A Post-Mess Mix.

Like the Count of Monte Cristo emerging triumphant from a bodybag flung out to sea, I am writing to you today from inside the cozy purple walls of Bostonia—having miraculously survived the dreaded Finals Week & thus officially graduated to Upperclassmanship. More importantly, I can now look forward to a summer of reading & sleeping & Photoshopping with young'uns—&, indeed, reviving my long-flagging Blogsmanship.

Though I have a bevy of entries fizzing at the tips of my fingers—from hardcore philosophical musings to gushing over certain actors' preeminent hotness—I feel like it's appropriate, as a smooth transition from this most brutal of sleepless paper-splosions, to post the playlist that buoyed me through this past week—which, in my humble estimation, is pretty clutch. Without further ado:

5-7-11: I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday.
[ ^ Download the whole mix! In order! Click! Oh man! ^ ]

Going Down—Gerome Ragni (Hair, 1968 cast).
Breaking Glass (Live, Montréal, 7/12/83)—David Bowie.
Get It On At Le Disko (T. Rex vs. Shiny Toy Guns)—The Illuminoids.
The Hollows—WHY?.
Your Woman—Cats On Fire (White Town cover).
Buena—Morphine.
Itty Bitty Piggy—Nicki Minaj.
Less Than Zero—Elvis Costello.
Werewolf—Cat Power (Michael Hurley cover).
Soldier Girl—The Polyphonic Spree.
Diamond Crowned Queen—Raja.
Why Do You Love Me—Garbage.
Secretly Jealous—Coyote Shivers.
Melody Day—Caribou.
Hey—The Pixies.
Rolling in the Deep (Jamie XX remix, feat. Childish Gambino)—Adele.
Between the Bars (Live at Largo)—Elliott Smith.
Never Be Lonely—The Feeling.
Baby in Two—The Pernice Brothers.
Reptile—Lisa Germano.
I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday—Morrissey.
There's Not a Step We Can Take That Does Not Bring Us Closer—Jason Webley.

"Don't Let Me Be Carried Away."

There is something too much about listening to the last album an artist recorded before killing themselves.

It's far too personal, of course—but in a way that's addictive; that's necessary; that feels respectful, if useless, helpless—lonely, because the voice that melts through your skin, jolts you, rocks you just right—that voice won't ever say anything new. You're listening to the past—tragic, hymn-like: the last vestige of worship for something gone far too soon.

So sure, it's too much—but I do it anyway, always, & sometimes I fall into pockets: hitting play again & again, impossibly; muscles surging, etching the words into my curled skeleton. It's painful, but so powerful, & it really is incredible music—a welcome haunting—songs too beautiful to let rest in peace. Here are two.

It Ain't Gonna Save Me—Jay Reatard.

Raw; bubbling; jiving & raging to the end. This song is eminently danceable; words so brightly, plainly despairing; slices of guitar & drum jaunting on the 2-4, then unfurling, cynical, for the chorus. An unabashed exit, if nothing else—a plea to move, to exorcise—to sing, loud, in the face of certain defeat.

King's Crossing—Elliott Smith.

Swelling & receding like underwater fireworks, rolling out almost coy, with a snap of the neck & a drop of the stomach. Lyrics acidic in their bitterness still trip into each other like poetry—"The game looks easy, that's why it sells"—& if you listen close after he strains "Give me one good reason not to do it," you'll hear his girlfriend's plaintive "Because I love you," layered on in post-production, fading just too quiet into the background.

I don't mean to depress, just to share. Back to our regularly scheduled cheekiness post haste, I promise.