Oh, Conor, you elude my grasp ;_;

I WISH I COULD GO TO THIS SHOW SOOOO BAD! D:

Why can't it just be in August? Every band I want to see seems to think Boston is the place to play in the summer, and L.A. is the place to play in the fall. No fair. D: D: D:

It Was 40 Years Ago Today

It really had been awhile since I'd listened to a Beatles album front to back (talk about an anachronism), but I was vaguely aware that this month marked the 40th anniversary of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. I'd listened to that album more times than I can count, both during my cycles of obsessive Beatle fandom and in between cycles when I just want something lush and shiny in the background. I've read everything about the making of the thing, and I really thought I knew it inside and out.

The media have all paid tribute to the anniversary, mostly repeating the same points. Pepper was not the only influential album released in the Summer of Love (which saw breakthrough releases by The Doors, Hendrix, and Jefferson Airplane), and while there is no critical consensus on the best Beatles album (and never should be), the debate has moved away from Pepper and now tends to center on either its predecessors Revolver and Rubber Soul, or the final days of the band, Abbey Road and Let It Be. But tellingly, nobody blogged about Revolver's anniversary last year. In terms of "defining moments of rock," the Sergeant still is the king.

In terms of the Beatles catalogue, Pepper was something that in retrospect seems inevitable. Songs about subjects other than relationships appeared as early as Rubber Soul (Nowhere Man); by Revolver, cryptic lyrics were everywhere, and experiments with classical (Eleanor Rigby), Indian (Love You To), and electronic instrumentation (Tomorrow Never Knows) were underway. But it took until Pepper for the world to really understand what the Beatles had become -- and what rock and roll could become -- and it hit them like a ton of bricks. Aside from the wackiness of the whole thing -- the "alter ego" band, (which everyone from Bowie to MCR would imitate), the consistent yet eclectic sonic atmosphere that floated seamlessly between the psychedelic and the twee, all those damn horns -- and aside from the sheer beauty and genius of the songs (A Day In The Life...nuff said), Pepper was a watershed moment for the rock industry. It changed radio, with songs that were longer than three minutes and a rich orchestral backdrop that took full advantage of stereo, thus impacting the switch from AM to FM. It changed the way albums were conceived of, both musically as a cohesive, conceptual whole, and artistically as an object with its elaborate, fold-out cover and lyrics printed on the back. (Alas, the latter is quickly disappearing in the age of digital downloads. I have acquired entire albums with barely an idea of the cover image, much less the design on the disk itself, or the booklet printed inside. It's a shame, because the aesthetics of an album package are somehow inseparable from the musical experience.)

So I didn't really think there was anything new or interesting to say about this album. But then I saw an article called "Everything You Know About Sgt. Pepper's Is Wrong." And lo and behold, it kind of is:
"If Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band doesn't have a concept, it does have a theme. It's a record about England in the midst of whirling change, a humorous, sympathetic chronicle of an old culture convulsed by the shock of the new—by new music and new mores, by rising hemlines and lengthening hair and crumbling caste systems. In short, it's a record about the transformations that the Beatles themselves, more than anyone else, were galvanizing."

I had never before thought about this, but it rang true to me, and more than anything else, it made me want to listen to it again. I popped it out of its technicolor jewel case and inserted it into my CD stereo, silently mourning the lack of vinyl and needles in my life. And the act we've known for all these years played again, for the first time.

Oh to be TWO again...

I saw this shirt in the L.L. Bean catalogue, and I was in love. I really wanted it.























Then I realized it was for TODDLERS.

*FAIL*

Once she figured out how to embed videos she found she could not stop

The guy who made this is Drew from the semi-famous husband and wife team of Drew and Natalie, creators of Married to the Sea, Toothpaste For Dinner, and Natalie Dee. It's just so cute. I want a dog. Even if he has a licking problem.

It's reassuring that prehistorical questions can, in fact, be answered.

Just one more way in which the New World was not so new.

Grad Week Pictures!

Ignore the fact that these are all out of order, small, and unlabeled. Blogger is not cooperating with me today.

And now it's all behind us

Herein lies a brief account of my commencement saga.

Saturday I met my parents for breakfast, and went to the Phi Beta Kappa induction ceremony. I'd sat through the ceremony once before at my fall induction, but my parents hadn't, and it gave me an excuse to wear a flowy green skirt. Then we went to the UPS store and sent all my possessions on their merry westward way. Finally, dinner at my beloved Roomba with Melissa and Michaela. The food was phenomenal. Absolutely delicious, with presentation worthy of the MoMA. I had fufu for the first time, under my mahi mahi, and it was to die for.

