Best of 2011: Songs from February

Like yesterday's list, this one starts with a little cheating.  I first became obsessed with "Poison and Wine" about 6 months earlier. I don't even remember how I first heard of The Civil Wars, but I stumbled across this song and fell into the depths of sweet, painful love. Sometimes songs grow on you over time, or perhaps you like them but it takes a while to really pack the sentimental baggage into the them.  Other songs--very few songs--punch you in the gut with a visceral reaction that you can't explain or describe; you just respond instantly.  I think I knew I was going to love this song before the second bar.  I wore out the figurative grooves on their first EP, and when the band, made up of Joy Williams and John Paul White, announced they'd be releasing Barton Hallow, their first full length album, in early 2011, I looked forward to its release like I hadn't done an album since I was a teenager. I literally counted down the days.  By the time the album came out in February--and now, as I re-listen to it while writing--I was still obsessed with this song, and I got to watch the band's meteoric rise to stardom.  They made it onto many much more prestigious best-of lists this year, including Paste Magazine's 20 Best New Bands of the 2011 and NPR Music's 50 Favorite Albums. One of my other favorites from the Album was the beautifully haunting "Falling," which turns romance on its head with lines like "I can't help falling out of love with you."





I heard Matisyahu's "One Day" on the trailer to Waiting for Superman, and then spent hours (or at least 20 minutes) searching the internet for it.  It didn't stay on repeat play very long, but for the month of February, I really needed something peppy and uncharacteristically optimistic. It gets on my nerves sometimes now, but that's sort of why I'm making this list, to keep track of the music that made an impact on my life, so that I don't just lose it all.



Confessional: I got Metric's "Raw Sugar" from someone I went out with a few times.  So I had it on repeat for a week or two, but then it was prematurely taken off of repeat when the relationship didn't work out.  To be honest, the song made me feel a bit like an ass. Then I rediscovered it later, and it's still one of my favorite songs for walking around the city.  So, with every relationship, you learn a few things,  meet interesting people, make good memories, and, if you're lucky, get a great song out of it.

Best of 2011: Songs from January

It's that time of year when everyone posts their Best o' 2011 lists, so I thought I'd do a similar thing.  I'm not a music writer though, and I don't know much of what's been released this year.  And I like even less of what I have heard. (Also, get off my lawn, ya pesky kids) So this list will be in no way comprehensive or accurate.  What I've done instead is look back through my iTunes library at the songs I've added and became obsessed with each month of 2011.  That doesn't mean they're the best songs ever. It doesn't mean they were even released in 2011. Some of them are a few years old, in fact.

So the first song that got stuck on repeat play during 2011 was Greg Laswell's "Take Everything," one of many songs from the 2010 "Take a Bow" album. And this, I'll admit...is a little bit of a cheat.  I was obsessed with this song throughout the end of 2010, and it bled over into 2011. It's also one of my favorite music videos. I'm included here (because it's my blog and I can do whatever the hell I want right?) because, according to my iTunes, the other song I was obsessed with in January of 2011 was....TI and Rihanna's "Live Your Life." (Embedding is disabled.) This one is a few years old too, and...[mini-rant warning] TI annoys me, especially after his recent homophobic ramblings on behalf of Tracy Morgan's homophobic jokes.  TI says that gays threaten to "shut you down" if you disagree, but that's "not American." You should "have the right to be gay in peace, but if you're against it, you should have the right to be against it in peace."  So, if you are against a different racial minority or women, for instance, that's totally okay too. Whatever.  Anyway, so that's why I decided to give the lovely and charming Greg Laswell top billing. Because TI is a dickhead. Rihanna seems pretty great though.

On Downton Abbey

I may or may not have planned my recent trip to the UK around the season premier of Downton Abbey.  Or maybe serendipity just loves English period dramas as much as I do.  And what's not to love?  ITV's award-winning series has all the sexual tension of BBC's Pride and Prejudice, all the extravagant costumes and country houses of a Henry James adaptation, and all the haughty Maggie Smithness of every other English film. The characters are compelling and complex, with a touch of mystery in every hero and a touch of sympathy in every villain. No one is ever what they seem, and no one is ever completely bad or uncompromisingly good, well, except for Mr. Bates.  Can't he be just a little bit evil, just once in a while?  Sometimes I want to punch him in his kind, handsome, crinkly eye.

If you haven't seen the show, here's the PBS trailer for the first season, complete with history lessons like "Girls can't inherit," just in case we Americans don't get it.



The second season began airing in the UK in September, but won't make it to the US until early next year. I've been watching it covertly, and since the last episode of the season aired last night, Downton Abbey is what's making me happy this week, but empty and impatient by next week.



The second season couldn't do a better job of showing the impact of  the "Great War" if it came with a reading list of Modernist poetry.  I don't want to give too much away about the second season, but there will be some of this:

Little hints of this:

And a whole lot of this:

I can't help but think that if I were to do a cross-spectrum study of identity politics in British media, the most unfairly misrepresented group would have to be older English ladies.  They're always curmudgeons, telling you how to live your life, scaring away your suitors, or generally sticking their noses in where they don't belong.  And why are people always mysteriously dying every time they're invited to a dinner party or weekend retreat? (See also: Miss Marple) You have to wonder what these women are like in real life.  In interviews, Smith refers to Judi Dench as "Jude," and you just know that when they get together they drink like fish, smoke like chimneys, and curse like a Winslet. There's probably scorching stares, undoubtedly. Smith has also been close friends with Carol Burnett for several decades.  Go ahead, blow your mind.



