay is born! Much deliciousness ensues. While buying rice wine vinegar today, I discovered that they also make a dressing for Chinese chicken salad, in addition to all of the terriyaki goodness.

I also noticed that the stocker at the local QFC engaged in some brilliant placement. Please note the bottle of dressing nestled happily between the Jewish and Asian "ethnic" sections. Straddling the line and bridging the great divide between two ancient cultures, just as it should be.

On a fairly unrelated side note, during high school, I lived almost entirely on Manischewitz egg and onion matzoh crackers and sugared green tea, which means, I suppose, that I too did my part to bridge that divide. Go me!

Neko Case :: Fox Confessor Brings The Flood

The rain. The damned rain, and so cold for August. Such is the price and the peril of the Northwest Corner, and every time the bill comes due there is bitter complaint before we settle back, coffee or beer in hand, melancholy in the heart, and find some music to complement the dreadfulness.

Tonight my choice is Neko Case's brilliant and under appreciated (to my mind) 2005 release Fox Confessor Brings The Flood. A sombre affair with twelve too brief tracks of country twinged accounts of desperate characters and personal remembrance. The album opens with the tale of "Margaret vs Pauline", two girls who couldn't be more different -- One left her sweater sitting on a train, and the other lost her fingers in the cannery. Everything is indeed so easy for Pauline, who Fate holds firm in her cradle, while Margaret's jaw aches from wanting.

The album continues with the track "Star Witness", and, while I promise not to do a track by track recap, this one bears mention. It is, as I recall (this is a blog dear, not the Times), a recap of a shooting, the aftermath Case was witness to. The despair of the family, the witnesses, while the police attend with indifference; another day on the job. This is nothing new, no television crew, they don't even put on the siren; her nightgown sweeps the sidewalk clean; oh don't let her die. All in all, biting social commentary on the way that tragedy and violence is viewed when it happens to those without the benefit of privilege. (Also, the horror of the lyric Hey pretty baby get high with me, we can go to my sister's if we say we'll watch the baby also bears repeating.)

Case continues in this vein, dark songs about dark people, moving in a new direction musically, not quite forsaking the honky tonk roots that brought her to where she is, but building on them, crafting something new. (Something new and exciting, and I am on veritable pins and needles for the followup!) The music still shows the influences of classic country, but it is not as pronounced as her last, Blacklisted, and is certainly leaps and bounds beyond the swing of The Virginian. As a singer, Case has always tended to be drawn to the darkness -- both Blacklisted and Furnace Room Lullaby (the very title dark, sexual, violent) depict her in photographs on the cover the victim of some horrible violence.

The darkness is seductive, and Case's childhood in the South Puget Sound is consistently pervasive in her music. The final track on the record, "The Needle Has Landed" references her departure from the area, being left at the Greyhound the day she moved away, and she promises that "if i knew then whats so obvious now , you'd still be here baby". And who hasn't made that promise, really? If you knew then what was so obvious now, there's always something that you would take back, something that you would fix. Right?

When I Pass Into The Great Unknown...

I would like to officially request that, on the occasion of my death, I am not propped in a corner so that I may join you for a three day wake. Please also, please do not feel any sort of obligation to put my face on a t-shirt, or any other article of clothing that you may wear out into public. Though some of you may be likewise tempted, do not put my name on the back of your car in adhesive letters with any sort on "In Memory Of" messages. It would also not be advised that you have my likeness tattooed anywhere on your body (these things never turn out the way that you hope!), and while I do understand that your grief may at times be insurmountable, know that sometimes something so simple as a tasteful bouquet may speak volumes. (The more daring among you, however, are more than welcome to drink my rendered ashes in a tea, as there is a certain poetry to this action, or so I've always thought.)

It's not that I plan on shuffling off this mortal coil any time soon (though one never knows, things happen, and etc), it's just that it appears that you need to make your wishes known as concisely (and as soon) as possible. Take the case of one young Puerto Rican man, 24 year old Angel Pantoja Medina. He was recently found lifeless beneath a bridge, but had, thankfully, thought to express to his family that, were anything to happen to him, he should like to stand for his funeral, thank you very much. "He wanted to be happy, standing", said his brother Carlos, and stand he did, though it appears to be more of a lean or a prop, for yes, three days. It's not the idea of a three day wake that bothers me so much as the thought of having myself propped in a corner for three days like a cast off from the wax works. ("Oh well! We'll get it right next time! Madame Tussaud is just going to have to wait on this one" the waxsmith says as he takes of his gloves and rubs his hands on his pants before heading home to his supper and his family.)

