And we were clueless and we were reckless
We were so high on the continent we could see the curve of the Earth.
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Stinson
This beach is where you can fill a bag full of white, brittle sand dollars, the star emblazoned on the center. There is always smoky green sea glass half-buried under sand and driftwood, and dried husks of kelp and sea cucumbers, which once danced to the waves at the bottom of the Pacific. Sometimes the driftwood is big enough to
Carrots in concert
The bright melodies, crunchy beats and spastic squeals sound like they’re pumping from a dark, subterranean nightclub packed with sweaty dancers. But actually, it’s the sound of vegetables. Since 1998, the Vienna Vegetable Orchestra’s 11 musicians have been scouring outdoor markets for the freshest produce to drill, cut, peel and scrape into colourful instruments.
Read this article at Ode Magazine.
Point Juncture, WA, “Happy Ending”
“I’ll be your happy ending,” singer Amanda Spring sings, fresh and clean and wet like raindrops–her voice caught, crushed and muffled upon the refrain. The instruments are similarly bipolar–glowing bright and pretty before falling into foggy distortion. I drove through Arizona one August. I expected crushing heat, but instead found the flat highways slicing through the desert drowning under incessant
Michele Wylen, “Loopy”
Piano notes introduce Wylen’s smooth voice, which is as bright and confident as any teen pop star would dream of sounding—but with a pack-of-smokes rather than pack-of-pink-bubblegum attitude. Her clear, delicate vocals become breathless as she’s caught in the beat’s electronic orbit–a collage of sound that becomes faster and more frantic as it spins and strobes, blinking quickly and blindly.