So, while your mind is still reeling, notice how much sultry sex appeal Dame Maggie has in this clip or how little Hugh Bonneville has in this one.  But be careful how much poking around on the internet you do, though.  There are a few interviews out there with Brendan Coyle, where he's casually dressed in a suit, the top two or seven buttons unbottoned.  I never needed to see Mr. Bates's chest hair. Never ever.

But really, everything about this cast and this show makes me happy.  And when it finally airs here in January, I'll rewatch the whole thing excitedly, and I'm already looking forward to a Christmas special and Season 3 set in the Jazz Age--really, so much, dorkily, looking forward to it, you have no idea.

Boats, Bikes, and Balloons: Getting Around in Oxford

As in "that other university city," punts are nearly as ubiquitous as long, black robes. Actually, during my recent visit, there weren't many robes around. I remember my first visit was around exam time and everywhere you looked undergrads glided through the streets of Oxford on their bikes, black wings flapping behind.


Obligatory "people in foreign countries ride bicycles" shot. The basket's just a bonus.


Longer travel time but considerably more leg room than the Virgin aircraft I used.

Pop Culture Happy Hour Makes Me Happy

A few months ago a friend asked a particularly probing question: “What’s making you happy?” “What makes you think I’m happy? Does this look like happy to you?” was the gist of my reply, [obscenities omitted]. For several weeks, a few of us had been getting together once a week to discuss our work, bounce around ideas, brainstorm, provide a shoulder to cry on. Academia tends to be a solitary pursuit unless you fight it—and you really have to fight it. You can get so caught up in your own work that you don’t see another human for days, pounding out words that no longer make sense.

The question came from “Pop Culture Happy Hour,” a weekly podcast that brings together writers from NPR.com. The idea in our context—or at least the context as we initially understood it—was to focus on the positive aspects of our week. True to form, my other friend and I brought the gloom. “I’m happy that conference didn’t actually kill me,” she said. “I’m happy I didn’t go crazy writing that paper,” I added. An exasperated, yet sympathetic, face stared at us across the table. Clearly, we had missed the point.

One by one, we each got around to listening to the podcast, and suddenly it all made sense. I’ve always been reluctant about podcasts. Maybe reluctant isn’t the right word. Condescending is better. I was absolutely scornful. Why listen to a bunch of strangers discuss nonsense like some sort of local cable show? But Pop Culture Happy Hour shattered my preconceptions, though not my snobbery. It’s pretty impervious, and that’s okay, because PCHH (That’s what the cool kids call it.) isn’t lacking in condescension.

The PCHH crew is made up of Linda Holmes, the editor of NPR’s Monkey See Blog, Trey Graham, art and theatre critic, Glen Weldon, book and comic book critic, and Stephen Thompson, NPR’s music editor. These are smart people. They know stuff. Smart stuff. About a wide range of topics, and they’re funny. (And I secretly hope they google themselves and find my blog. Hey, it’s is much more realistic than my other fantasy about running into them at a local bar and becoming their new best friend.) Every week they talk about movies, music, tv, books, comic books, and, of course, German art song intelligently, analytically, and with quick, sardonic humor that will have you snorting in public. They talk about entertainment—what makes it entertaining, what makes it problematic, what it says about the culture that produces and consumes it. And I’m not kidding about the snorting. I’ve laughed aloud on the Metro. I once had to stop on the sidewalk and bend over laughing.

At the end of each show, the final segment is called “What’s making us happy.” They go around the table, and each panelist talks about the tv show they’ve been watching, the new band they found, the website, Twitter feed, etc., etc. that’s making them happy. It’s not just about focusing on the positive; it’s about sharing something that actually makes you happy—blissfully happy, deliciously happy, my life is better because of this thing happy. And I want to share it because I think it’ll make you happy too.

So I’m writing here on this little blog that no one ever reads because I want to share with those of you who stumble over here from my much more popular blog, District Daily Photo, or with those of you who found me the usual way, by googling “Annie Liebowitz Gwyneth Paltrow” or “Dana Parino’s legs.” Yes, I see you. I see you all. But I also really do want to focus on the positive, these things that make us blissfully happy no matter what else is going on in our lives. I want to sit down and write about the things that make me happy because, not to get all trite and needle-point-pillow on you, but that’s what makes life worth living. So…Pop Culture Happy Hour, and the friends who share it with me. That’s what’s making me happy.

Oxonian Doors

The Old Parsonage Hotel. Someone told me they have the best afternoon tea in all of Oxford, but sadly I didn't get a chance to confirm.

The locked gates of the Radcliffe Camera.

All Soul's College

Through the gates at All Soul's College

Red All Over

It's always been my experience that British people are intensely proud of their history and heritage, stretching back into the ancient, unrecorded past; yet, they seem strangely oblivious to the "every day-ness" of it, absentmindedly dropping a letter into a Victorian postbox.

All the postboxes in the UK belong to the sitting monarch and bear the royal crest of whomever is on the throne at the time, whether Victoria Regina, Edward VII, George VI, or Elizabeth II. If you spend your life reading and researching the Victorians, coming across something marked "VR" is a little more exciting than most people find mail boxes. Walking around Oxford is like a hundred nerdy-Christmases rolled into one.