I'd think, and again, this might just be me, that were you the family, you might also have the inclination to lay your loved one down for the evening. Could you really sleep knowing that your sibling, child, parent or partner is propped in the corner of the dining room? What if you needed a glass of water or the toilet in the night? Wouldn't that be a shock to run into, half asleep and likely still a little boozy (so I'd hope, were it my wake)? "Jesus! Oh, sorry; you scared me! Oh. GOD."

My grandmother's funeral was planned (and years in advance) much the same way some people plan weddings; in short, with military precision. Hymns were accounted for, speakers requested, singers lined up; I can't recall, but there may have even been an alternates list if any of the A list talent happened to precede her. What she didn't account for, however, (though in reality I'm sure she quite expected it) was her youngest daughter getting lost on the way to the cemetery. The cemetery itself was a family plot some 80 miles outside of the city, and only the immediate family made the journey. Everyone arrived in short order (my grandmother first, as she was the first of the family to any event) and we waited. My two young nieces chased each other around fir trees almost as old as the charges they watched over, waving found pheasant feathers in the Kansas wind while the rest of us wandered among the stones. My mother and sister and I, walking slow circles, stooping and reading names of countless frontier babies. Beside the casket stood the minister, talking to my father with the men from the mortuary (boys almost, younger than me), impatient, and ready to shovel dirt and be on their way. Eventually my aunt arrived, all apologies and in a cloud of limestone dust from the road, and things got under way, this having been the only hitch to an otherwise flawless (though heart heavy) day.

Perhaps death is the last chance to dictate our terms to the living; a funeral the one party where you're allowed to want everything just so with no compromises. One wonders if the dead receive any satisfaction in this; in our running around fulfilling their wishes, often without question. Our hearts heavy like stones in our chests, like lead sash weights pressing into our stomachs, as we promise This time, this time I promise I won't let you down.


photo Juan Alicea Mercado / AP

Michael Phelps :: America's Boyfriend

I'm just saying...



See the rest here.


(Also, the handlebar mustache? Please grow it back. Right now. Immediately.)

Seattle Hempfest :: Fun For The Whole Family

Like the swallows to Capistrano, yearly the great unwashed (literally!) converge on Seattle's Elliott Bay, Myrtle Edwards, and Sculpture Garden Parks for Hempfest, a happy go lucky event where people who don't live in the city arrive in droves so that they can be edgy and celebrate the fact that they smoke marijuana. Lucky for me, it's adjacent to my neighborhood, so as I dodge seemingly disoriented pedestrians, I can participate in the experience without even actually having to attend! It reminds me of the time that I saw Manu Chao at Sasquatch, but not quite as death wish inducing.

Having had to drive through the mess twice today, I have the urge to bolt the windows and blood the doors.




Hempfest: Oh look! Doesn't that look like fun?? (Survey says: No.)

Cool Kids :: The Bake Sale E.P.

There's something about summer and hip hop that goes together like chocolate and peanut butter, or, perhaps more appropriately, gin and juice. I have heaps of "summer" playlists in my iTunes library -- well, if not heaps, at least one each year for the past five years -- and all of them are heavy on the hip hop. Something about the sun just makes me want to turn up the bass and roll down the windows, so a new discovery is always a welcome addition to my sunny weather collection.

Recently on a whim I picked up The Bake Sale E.P. by Cool Kids, and was thrilled with what I found. Cool Kids deliver slick and spare "Goin' Back To Cali" era L.L. Cool J style beats with a modern and wry sensibility. They rap about shoes and BMX bikes, and are almost impossibly referential; the song "88", for instance, manages to riff on Missy Elliott, channel Jay-Z from Beyonce's "Crazy In Love", and then segue directly into "The Safety Dance". Genius.

You're easily grabbed (as you should be) by the first track, "What Up Man" with the repetitive "tick tick tick tick ticka tick tick" making way for the flow that follows. The E.P. continues in the same vein through the remaining nine tracks, and the sound overall is busily simple; harkening back to a time when hip hop was fun and it was all about the beats. It's heavily recommended that you pick this one up before the nights get too long and you feel the urge to turn on some Elliott Smith and pull the covers up.

M.I.A. :: Paper Planes

Lately I've been totally addicted to M.I.A; it may be the summer, and mostly I've been listening to Arular, but I can't get enough of "Paper Planes". It may be the gunshots, it may be the cash register, or it may be the line about having "more records than the KGB", but something about M.I.A.'s third world empowerment rap is grabbing me by the throat.