Sunday consisted primarily of Baccalaureate and Class Day, as well as the Commencement Ball, which I didn't attend but apparently was packed. Baccalaureate was nowhere near as cool as the one at my high school, but I always find it quite moving to sing and listen to hymns (my musical tastes really do run the gamut, don't they?). I was not fond of President Levin's speech, essentially a half-aimless travelogue of the "Yale 100"'s trip to China. When he recounted one student's statement, "I thought China was still a really backward country," I cringed. Way to portray Yalies as worldly, culturally sensitive progressives. I'd rather have heard him talk a little more about his relationship with our class, or at least how we relate to the changes Yale has seen in the past four years. And I smirked at his two-line reference to global warming -- Yale has done its part, he claimed, by committing to greenhouse gas reduction, but it's up to our generation to do ours. Right, kind of like Climate Campaign pressured you relentlessly for three years before you finally agreed to implement half of our plan.

Class Day was fun. We all wore funny hats -- mine was the Cat in the Hat hat -- with our gowns. Fareed Zakaria gave a really good speech about the importance of staying open to change and possibility in this stage of life. After the address, the event ran a little long, but it was enjoyable and singing "Bright College Years" at the end while waving our white Y'07 handkerchiefs almost made me slightly weepy. Aunt Nancy and Rick came for the afternoon, so I gave them the tour of Davenport capped by a dinner at the Rusty Scupper. Meanwhile, my suitemates' various family members were trickling in. Meeting your friends' families is always so revealing -- the shared traits, passions and neuroses surface.

Monday, at last, brought Commencement proper. The campus took on a Hogwartsian flavor as the entire university assembled in dark and multicolored robes on Old Campus. We marched from Davenport to Cross Campus and kitty corner down the Green, then up through Phelps Gate -- and it was that moment, when the wide stone arch opened into the sea of multicolored robes, when I finally felt the real thrill. Our degrees were symbolically conferred, and then we marched back to our own college for individual recognition, diplomas, and prizes, as well as short speeches by the Master and Dean. The latter was especially moving, and like Zakaria's, seemed designed to foster openness in those with plans for the future, and reassurance to those without them. I liked that theme, since I have been feeling so boxed in this semester and need to be reminded that nothing needs to be set in stone right now. What is set in stone is that I am a Yale graduate, summa cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa, with distinction in the Archaeological Studies major. And nothing can change that.

I still can't believe that it's over. It hasn't sunk in at all. I never cried or really felt like it, at least not in the right way. It's probably impossible to get an adequate sense of closure for something like this when you're still stuck thinking you're going back. I'm home now. We almost missed our flight home from JFK, which was a bit stressful, but now I have a whole month to sort out my life...and my closet.

The Smashing Pumpkins, My Chemical Romance, and please humor the fangirl.

The Smashing Pumpkins are officially reunited. In theory. Really, it’s just Billy and Jimmy – James and D’arcy apparently didn’t want to get involved, and have replacements. But they are releasing a new album under the Pumpkins name, and they played their first show since 2000 in Paris this week. They're doing a series of now-sold out concerts at the Fillmore in San Francisco this July. I would love to go if I could find a ticket for less than $200…seriously guys. I like their new single Tarantula quite a bit -- it still sounds Pumpkiny, but updated a little for the MCR age.

And speaking of MCR, sometimes we just KNOW certain truths about the way things would have been in a parallel universe. And I know that if I were born in 1993, I'd be in love with Gerard Way. Seeing My Chemical Romance live really connected me with the band as a band, made of people, rather than songs that come from my iPod. And it occurred to me that they are kind of like a certain band I was once madly obsessed with. Both bands were oftem grouped with large alternative trends of their day (grunge and emo, respectively), but in truth both SP and MCR drew on a rather different set of influences that gave their music the grandiosity and diversity often lacking in their more stripped-down contemporaries. They have lots in common, despite their different sounds. Incredible skill with catchy, epic pop melodies. A rather morbid sensibility. Unabashed ambition propelled by a ghoulishly cute and charismatic frontman. Overproduction, overemotion, overEVERYTHING, but in a good way. The ability to polarize audiences and win obsessive long-time fans. The tendency to reinvent themselves, and not being afraid to stray too far from their roots. The ability to transform pretension, noise and melodrama into (I think) powerful, beautiful art.

