Amoeblog > Contributors

(In which the author returns from the hospital.)

Posted by Job O Brother, May 30, 2010 01:53pm | Post a Comment

I'm too sexy for my Intravenous therapy.

Well, dear readers, I have returned to you after an opposite-of-glamorous stay at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center where I was hospitalized for five days. In the words of French philosopher Ferdinand de Saussure, “Je n'ai pas aimé cela.”

(In which... cough, cough!... hack... uh, what's... where am I?)

Posted by Job O Brother, May 16, 2010 11:29am | Post a Comment

graffiti
I found this piece of work on La Brea. Question is: what is "lovre"?
I mean, maybe this person could find what they're looking for if we only knew what lovre was...

(In which Job honors his Mother.)

Posted by Job O Brother, May 10, 2010 12:27pm | Post a Comment

victorian woman
An actual picture of my Mother (not pictured here).

In honor of this week’s Mother’s Day, I’m dedicating this entry to my Mammy.

I remember Mom liked the house kept quiet so she could concentrate on reading her scripts. It also allowed her to track the progress of the housekeepers; she could hear if they were spending their time talking, how much time they spent scouring the living room tile, etc. It was kind of intense, but not as bad as when she stopped getting decent movie roles and her alcoholism worsened. That’s when she started beating me with coat hangers and…

SOUNDTRACK SERIES #5

Posted by Job O Brother, May 2, 2010 12:46pm | Post a Comment

Directions: Imagine Mr. Brother living another day, as always, with music playing. Whether it’s one of his trusty iPods, or his home stereo, or working the soundtracks section of Amoeba Music Hollywood, Mr. Brother is eating, sonically, with the mouths of his ears.

To simulate this experience, as you read the below story of a day lived, you will be given certain music clips to play. These are inserted to provide you with the same tunes Job was hearing as he was doing what you’ll be reading.

For example, while he was writing the above directions, he was listening to this:

The boyfriend and I need a lamp. Not just any lamp – something that can complete his “reading nook” in the prominent corner of our living room. It must be a lamp that won’t be diminished by our awesome Italian chair (roughly the size of my last apartment) which it will stand behind, be powerful enough to provide the boyfriend with the amount of light he likes in order to read (roughly the brightness of two suns) and, in general, should be hella rad.

So, every Sunday for the past month, he and I have set out into the deliciously temperatured* but cruelly trafficked land of Los Angeles. Armed with my trusty iPod, which I plug into his car – a Lexus with a capacity for smarts exceeding most high school students – its music gives me the fortitude to face another shopping day.

(In which we consider Natalie Merchant.)

Posted by Job O Brother, April 26, 2010 01:37pm | Post a Comment

Last week I had the pleasure of seeing Natalie Merchant perform selections from her (eagerly awaited after seven years off devoted to raising her first child) album Leave Your Sleep, a concept album consisting of poems from predominantly Victorian children’s books adapted into songs by Merchant herself.

Wow. That was a long sentence.

This concert was made all the more intimate and aesthetic as it was housed in the somewhat small performance space at the Getty Center, making the entire experience one of those special moments when you love Los Angeles, because you’re enjoying something uniquely LA; like getting rear-ended by Tom Hanks or having Beverley D’Angelo bum a cigarette off you.

I can’t say I was a fan of 10,000 Maniacs, though I always respected them, and quite fancy their live album recorded for Mtv Unplugged. However, once Ms. Merchant went solo, I rallied and stood up to be counted.

It’s easy, in a popular culture so quickly and easily distracted by any shiny object dropped in its path, to undervalue Natalie Merchant’s musical contributions. As though a living embodiment of the very women (both historical and archetypal) she champions, her image brings to mind the brainy but dowdy girl in the library who might be pretty if she removed her glasses, set down that copy of Mrs. Dalloway and knocked back a couple shots of tequila. Who must her music be for, then, if not smart, lonely, college girls and melancholy gay men?

BACK << 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 >> NEXT

Copyright © 2007-2013 Amoeba, All Rights Reserved.
Amoeba and the Amoeba Music mark and logo are trademarks of Amoeba Music Inc.
The views and opinions expressed in Amoeblog are those of the individual bloggers and not necessarily those of Amoeba Music.