Also? "Maya" Arulpragasam is dreamy, and it's refreshing to hear someone sing/rap about actual real issues and not just the superficial or self absorbed nonsense that has come to characterize "pop" music.

Anyway, not to get too into it, but here is the vidoe for "Paper Planes". Enjoy!

Duke Kahanamoku Vans

I like me some shoes -- which is a little ironic to anyone who knows me, because I also like summer to the point of almost always being outfitted in a pair of flip flops (or slippers, as we like to say in Hawaii). However, I also enjoy fashion, and flip flops are not always appropriate -- and who doesn't enjoy mixing it up a little, anyway? Recently I stumbled upon a pair of Vans that blew my mind (because I am also a sucker for classic "Aloha" graphic prints) -- "The Official Duke Kahanamoku Surfers".

The story, per the Vans website, is that the founder of Vans, Paul Van Doren (then not even in the shoe business at all!), met the legendary Duke at a surfing competition in Hungtington Beach, CA, and was inspired to take the print from the Aloha shirt of fellow "surfing legend" Fred Hemmings (founder of the Vans Triple Crown Surf Competition) and create a line of shoes. Vans has recently re-released the shoes in a limited edition, and is donating $10,000 to The Outrigger Duke Kahanamoku Foundation, which benefits Hawaiian athletes.

There are heaps of colors to choose from, the money goes to a great cause, and they make summer all the more summery, so get them at The Nordstrom Rack (the link to the Vans site says that they're totally gone!) before they're gone (which they may be, but check The Rack)!

Santogold :: Santogold

Lately I've been listening to (and obsessively) the recent eponymous debut from the band Santogold, and, now that summer is in full(ish) swing, I am ready to declare it The Number One Summertime Record Of Dakinsez. (There are a few others in the running, and I may get to them in due time [Fall, perhaps?], but for now, this is The One.) I was initially drawn in by the cover (a fabulous, glittery mess that proves that, at heart I am no better than a crow), and was hooked by the amazing opening track "L.E.S. Artistes"; after that it was an uphill climb through a stunning and sunny record.

Santogold is the creation of Santi White, who possesses a very impressive resume that includes a Wesleyan education, a stint as an A&R rep for Epic, songwriting for artists as seemingly disparate as Lily Allen and Ashlee Simpson, and tour support for M.I.A., Bjork, Coldplay, and Architecture In Helsinki. She played the role of lead vocalist most recently with the punk rock/ska outfit Stiffed, and appeared on the 2007 Mark Ronson LP Version. Additionally, she worked on the single "My Drive Through" with Julian Casablancas (The Strokes) and Pharrel Williams for Converse -- which explains the converse graphic ad posted in the window of a vacant shop by my house that caused me to pause, point, and say Is that Santogold??!! Answer? Yes.

The great, brilliant and glorious thing about this record is that it's all over the map, but manages to do so in a brilliant and cohesive way. There are elements of Siouxsie influenced Yeah Yeah Yeahs (as well as straight up Siouxsie influence), M.I.A, reggae, dancehall, ska, and The Pixies (no, really!). The last time that I heard a record this diverse and proud of it's influences was the No Doubt record Tragic Kingdom (and we all know what happened with them!). In description, it sounds a little schizophrenic, but Santi White pulls it all together to create something that will have you driving too fast with the windows down, hosting a living room dance party, or just rocking out while you make dinner.

I for one am looking forward to whatever great things Santi White comes up with next; and as a matter of fact, there is already a collaboration with Diplo in stores right now that I am too lame to already have. In any event, this is one to watch, and I can guarantee that Santogold is going to see a great deal more visibility in late 2008, early '09. (it's not just for summer!)

Enjoy the video for "L.E.S. Artistes" with explosions, faux violence (with meat and fruit!), horses, and smoke. it's both beautiful and ghastly!

The Spiderbite Song :: For Laura Musselman

Dear friend and noted photographer of all things wonderful and rock musicy Laura Musselman recently had a run in with one of our eight legged friends. As these things tend to go, it didn't end well for either. In solidarity, I present a cover of The Flaming Lips classic "The Spiderbite Song" by the band Justice Of The Unicorns. This is not, from what I can tell, someone named "Justice" who formerly played with the ever enjoyable band The Unicorns. It is something else entirely, and is presented by a, um, a singing "catface". So there you go, and here you go.