So I wasn’t surprised to come across this in an interview with Gerard:

...In fact when we made out first record, I had patterned our career off The Pumpkins because they were able to do such free and artistic music. I wanted Revenge to be our Siamese Dream though. If you listen to Gish, it’s a band that’s discovering themselves. There are some self-indulgent elements to it, they’re a little bit all over the place…If you listen to our first record, it was the same way. It was a little self-indulgent, but there’s stuff happening all over the place. You’re really not sure what the focus is. By the time Siamese came out, they had harnessed that into something that could connect with a much broader audience. It was important to them to connect with a broader audience and not for fame or for money or for anything else. I’m not sure about Billy Corgan, but I know for us...it’s important for us to get our message out. It seems very sincere for them, so I really wanted to pattern that in a way off of Siamese Dream of what they’ve done like the next record is patterned off of Mellon-Collie and the next phase of their career.

I like this quotation because it shows the flipside of “selling out” – if you’re really trying to say something with your music, wouldn’t you want it to be as accessible as you can make it? The trouble with the Pumpkins as a model (which Gerard must realize) is that SP’s career peaked at Mellon Collie. Does this mean the Black Parade will be the beginning of the end for MCR? Only time will tell. But it made me happy.

It helps that Gerard and Billy look a lot alike. Observe.

Snarling:

Why yes, I do feel pretty.

Oh my god, they're smiling, get the camera.

Now, look pained and glamorous.

This one's just too cute, and his face looks exactly like Billy.

I realize how completely meaningless this excercise is, but damn was it fun to look for those pictures. It took me less time than you might imagine.

And then I found this priceless interview clip with Billy on why he decided to reunite SP:


Haha! The truth comes out!! A few quick clicks will tell you that Billy and Gerard are only a decade apart. But it's still brilliant. Oh Billy, I love you. And I'm so glad I'm not 15 anymore and can look at pictures of your second coming without entertaining too many hopeless romantic fantasies.

One final thought on MCR: They really, really, REALLY should cover “Born to Run.” They’re from Jersey. They’re epic. They’re loud. They’re different enough from the Boss to make the cover into something cool instead of just a tribute. "I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight in an everlasting kiss?" Sounds about right.

This is summer.

Picnics in D'Port

"Senior Day" on the IM Fields

D'Port at Miya's

Charlie's Angels in black and pink: Last Chance Dance
(event curtailed by ammonia leak)

Chilling at Lighthouse Point.
How is this New Haven?!?
Dead!

And just because, here's a link to Roseability, because I am of the fallacious belief that the more people you spread a song to, the sooner it will dislodge itself from your head.

There is no Roseability

The real world is always going to be a mess. Having said that, if I were still blogging political issues instead of whining about my own life, I would have throughouly enjoyed the recent past. It's been a time of plenty for the vultures of left-wing punditry. This week, Wolfowitz is out, and Falwell has finally gone to hang out with Jesus. It seems like the last two years have witnessed the downfall, one by one, of the original cadre of cronies. The message seems to be that justice will prevail. Who'd have thought.

I browsed people's Facebook pictures from Myrtle Beach, and there were no words to describe how glad I was not to have been there. It didn't even look unpleasant in the sour-grapes, "these people are all friends and I'm not" kind of way. It just looked unpleasant. The color of the wooden walls of the house in which they apparently did nothing but play drinking games made me feel claustrophobic and nauseous. The pictures reek of dirty, loud, and stupid. If you don't know what loud and stupid smell like, think PBR and pizza grease. It reminded me of my least favorite aspects of FOOT leading, but with people only about a third as cool, and no woods. Ew. The beach itself just looked kind of drab and pathetic. I honestly don't know why anyone would participate in such a thing voluntarily. I really just don't get it. I guess I never will.

I got the new Shins album from Chris, and it is just heavenly. I don't know what it is about this band, but they seem to have been granted permission to tap the divine well of musical truth. There is something so pure about their music that you wonder how it can possibly be innovative, and yet it sounds like nothing else. Other things I'm drooling over are Sunny Day Real Estate's old classic Diary (real old school emo, yay) Senses Fail's Still Searching (making screaming catchy again), Damien Rice in general (most beautiful songs ever), and Idlewild's 100 Broken Windows, which features "Roseability," one of the catchiest and most nonsensical rock songs I've heard in ages. (The stickiest hook? The repeated non-sequitur "And Gertrude Stein said that's enough.") I might upload it when I get time.