Amoeblog

SOUNDTRACK SERIES #2

Posted by Job O Brother, April 21, 2009 07:30pm | 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:


I’m moving. My boyfriend and I are finally shacking up together. We had to pick between our two homes: my tiny bachelor, located in the heart of Hollywood, with decaying floors, rotted walls, and endless episodes of water and power failures – you know, what real estate agents refer to as a building “with real character and Old World charm,” or his two-floor townhouse on the Miracle Mile, a building so nice that even the landlord keeps a room in it, and the only creatures that crawl around are the snails in the pretty gardens out front.

I said, “How about I move in with you.”

So, I’ve been packing up my collections of antique religious paintings, record albums, spooky bad-luck charms, record albums, various flavors of vinegar, record albums, biographies on various dead people I have crushes on, record albums, and plants.

(In which our hero returns from the Caribbean...)

Posted by Job O Brother, February 23, 2009 03:45pm | Post a Comment
titanic
I should've been so lucky...

I’ve just returned from a two week cruise in the Caribbean islands.

Stop right there! Undoubtedly your reaction is one of jealousy, but it’s unfounded – or would be, if the cruise you went on was the same as mine. Not so much a “luxury cruise” as it was… well… a floating Budget Inn. I was confounded gastronomically, degraded socially, and had an overall poopy time. You should be no more jealous of me than you would of some forgettable uncle who attended a dental convention one week in Sacramento. Olé.

One of the many, many awful attributes this cruise had was the piping of pop music in the halls; a convoluted mix that sounded as though it had been compiled by a twelve-year-old schoolgirl using her tape recorder and whatever radio station came in best. Now, even this is an improvement over, say, smooth jazz or Top 40 contemporary country, but they not only re-looped the same music (imagine hearing this every seventh hour!) but kept it playing all through the night! Had the cabins been sound-proof, this would’ve been fine, but they weren’t. So every night, I could hear the muffled beat of Kylie Minogue from the door, the thirty-something, sex-crazed, Italian couple making babies on the forward side, and what sounded like a TB ward on the aft. Olé.

My iPod became an important part of my survival kit, and I found myself gravitating towards easy-listening music; something to soothe the myriad ways in which my humanity was compromised. (Ever been molested by a shower curtain? It happened to me, daily. Ever eat a lasagna that tasted of peppermint candy and WD40? I have, now.)
spray
There's no amount of parmesan cheese that can help this.

I couldn’t get enough of Anita Kerr. For those of you unfamiliar with her, she’s a singer / composer / producer of large success but smaller fame, these days. Her hey-day was the 1960’s, where her talents were lent to many projects beside her own. Anyone who listens to country music from that period has almost certainly enjoyed her handiwork, whether you knew it or not.

(In which Job reveals holiday party hints.)

Posted by Job O Brother, December 9, 2008 11:25am | Post a Comment
santa
"Ho ho ho! Who needs a pancreas?"

It’s only December 9, and already my body is exhausted from all the sugar and booze it’s ingested. I know, oh my readers, why Santa is a fat man. Santa, in fact, is probably suffering with diabetes. It would explain last year when, as he was trying to stuff the life-sized, life-like Annette Funicello robot I had asked for into my San Francisco 49ers stocking (a last-minute purchase at Target – it was either that or a Hannah Montana stocking that had a glue-gun scar); Santa was working his magic but, in-between “ho ho ho” he was mumbling about polyuria, polydipsia and polyphagia in a manner not so jolly.

That last sentence was epic. Somewhere, the ghost of Proust just got a boner. Can I say boner on the Amoeblog? I’m not well.

My boyfriend, Corey, and I just hosted our annual Christmas party. I was in charge of the food. I went for a “dip” theme. That is, rather than merely offer chips & salsa or chips & guacamole, our dips included:

•    Pumpkin pie & fresh whipped cream dip, served with cinnamon/sugar pita chips
•    NY Cheesecake dip, served with thick graham crackers
•    Chocolate fudge dip, served with fresh & dried fruit
•    Peanut butter / mustard / honey dip, served with pretzels
•    Red wine dip, served with Pfeffernüsse

Our pal Kamran also contributed queso & tortilla chips, because some of the guests were Texan, and I guess their tradition demands queso at every gathering, otherwise they… secede or something.

RADIO KILLED THE IPOD STAR? CHANGING MUSIC LISTENING HABITS

Posted by Billyjam, October 24, 2008 04:00am | Post a Comment
Radio killed the iPod star? Not quite but, as reported this week by Ad Age, a recent study of online and radio listening habits of a youth/young-adult demographic, revealed some interesting findings.

The study, which was conducted by Paragon Research in a random survey of 400 14-24 year olds, showed that this group has increased its time spent listening to radio by 11% this year, while its time spent listening to iPods has actually decreased by 13%.

In the Ad Age story, Jeff Haley, president-CEO of the RAB (Radio Advertising Bureau), said the study confirms what the radio industry has heard anecdotally by reflecting the "lack of inertia in the MP3 experience. You don't have the ability to refresh or any kind of automated way to come across great new music. As a result, that isolated programming effect does not allow you the serendipitous experience the way radio does."

Indeed, that is exactly what makes listening to your favorite (especially local, non commercial) radio station in real time so special: the surprise and sense of the unexpected; never knowing what will be next on the DJ's playlist or in his/her mic break. But of course, a radio or an iPod are merely listening devices and it is only a matter of time before all digital players such as iPods will be easily able to pick up all terrestrial radio stations' streams on their iPods and other music players.

(In which Job explains his long absence.)

Posted by Job O Brother, June 17, 2008 10:46am | Post a Comment
Oh… (gasp!) …thank God! You would not believe what happened to me!

As my faithful readers* will attest to, I haven’t blogged in a record-length of time. You know that there’s nothing I love more than blogging – except maybe getting a CPBF** – so you know something dramatic must have happened to keep me away for so long. Here’s the story…


I was at Canter’s with my good friends Bob, Rupert and Fiona, discussing the possibility of a Hearts of Fire reunion tour.


Fiona was in the middle of her usual rant about how Tori Amos stole her thunder and how “Me and a Gun” had been her idea for years; how she had a list of perfect words to rhyme with “rape”… blah blah blah… The rest of us kind of tune her out when she gets like that.
Suddenly, I started choking on my poppyseed rugelach (they make it so dry!) and Fiona starts yelling for help while Bob just kind of zones out and watches – so typical, he’s never sure what’s actually happening in front of him or whether it’s a flashback of some kind. Rupert was the only one to have the sense to give me the Heimlich Maneuver. It worked, and the buttery crust that deemed to kill me coughed out like a cannonball and hit the back of the head of some trollop du jour that Hugh Grant was treating to a Marilyn Monroe Special.
We’d all been avoiding making eye-contact with Hugh because, at the slightest provocation he’ll bore you to death with some complaint about “ladies and their oral hygiene". I mean, honestly Hugh, we know you’re European but you CAN kiss on the cheek to greet people – you don’t have to go plugging your tongue in like a hose to a Hoover.
It was awkward because Rupert and Hugh have a long-standing grudge between them. Something to do with a game of capture-the-flag at Julia Roberts’ house that took a turn for the ugly.

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